Baklava

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Friendship points have been reset to reflect Callan's current feelings towards everyone.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Questions Without Answers

| |

Kusari | Callan | Allison

---

𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝔼𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕠𝕨𝕟 / / ~𝟘𝟞𝟘𝟝

---

Hider

They weren't welcome here in this unsound motel. As if their words weren't enough, Kusari could see it in their faces. Everywhere they went they were a burden, people suffered as death followed them like a hungry predator. At first she thought the inhabitants of this island were similar to them, but the differences were clear. They were mages, but they weren't special, not enough anyway. She passed them by like strangers on the street and headed for a room. It was a pretty standard motel room, all she cared about was that there was a bed and that the water was running however. After checking the bathroom's sink and shower she came back to Allison and Callan. "This seems like a um, good place to stay for now, right?" She asked, fully aware that her voice still lacked her typical confidant cadence.

Callan, who up until then had been regarding the other mages cautiously, merely scoffed, shaking her head. "Stay there if you want," she shrugged, glancing at Allison for a moment before looking away, "I think we should ask around about Angel. Somebody might've seen her."

Allison slowly nodded in response. The atmosphere in the motel was oppressive. It was as if any attempt to speak would crush the air out of her lungs. Were it not for Angel's disappearance, Allison would be tempted to just hide herself away until they were taken to the next location that would inevitably be attacked by some force. Bothering those who clearly didn't want them there seemed like a deathwish, but it gave Allison a chance to find Angel. Nothing else mattered.

Allison's eyes glanced warily at the various strangers scattered around the area, pleading that somehow there'd be someone who'd look friendly enough to talk to. Every face seemed equally unwelcoming, just as unwilling to accept the presence of the trio. Allison found herself looking back at Callan, as if she'd have found the one person her own eyes missed.

Kusari let out a tired sigh as she stood between the two. She wanted to rest, but more than that the thought of being alone right now placed a vice grip on her heart. Callan was too righteous to sit by while she could be looking for an ally, and Allison had more reason than anyone to want to look for Angel. Kusari looked at her dirty arms, she felt filthy. Would they wait for her to take a shower? "While you ask around I think I'll... deal with this." She mumbled, dragging herself into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Soon the sound of the shower running could be heard.

Callan tried not to let it bother her. The sound of the shower seemed so out of place given the current predicament. Most frustrating of all was probably the slightly jealous tickle in the back of her mind, which brought with it more guilt than she had time for at the moment. "C'mon," Callan motioned for Allison to follow, heading towards the closest unfamiliar face with the slightest grumpy stomp in her step.

"Hey, have you seen an aberration girl around here?" the intrusive bite in her tone, left over from her mood with Kusari, quickly died off and she immediately regretted it, "Er-- long black hair. About yay high with sunglasses?"

The white-marked brunette stepped back, taking in the mess that Callan's drenched outfit was bringing. Her mouth formed a thin line.

"We don't have X's here. Only person that's passed by is the redhead."

Redhead? Callan blinked in surprised, gears turning for a moment before she glanced around the hall "Zoe..." she muttered pensively, "Any idea where she went?"

The stranger shook her head.

"Last I saw, Andrew went out to-- hey, Andrew!"

Another white-marked citizen turned from his conversation with a drawled, "Yeah?"

Allison stood quietly by whilst Callan engaged the stranger. The woman's glare quickly reminded the aberration of her sorry state, soaked to the bone and coated with dirt. She only shrinked back more at the realization. Kusari clearly had some sense to clean herself off first. But with Angel still missing, time was of the essence. Allison could handle looking like a mess.

She felt guilty for having Callan do the talking, as this wasn't really her problem. The information gained from the stranger essentially proved what Allison had previously assumed, that Angel wasn't here. It wasn't proof that Angel had been captured and taken away, but it did at least narrow the options down slightly. Allison kept her silence as the conversation shifted to Zoe. Finding her was probably a good idea, at least to prevent another outburst. Allison didn't want to have to use the shard on her again.

Shifting her attention to 'Andrew', Callan self consciously pulled at one of her sleeves, feeling the uncomfortable bit of suction as the wet fabric parted from her skin. She mentally shook her head at herself. Now wasn't the time to worry about that sort of thing.

"Uh, did you happen to see where our friend went? She's an aberration with red hair."

At the very least, Zoe could help them look for Angel. Though Callan also found it unsettling to think she might have wandered off somewhere alone. Not that she couldn't handle herself, but... the memory of Kusari's empty husk of a head and torso came to mind and she repressed a shudder. Yes, it was best she find out where Zoe was first.

The man hesitated for a noticeable moment, like he was figuring out what exact words to use.

"You'd best wait here. Your USARILN buddies are getting picked up round about now."

Callan picked up on the hesitation immediately, but it took another moment of suspicious staring before she worked out what it meant. And she was in no mood for it.

"Do you know where she is or not?" she pressed defiantly, clearly irritated, "We've already got one missing teammate we need to find. We don't need two, so if you know where she went, I suggest you tell us."

"You 'suggest', huh?" he scowled at what he perceived as a threat, "I think you should take it from me--"

"Transmit. I'm gonna need a healer in town as soon as possible. Over."

"Oh, come on..." Andrew groaned under his breath.

Kusari didn't take long to get out of the shower, most of her time was usually spent washing her hair, she just needed to rinse the viscera and soil from her body. As much as she wanted to just sit and let the water fall upon her, Callan and Allison were waiting for her. It's not as if they were going to get any useful information from the people here. They would say they saw nothing, then they'd roam around pointlessly. Might as well get it over with.

She'd washed off her clothes as best she could, then wrung them out and attempted to dry them with towels. They were still a bit damp, but at least she wasn't soaking anymore. She looked down at her left ankle, which was now covered by her cuff once more. Through a process she wasn't interested in reliving she had managed to put it back. She felt like an idiot doing it, but it was better than dealing with whatever punishment Zhang would think up.

As she walked back to Callan and Allison a voice from the cuff made her jump. It was Zoe, whatever she had said Kusari hadn't paid enough attention to listen. She didn't want to deal with that girl, but they couldn't leave her alone.

"Are we leaving now?" Kusari said, walking up to her allies.

Allison turned to face Kusari, offering a quick nod in response to her question.

"We're going to look for Zoe right now, I guess," She said, her voice cautious and surprisngly hoarse. She was well aware of what Zoe had done to Kusari not long ago. c

"Uggh," Callan groaned upon hearing the transmission, pressing her forehead into the palm of her hand just as Kusari approached.

"No," she said firmly, "You guys stay and keep asking around. Somebody here's gotta know something."

Uneasy as Zoe made her, she'd rather it be her than them at this point. Making her way towards where she last saw Sander and Christmas, Callan was already busy talking to her cuff.

"Transmit. Zoe, where are you? Over."

Kusari relaxed her shoulders and watched Callan call Zoe. She was about to make things difficult again, at this point she felt as if she were watching her actions from in her mind as her body went on auto pilot. "I'm not leaving you alone with that psycho. I'm coming with you, even though looking for her is a waste of time anyway..."

"I'm not staying behind either. It's clear that no one here has seen Angel. No reason to bother them more." She refrained from adding that it was probably good to have the shard around Zoe. It would be too easy to argue that Allison would just make herself black out again.

Callan paused, turning only slightly to face the two.

She stared at Allison pointedly, clearly unhappy with the girl's sudden bout of pessimism. What happened to the girl who was ready to risk it all for a vague chance at saving Angelique? Suddenly she was concerned about bothering people? "You don't know that for sure," Callan narrowed her eyes, "You're the one that said she was alive, but If you wanna give up, go take a shower like Kusari. Then go to sleep. I'll look for her myself."

She scoffed incredulously. There she went again, trying to play leader. And already she was being rewarded with all the frustration that came along with it.

"Angel is alive," Allison snapped, "and I'm not giving up. There's just no use in chasing after redundant information. I could run around here and ask every single fucking person here if they've seen Angel, but what the fuck is that going to solve if they all give the same answer as the first? I already told all of you where I thought Angel was. If I'm right, she's as good as dead if we keep waiting around. Yea, maybe I want to be wrong, to find that Angel was actually hiding here all along and wasn't kidnapped, but that doesn't mean I'm going to delude myself in pretending that's still a possibility right now. We need to keep moving. If that means finding Zoe or whatever, so be it, but standing around asking pointless questions is just adding another body to the pile." Allison took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down. "Don't you dare suggest that I would give up on Angel." After a moment, Allison's anger appeared to pass, though the outburst had clearly taken a toll on her throat.

"Anyway, we should all go. Better to regroup than sit around here."

"Okay! You didn't give up! Jesus...," Callan threw her hands up in mock surrender. As much as she disagreed with Allison about the whole "redundant information" bit, she found herself feeling weirdly refreshed at the sight of her determination. Refreshed and a little... embarrassed. Why did she have such little patience for Allison anyway? Her eyes flickered to Kusari for a fraction of a second.

"But that still doesn't mean we need a whole militia to clean up Zoe's mess," she frowned. "She won't..." her voice trailed off for a moment. She suddenly realized just how much she trusted Zoe-- and the answer was...

A whole lot more than she thought she did. But why? She had every reason to agree that Zoe was an unstable psychopath that would kill everyone at any moment. Even with all the evidence aside, she certainly disliked her enough to think that... but she didn't.

Zoe hadn't tried anything even though Callan had lost her temper. She'd looked really out of sorts, in fact. Like she hadn't even realized what she'd done until Callan placed the blame. She'd been too furious to listen before, but... deep down she knew, even without Zoe saying it, that she didn't want to hurt anyone. That was why she'd asked her for such a big favor.

"Look, it doesn't matter. This is where we all agreed to regroup so unfortunately, that includes sitting around here for now. Sander, Christmas and I are gonna go. I won't be alone and we'll be right back to figure out the next move, alright? "

"I'm going, Callan, and I doubt Kusari's going to listen either. Sorry." Allison's throat screamed with every passing second, forcing her back into relative silence. As adamant as Callan was to get them to stay, Allison was too stubborn to listen. Besides, Callan wasn't the leader, she didn't have any control over their actions.

..::Baklava's Character Codex::..

Wren (Mage)

"What're you lookin' at?"

---

Full Name: Wren (Emily Shaughnessy)
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown (high teens/low twenties)
Height: 5'1" (155 cm)
Weight: 94 lbs (42.6 kg)
Appearance:

Wren is a shapeless and wiry little thing as a result of malnutrition and years of relentless tree-climbing. Her eyes are a deep shade of brown, appearing almost entirely black at first glance and her skin is lightly tanned (beneath the layer of dirt that so often coats it). She has thick, untamed eyebrows and even thicker raven black hair that is unevenly cut just below her chin.

Wren is rarely seen without her handcrafted tiara of carefully chosen twigs, adorned with an old broken broach that rests on the center of her forehead. Though a lovely (if somewhat crude) headpiece, the ornament is typically half hidden by a choppy curtain of side swept bangs as well as a large, pointed hat. The hat is made of sturdy fabric, once likely belonging to someone quite practical. Now in Wren's possession, however, it seems as though it has seen better days. Thus is the tale of most nice things belonging to Wren-- namely a thick cloak with slits (to accommodate the massive backpack she carries around with her), boots so tattered that they are scarcely held together by a few strips of old, discolored clothe, leather leggings with several rips and tears, a ratty old tunic and a terribly abused fur vest.

Wren’s love for collecting pretty things comes through in the many trinkets adorning her person. “Pretty”, in this case, being as objective as Wren is discerning. The nearly flawless skull of a young deer and a pair of small antlers tied with twine drapes over the front of her bag, clinking and clattering wherever she goes. Also of her own design, a string of small bones, smooth and interestingly shaped rocks, and tiny, milky white crystals hangs around her neck. She is a creative soul, using only the finest of feathers to braid into her hair while using those less perfect for restocking the short skirt that peaks out from under her tunic and cloak.

Wren’s presence doesn’t only bring with it spectacular visuals and auditory delights, however. There is no single word that perhaps does the olfactory assault of her nearness more justice than “strong”. Her scent is very earthy with the undertone of pungent body odor that tends to occur when rain water and occasional dips in the creek during the warm months is one’s only association with hygiene. Her finest saving grace are the flowers and herbs she collects and decorates her hat with regularly. Rosemary, thyme, sweet woodruff and sage all serve as a mostly sturdy mask. They also happen to compliment Wren's floral arrangments quite well-- which, of course, is what's really important.

Wren Collage

---

History:

To most villagers living near the thick Balwyn Forests, Wren began as a rumor. A phantom, an imp, a witch. An evil, mischievous thing that would steal your belongings and slip a razor sharp claw between your ribs the moment you weren’t looking.

The truth is far less mystical.

Wren grew up in the woods alone. For how long, nobody knows. Even Wren tends to have a difficult time recalling the order of events. Calendars aren’t very commonly found in the woods—nor are helping hands. Wren learned quickly that animals and the elements are rarely ever on your side (as she had once heard in so many fairytales). Even so, in her younger years she relied heavily on her imagination to combat the harsh truths of her world. She would never surrender control, she decided. Before long, the forest was her kingdom and she, its ruler. Anyone else was either a trespasser or subject—neither of which she was very prone to trusting.

She has since done away with such childish fantasies, coming to better understand her place in the world as well as society. Still, old habits die hard and Wren is still Wren. She will never surrender control.

Brief Personality:

Wren is a young woman of very few words— both figuratively and literally. Though her vocabulary is limited, however, Wren is very opinionated, stubborn, and will not hesitate to look down her nose at anyone she deems 'odd'. Given the longevity of her estrangement, she has had yet to meet a single person for which a different adjective was even necessary. Even Amelie is a poor example of an exception.

Wren is very crafty. Wood whittling and jewelry making are only a few of many hobbies she took on during her life of solitude in the woods. Her ability to create was certainly essential when it came to trapping meals, but she prefers crafting animal figurines and necklaces to such practicality. Still, a girl's got to eat. Sometimes, however, food tends to run scarce.

During such times of need, the mulishly sovereign Queen Wren concocted a way in which to obtain provisions. Trade. And with the value she placed on her many creations being so ridiculously high, a humiliatingly unfair one at that. Over the years, she has come to acknowledge the fact that a few of her trades may have tipped a bit in her favor, but by then her theivery methods had become more reliant on habit than sense.

Emotional Bond:

The tale of Wren and Amelie began in much the same way as any person trying to bond with a stray animal. For over a year, Amelie was nothing more than a source of food and the occasional sock. Over time, however, Wren reluctantly began to feel for the girl. In spite of her best judgement, she found herself tormented by feelings she hadn't felt for anyone but the vague recollection of a mother that often made her feel sad and uncharacteristicly alone on dark and stormy nights. It was grudging at first, but eventually Wren's visits became more frequent and she found that being in the company of someone like Amelie suited her quite well.

At the present, Wren is very protective of Amelie (though she still often struggles with flighty tendencies). Amelie is reliably her very best and only friend. In a way, she feels as though the girl is hers. Always there whenever she chooses to hang around and never too far behind when she decides to wander.

Partner: Amelie

---

Fighting Style:

Whenever Wren's dirt and tiny bone riddled appearance is not enough to deter any who dare cross her, she is most reliant on speed and stealth. Never having ventured very far from her forest, she knows it like the back of her hand. Her size certainly helps when it comes to fitting inside nooks and crannies. And although small she could certainly out climb just about anyone. Other than that, Wren's only defense is her trusty whittling knife. It has served her well, but has rarely ever been used in actual combat. Her commitment to avoiding human contact is most likely to thank for that.

Aside from the occasional scuffle with a territorial animal, Wren has no outstanding combat experience.

Equipment:

- one very large backpack, teeming with supplies (as always)
- an assortment of animal carvings, some unfinished
- a whittling knife
- a spool of twine
- rope (20 yards)
- a rolled up blanket
- two mismatched pairs of dirty socks
- one extra but equally filthy tunic
- a small pouch filled with rocks and crystals
- a small wooden box filled with animal bones/skulls in good condition (also a few pilfered sewing needles)
- a leather canteen of water
- a small bundle of impressively straight sticks
- extra herbs, flowers, and twigs
- a few slices of jerky wrapped in a leather rag
- a bottle of black ink

Weaknesses:

Once caught, the amount of brute force required to overcome Wren is exceptionally small. Additionally, Wren is easily stumped by complex problems, puzzles, and large words. This almost always results in swelling frustration for Wren, but more importantly can cause a fatal break down in communication as she often has a hard time admitting when she doesn't understand.

---

Focus concept: Nature

S P E L L S

Name: Trap!
Function: As the eloquent name chosen by Wren suggests, this ability traps an enemy in place by summoning powerful roots from the earth. The roots wrap around what ever part of the target is closest to the ground, though they cannot reach anything past 3 feet. Wren's roots can spawn within and pierce through solid rock, granite, and wooden floor boards, thus enabling her to use the ability in less likely places. The range within which Wren's target must be is 25 yards. The hold only lasts 5 seconds and can only be used as quickly as a 30 second interval will allow.

Name: Fix!
Function: Wren provides Amelie with the ability to draw energy from plant life in order to heal injuries. When cast, all plants within a 5 yard radius instantly wither and die. The effectivness of the healing depends on the amount of plant life available. Wren is only able to cast this spell on Amelie. Wren must wait 2 minutes before she is able to use it again.

Name: Sharpen!
Function: This spell works in tandem with Amelie's gear. It summons rose vines that wrap tightly around the gear, enveloping it with red, white, and pink roses as well as sharp, slightly larger than average thorns. The vines will stay in place for up to ten minutes, although broken or dulled thorns will not regenerate. Wren must wait the full 10 minutes before she is able to recast the spell.

---

Likes: warm weather, birds, flowers, music, free food, crystals, smooth rocks, and Amelie
Dislikes: thunderstorms, beavers, mosquitos, bitter food, most people, big words, being touched and restraints
Hobbies: whittling, jewelry-making, trapping, singing, decorating, collecting, exploring
Character Theme: Buster Voodoo

Other:

- Wren is picky in all things other than food. Anything that is edible and doesn't taste poisoned is good in her book.
- Wren thinks she's really cool. Like... really cool. Her ego allows her to be very easily manipulated.
- Although Wren loves to sing, her voice is audaciously mediocre. Not bad, but certainly not as great as she thinks she sounds.
- Wren knows two songs. She'll often sing variations of the tunes, inserting words as she pleases if bored enough. It should go without saying that she doesn't understand some of the words in the actual lyrics, but sings them anyway.
- The Moss | Garten Mother's Lullaby

---

Credits

- 8-bitspider
- xgglitch
- mahohaku
- glassravenn
- akumiirako
- snowbellss
- moonlight-pendent13
- aelou

From Celestial Bonds

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

A chibi I ordered of Queen Bee Rhian. Because I've been thinking about her a lot lately. :P

Hider

(by millily- whose fullbody normal commissions are gorgeous by the way. they've been closed for a sad long while tho

Celestial Bonds

Wren (Mage)

"What're you lookin' at?"

---

Full Name: Wren (Emily Shaughnessy)
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown (high teens/low twenties)
Height: 5'1" (155 cm)
Weight: 94 lbs (42.6 kg)
Appearance:

Wren is a shapeless and wiry little thing as a result of malnutrition and years of relentless tree-climbing. Her eyes are a deep shade of brown, appearing almost entirely black at first glance and her skin is lightly tanned (beneath the layer of dirt that so often coats it). She has thick, untamed eyebrows and even thicker raven black hair that is unevenly cut just below her chin.

Wren is rarely seen without her handcrafted tiara of carefully chosen twigs, adorned with an old broken broach that rests on the center of her forehead. Though a lovely (if somewhat crude) headpiece, the ornament is typically half hidden by a choppy curtain of side swept bangs as well as a large, pointed hat. The hat is made of sturdy fabric, once likely belonging to someone quite practical. Now in Wren's possession, however, it seems as though it has seen better days. Thus is the tale of most nice things belonging to Wren-- namely a thick cloak with slits (to accommodate the massive backpack she carries around with her), boots so tattered that they are scarcely held together by a few strips of old, discolored clothe, leather leggings with several rips and tears, a ratty old tunic and a terribly abused fur vest.

Wren’s love for collecting pretty things comes through in the many trinkets adorning her person. “Pretty”, in this case, being as objective as Wren is discerning. The nearly flawless skull of a young deer and a pair of small antlers tied with twine drapes over the front of her bag, clinking and clattering wherever she goes. Also of her own design, a string of small bones, smooth and interestingly shaped rocks, and tiny, milky white crystals hangs around her neck. She is a creative soul, using only the finest of feathers to braid into her hair while using those less perfect for restocking the short skirt that peaks out from under her tunic and cloak.

Wren’s presence doesn’t only bring with it spectacular visuals and auditory delights, however. There is no single word that perhaps does the olfactory assault of her nearness more justice than “strong”. Her scent is very earthy with the undertone of pungent body odor that tends to occur when rain water and occasional dips in the creek during the warm months is one’s only association with hygiene. Her finest saving grace are the flowers and herbs she collects and decorates her hat with regularly. Rosemary, thyme, sweet woodruff and sage all serve as a mostly sturdy mask. They also happen to compliment Wren's floral arrangments quite well-- which, of course, is what's really important.

Wren Collage

---

History:

To most villagers living near the thick Balwyn Forests, Wren began as a rumor. A phantom, an imp, a witch. An evil, mischievous thing that would steal your belongings and slip a razor sharp claw between your ribs the moment you weren’t looking.

The truth is far less mystical.

Wren grew up in the woods alone. For how long, nobody knows. Even Wren tends to have a difficult time recalling the order of events. Calendars aren’t very commonly found in the woods—nor are helping hands. Wren learned quickly that animals and the elements are rarely ever on your side (as she had once heard in so many fairytales). Even so, in her younger years she relied heavily on her imagination to combat the harsh truths of her world. She would never surrender control, she decided. Before long, the forest was her kingdom and she, its ruler. Anyone else was either a trespasser or subject—neither of which she was very prone to trusting.

She has since done away with such childish fantasies, coming to better understand her place in the world as well as society. Still, old habits die hard and Wren is still Wren. She will never surrender control.

Brief Personality:

Wren is a young woman of very few words— both figuratively and literally. Though her vocabulary is limited, however, Wren is very opinionated, stubborn, and will not hesitate to look down her nose at anyone she deems 'odd'. Given the longevity of her estrangement, she has had yet to meet a single person for which a different adjective was even necessary. Even Amelie is a poor example of an exception.

Wren is very crafty. Wood whittling and jewelry making are only a few of many hobbies she took on during her life of solitude in the woods. Her ability to create was certainly essential when it came to trapping meals, but she prefers crafting animal figurines and necklaces to such practicality. Still, a girl's got to eat. Sometimes, however, food tends to run scarce.

During such times of need, the mulishly sovereign Queen Wren concocted a way in which to obtain provisions. Trade. And with the value she placed on her many creations being so ridiculously high, a humiliatingly unfair one at that. Over the years, she has come to acknowledge the fact that a few of her trades may have tipped a bit in her favor, but by then her theivery methods had become more reliant on habit than sense.

Emotional Bond:

The tale of Wren and Amelie began in much the same way as any person trying to bond with a stray animal. For over a year, Amelie was nothing more than a source of food and the occasional sock. Over time, however, Wren reluctantly began to feel for the girl. In spite of her best judgement, she found herself tormented by feelings she hadn't felt for anyone but the vague recollection of a mother that often made her feel sad and uncharacteristicly alone on dark and stormy nights. It was grudging at first, but eventually Wren's visits became more frequent and she found that being in the company of someone like Amelie suited her quite well.

At the present, Wren is very protective of Amelie (though she still often struggles with flighty tendencies). Amelie is reliably her very best and only friend. In a way, she feels as though the girl is hers. Always there whenever she chooses to hang around and never too far behind when she decides to wander.

Partner: Amelie

---

Fighting Style:

Whenever Wren's dirt and tiny bone riddled appearance is not enough to deter any who dare cross her, she is most reliant on speed and stealth. Never having ventured very far from her forest, she knows it like the back of her hand. Her size certainly helps when it comes to fitting inside nooks and crannies. And although small she could certainly out climb just about anyone. Other than that, Wren's only defense is her trusty whittling knife. It has served her well, but has rarely ever been used in actual combat. Her commitment to avoiding human contact is most likely to thank for that.

Aside from the occasional scuffle with a territorial animal, Wren has no outstanding combat experience.

Equipment:

- one very large backpack, teeming with supplies (as always)
- an assortment of animal carvings, some unfinished
- a whittling knife
- a spool of twine
- rope (20 yards)
- a rolled up blanket
- two mismatched pairs of dirty socks
- one extra but equally filthy tunic
- a small pouch filled with rocks and crystals
- a small wooden box filled with animal bones/skulls in good condition (also a few pilfered sewing needles)
- a leather canteen of water
- a small bundle of impressively straight sticks
- extra herbs, flowers, and twigs
- a few slices of jerky wrapped in a leather rag
- a bottle of black ink

Weaknesses:

Once caught, the amount of brute force required to overcome Wren is exceptionally small. Additionally, Wren is easily stumped by complex problems, puzzles, and large words. This almost always results in swelling frustration for Wren, but more importantly can cause a fatal break down in communication as she often has a hard time admitting when she doesn't understand.

---

Focus concept: Nature

S P E L L S

Name: Trap!
Function: As the eloquent name chosen by Wren suggests, this ability traps an enemy in place by summoning powerful roots from the earth. The roots wrap around what ever part of the target is closest to the ground, though they cannot reach anything past 3 feet. Wren's roots can spawn within and pierce through solid rock, granite, and wooden floor boards, thus enabling her to use the ability in less likely places. The range within which Wren's target must be is 25 yards. The hold only lasts 5 seconds and can only be used as quickly as a 30 second interval will allow.

Name: Sharpen!
Function: This spell works in tandem with Amelie's gear. It summons rose vines that wrap tightly around the gear, enveloping it with red, white, and pink roses as well as sharp, slightly larger than average thorns. The vines will stay in place for up to ten minutes, although broken or dulled thorns will not regenerate. Wren must wait the full 10 minutes before she is able to recast the spell.

Name: Spit!
Function: Wren posesses the ability to convert her saliva into a select number of magically enhanced toxins based on certain plants. It only takes a second to initially summon, however she must wait at least two minutes before switching from one toxin to another. While her ability is in effect, her insides are immune to the chosen toxin, however, Wren is still susceptable to her own toxins via skin contact and whenever her ability is turned off. Once a toxin leaves her mouth, it will remain potent for 24 hours before reverting back to regular spit.

Additionally, Wren's tongue changes color depending on the toxin that is in affect.

Toxins

Jimsonweed

This toxin causes horrifying hallucinations, paranoid delusions, and blurred vision, which can lingers for several seconds immediately after the affects have receded. Prolonged exposure and a very high dosage may result in death.

Duration : 10 minutes. Must be ingested.
Color : Yellow

Coca

This toxin, meant to be used as a temporary buff, causes mild euphoria, decreased appetite, decreased fatigue, increased mental and spatial alertness, and can numb pain. Alternatively, prolonged exposure and high dosages may result in scary tactile hallucinations.

Duration : 10 minutes. Must be ingested.
Color : White

Giant Hogweed

This toxin merely requires skin contact to be effective. It begins as a red and itchy rash, rapidly developing into severe skin inflammation and blisters, which may leave behind permanent purple scars if not treated quickly.

Duration : N/A
Color : Purple

Valerian

This toxin acts as a sedative and calming agent. Low doses can induce calm while higher doses induce sleep.

Duration : Several hours, depending on the dosage. May be inhaled or ingested.
Color : Light Pink

Gympie gympie

This toxin causes a severly painful sensation of burning and electrocution, though it does not cause any any actual tissue damage outside of some light swelling and reddening of the affected area. Prolonged exposure could cause shock, but in most cases the pain is so severe that those with low mental fortitude may potential kill themselvesor beg for death. This toxin is extremely potent.

Duration : 5 minutes. May be ingested, inhaled, or injected. Skin contact results in light rash unless the skin is broken.
Color: Red

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Likes: warm weather, birds, flowers, music, free food, crystals, smooth rocks, and Amelie
Dislikes: thunderstorms, beavers, mosquitos, bitter food, most people, big words, being touched and restraints
Hobbies: whittling, jewelry-making, trapping, singing, decorating, collecting, exploring
Character Theme: Buster Voodoo

Other:

- Wren is picky in all things other than food. Anything that is edible and doesn't taste poisoned is good in her book.
- Wren thinks she's really cool. Like... really cool. Her ego allows her to be very easily manipulated.
- Although Wren loves to sing, her voice is audaciously mediocre. Not bad, but certainly not as great as she thinks she sounds.
- Wren knows two songs. She'll often sing variations of the tunes, inserting words as she pleases if bored enough. It should go without saying that she doesn't understand some of the words in the actual lyrics, but sings them anyway.
- The Moss | Garten Mother's Lullaby

---

Credits

- 8-bitspider
- xgglitch
- mahohaku
- glassravenn
- akumiirako
- snowbellss
- moonlight-pendent13
- aelou

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Psh, but that's been done before.

See: Zoe's totally real death that totally happened.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

No, you're not. You're just a fart that gained sentience.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

The Ship That Sank

Callan | Sander]

---

𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / 𝕆𝕗𝕗𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕖 / / ~𝟘𝟝𝟛𝟝

---

_{Collab with @Baklava and @RedDusk}

Dead.

Shaky fingers withdrew from the man's neck. She'd decided to check despite the dismal state of his crushed body, hanging onto whatever shreds of hope she could. As long as there was a pulse, there was a chance, right? Christmas or Lily could heal anything, couldn't they? It was worth checking....

Yet once again wide eyes stared forward, as lifeless as those of the boy she'd been fighting. She tried not to look at them. As the sandstorm cleared and the wall fell apart, Callan immediately noticed the other two staff a short distance away, broken and unmoving. She gave a despairing sigh before her attention was drawn towards a bright light in the distance. They were... retreating?

A short-lived relief.

Her breath caught in her throat and she slowly rose to her feet, watching as the wave took form. Up and up and up.... So terrifying and sudden that for a fraction of a second she almost considered letting Misery loose. As if it could do anything to shatter the massive wall of water. She had to remind herself that she'd be fine. The others might not survive, but no matter how hard it hit her, she was durable enough to take it. Her body evidently needed a little more convincing, however, and she took several steps backward out of reflex.

When the inevitable finally happened, she squeezed her eyes shut, widened her stance, and took a gulp of air. The water was more than enough to knock her clean off her feet, drowning all her senses. She let it carry her, hands reaching tentatively for something she could hold onto but anything she managed to grasp instantly crumbled beneath her iron grip. Callan was left gasping for breath a good distance from the cliff's edge. Sand, seaweed, and other such ocean bits had been lodged snuggly in her hair and clothes. She shakily pulled herself to her feet.

Glancing at the two lifeless staff members who had washed up beside her, Callan reached to turn the maid over but paused as soon as her hand met the woman's shoulder. If she wasn't dead before, she certainly was now. She should... check and see if the others were alright. In spite of herself, she turned her over just enough to see bulging eyes and a gaping mouth full of blood and debris. She inhaled sharply and let the woman fall face down again, cursing her decision as she quickly turned away.

A quick headcount as she ran towards the lighthouse and everybody seemed to be accounted for. Worse for wear, but coughing. Which meant breathing. Which meant living. And those in the lighthouse were probably better off than everyone outside had been. She could hear Brent's voice shouting through his cuff, still on from before the wave hit apparently. Still, she'd feel a lot better after a much needed regroup. "Transmit. You guys okay in there? We've got three dead-- staff members." Callan clarified solemnly, "Everybody else out here is alive, but we've got injuries. Don't know how bad yet. End transmission." But that itching feeling that she was forgetting something still kept her eyes searching until she realized who she was looking for.

Sander.

Over the patter of persistent rain and the voices of her peers, Callan could just barely make out the sound of intense splashing. Her eyes fell on Sander's pale figure in the water where he seemed to have been swept down the cliff side and pulled out past the shore. Accompanied by the stolen ferry, the ominous blue light was fading in the distance, but she gave it little thought. A brief moment of uncertainty clouded her judgment and she watched Sander struggle for a moment, waiting for him to stop panicking and start swimming.

"Shit-- really, Sander?!" She ran towards him, soggy shoes sliding down the rocky cliffside. Before reaching the bottom, she gauged the distance and launched herself into a haphazard dive a few yards from where Sander's thrashing was growing weaker.

Even when he was choking down mouthfuls of salt water, Sander still recognized Callan's sweet scent once her hands closed around his shoulders. He stopped his thrashing then, and turned to her instead, arms reaching and grasping for whatever leverage so he could take another gasp of air.

A small burst of air bubbled out of Callan's mouth in surprise as Sander started trying to essentially climb on top of her in his effort to reach the surface. Geez, he was seriously drowning, wasn't he? The lost air had her feeling a bit panicked as well. She quickly adjusted her grip on Sander, trying to shift him to the side as she kicked her legs. She'd never been a phenomenal swimmer, but at the very least she could say she was a strong one now. She kicked as hard as she could, but a wave broke over the pair as soon as they'd reached the surface. Maintaining her grip on the evidently terrified Sander, she started kicking again, headed for shore.

She held on well after her feet could finally touch bottom, dragging him into ankle-deep territory before letting go. On all fours, she coughed and spit, the salty seawater burning her nose and throat.

As soon as she noticed Sander starting to sit up more, she aimed a tempered punch at his arm, pushing him sideways. "Fucking--" she coughed and shivered, "Learn how to swim! You scared the shit out of me!"

Sander only gave her a brief but apologetic look, still far too occupied with retching out the salty water and catching his breaths. Eventually though, he responded, voice hoarse from all the coughing and exposure to the frigid water. The damage could have been worse, if it hadn't been for the natural resilience his power provided. It did shield him from damage when the waves sent him tumbling through the dirt too, turning grievous injuries into superficial scratches and scrapes.

"Sorry."

Slowly, he rose to his feet, offering a hand to Callan. She accepted it with some reluctance. Once on her feet, she rang out her shredded sweatshirt, nose twitching with the occasional sniffle as the cold began to take its toll.

"You're okay, then?"

Meanwhile Sander didn't seem to be very concerned with the soaked state of his clothes. Instead, he just cast red gaze toward where the ferry had made a significant distance, then back at the battered lighthouse.

"We should probably get back."

Callan glanced up at him and sighed. "Right." She'd almost forgotten what it was like to talk to Sander. Then again, he probably wasn't thrilled about the whole needing to be rescued thing. Or maybe he would've been just fine without her... yes, that was definitely a possibility.

Either way, he was right. They desperately needed to regroup. "Let's go then," she said simply before taking off in a sprint towards the steep path back up to the lighthouse. Sander only nodded, before following closely.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Unwise

Callan | Lawrence | Siena

---

𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 / / ~𝟘𝟝𝟛𝟝

---

_{Collab with @Baklava, @Snagglepuss89, and @PapiTan}

Unwise

As soon as she had reached Lawrence and Hazel, Callan wasted no time in lifting the aberration girl's limp body, slinging her carefully over one shoulder as easily as one might move a sack of styrofoam peanuts. As much as she distrusted Hazel for what she'd done, she of course would never consider leaving her behind. Doing her best to keep Hazel facing away from the sandstorm's source, she extended a hand towards Lawrence, offering to lead the way since the piercing bits of earth, though distracting, didn't seem to cause her actual harm. "Ready?!" she shouted above the abundance of noise.

Lawrence took the hand with relief, glad that they seemed to finally be doing the sensible thing and pulling back. The old adage 'No plan survives contact with the enemy' was one thing, but it seemed like every conflict they involved themselves in ended up in an uncontrollable cluster fuck that finished worse than it began. They had, seemingly, accomplished nothing again, although that was hardly surprising given who they were trying to take down. There was a reason he had stopped Zoe from running out, now in spite of that he wasn't even sure she was still alive.

Still, a few of them were, and they needed to salvage what they could.

“Yeah, let's get out of here quick as we can.”

Callan gave a curt nod and pulled Lawrence to his feet, shifting her grip to his arm. She held on tightly, pulling him forward at an almost uncomfortably fast pace considering the piercing sandstorm. The lighthouse wasn't too far away, allowing the three mages to reach the door without much trouble otherwise. Sand and storm violated the room as soon as Callan turned the knob and the heavy door flew open with a loud crash. Laying Hazel down, she made quick work of closing it. With a shuddering sigh, she turned around to survey the room. The bloodied yet uninjured Lily stood amidst the majority of her classmates, one new face, and a few staff members. Only a few.... "Oh-- fuck!" she gasped.

Honestly, it was a bit of a relief to Lawrence seeing how many of their classmates were left. While he wasn't going to say their lives were worth more than the people on the island, he still at least had a more personal connection to the team than the locals. While not everybody had gathered there yet, a lot of the ones that would have the hardest time surviving had, and that was almost as good as he could hope for.

So, in contrast to the mage beside him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Looks like most of us made it out.”

Most, but not all. Not a number Callan felt satisfied with. Especially considering how many they'd already lost.

"There's some staff missing," she said, tense, "I can't just leave them out there."

“Do you even know where they're at?”

Most people Lawrence would oppose leaving- and even would actively prevent from doing so. Callan wasn't exactly someone that was easy to kill under normal circumstances though, and he wasn't exactly keen on abandoning people to die even if he himself wouldn't make the attempt under the current circumstances. He was keenly aware of what his limits were.

Callan paused, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She remembered where they'd been. Then that aberration boy appeared and the sandstorm picked up. She hadn't seen any of them since.

"No, but I'll find 'em. They can't be far. Probably just couldn't find their way back to the lighthouse in the storm."

“Yeah, but if they can't find their way to a large building in the storm, how are you going to locate them? You can't stumble around blind Callan.”

Ungrateful was perhaps one word to describe the look Callan shot Lawrence in response to his remark. With a derisive scoff, Callan turned and reached for the doorknob.

"I'll be fine," she said sharply, "Got you and Hazel back here without any trouble, didn't I?"

Another group of people that had made it, and Siena couldn't help but feel some faint surge of relief, but the Arbiter had to flick her eyes through the faces. People she recognized as teammates, a few stray faces that were blurry-but-familiar memories of the estate, a face she didn't quite recognize. Was that safe? A cool reaction to the chaos at hand. There were still faces missing. Zoe, for one. Chris too, but in their situation, he would have changed forms, right? A dragon was more durable than a human in most aspects. Crimson eyes flicked back up to take another headcount. Hazel was unconscious, and--oh no.

'What is she doing?' The thought hadn't even managed to clear before Victor's influence took over. A sharp lash of pain, carefully measured, carefully imitated, and calmly dispensed as though it were simply a scolding. Not enough to completely shut someone down, but enough to stop the average person. Victor's influence, her actions. Siena felt her eyes widen a fraction as she registered exactly what she was doing. Surprise and horror melded into a new being, stronger and more vicious than either one on its own. The girl took a sharp, quiet intake of breath, started to remove the sensation, but then felt a chilling demand stop the action.

'Continue. They'll never listen if you don't show them how monstrous you can be.' It was hard to distinguish whether those were her own thoughts, but it was easy enough to obey them. If she could have averted her gaze from her target, she would have. Didn't want to see the reaction. Didn't want anyone to see that she might revel in creating a new tapestry that they would never know. Instead, the brunette clenched her fists, grit her teeth, and wished she hadn't started what she didn't want to finish.

It took a moment before Callan realized the bad feeling as her hand wrapped around the door's handle was far more literal than she was comfortable with. She froze, retracting her hand in alarm as if the metal could be the source. What the hell was that? Like the distant memory of a dull ache in her muscles. Her previous injury? No, not that. Brow furrowed in confusion, she reached for the door again.

The feedback was...not nearly enough. Siena shouldn't have been surprised, but the brunette couldn't stop herself from blinking once or twice in surprise. In the back of her head, quietly, there was the soft influence again. Victor's distance, her father's influence, a desire left behind to fix, protect, heal. Had Siena not stopped the second attempt before it could start, she was certain that Vale wouldn't have hesitated to increase the output. That she wouldn't have hesitated to let it get worse to prove what she could, would do if she had to.

"Callan, wait." The words came out flat again, not quite there again. The gap between herself and her emotions. Crimson eyes didn't tear away from her roommate, holding back the instinctive urge to use pain to convince instead of words. Not her. Or...her? Lines were blurring too quickly. "It's...unwise to go back out there."

'Because I can't guarantee that I won't go further.'

The feeling came again, followed by Siena's voice. Even then, Callan didn't put two and two together until she turned around and noticed her fellow arbiter staring at her with crimson eyes. A look of stunned betrayal crossed her face before she could try and mask it. Unwise? Zoe... Hazel... now Siena? Her temper flared, but she resolved not to address exactly why. Now wasn't the time.

"I'm not letting anyone else get left behind!" Callan retorted stubbornly, "So whatever the hell you're trying to do, you can stop now."

"It's not a matter of leaving them behind." Siena did her best to ignore the look of betrayal that crossed Callan's face, felt a pang of relief over the fact that Victor couldn't feel things like guilt or remorse without a thick blanket stifling it, and kept her own expression as level as possible. Necessary. This was absolutely necessary, she told herself. She withdrew the pain, held herself in check, and crafted the next words with carefully calculated precision. "With Hazel unconscious, our only immediate offensive potential if we meet the group from the estate is Sander, and I doubt that what people are combat ready are going to be enough to protect those that aren't."

Crimson eyes flicked toward the door, thought of the people outside briefly.

"Chris is probably not foolish enough to stay out there without becoming a dragon. That should be enough to protect and retreat with the others." After all, he'd already carried three on his back once. There was little doubt in the Arbiter's mind that he would be able to manage it again if necessary. Cautiously, the girl crafted a lie. A pristine one, immediate and unflinching. "The strongest barrier I could produce couldn't stop one shot from the group at the mansion. If we come across them, we'll need you."

Siena spoke and Callan listened, though she was taken a bit off guard by her way of speaking. The idea of putting so little faith in the other offensive mages and yet so much in Chris alone wasn't enough to budge her resolve, nor her expression. Siena's final statement did, however, carry with it a visual impact. Brent and Siena had witnessed what was on the other side of the tunnel. What had killed Greg and likely several soldiers by now. It was a strategic retreat after all. It wasn't ideal, but what else could they do?

But still-- it didn't feel right. Callan couldn't get the image out of her head. A short, measly row of mages in black and white standing between them and an unknown enemy. Risking their lives to try and keep them safe. Was it vain to assume they weren't capable of handling themselves? She grit her teeth, knuckles white. Maybe it was the wrong decision... but it was how she had to do it. Nobody else needed to die here. She could do both.

"I understand... but I can't. I'm sorry, but I have to go! They need help!" she declared, trying to keep a level head. Stay. Go. She could do both. "I'll be right back!" At that, Callan spun back to face the door, wrenching it open.

'No, no, no!' Everything fell apart in one fell swoop. Siena tried her best to piece things back together, Victor demanded that she either let go or cut loose. She could stop Callan. Probably. If she stopped holding back how far she was willing to go. If she dropped everyone in the immediate area and sacrificed control of output, then even with Cal out of sight, then...! The Arbiter felt the surge attempt to rise, felt herself plucking at strands of memories of how many times she'd experimented with the sensations that she could create while Vale was guiding her, and then everything ground to a screeching halt when her attention was brutally wrenched back to ground level by the sound of their cuffs coming to life with voice.

"They have Angel, at least... I think they do. Anyway, I have a plan. Though, it could easily kill Angel if they do have her, so if anyone has a better plan, share it. Otherwise, Chris, I'll need you to land near the lighthouse. Prepare for takeoff immediately. Zoe and Kusari, you'll need to be ready to jump on immediately."

What?

She had nowhere else to turn that surge, so she pulled it in, turned it against herself, and bit her lip until she tasted copper, grimaced and swore under her breath as she just as quickly dampened it into a dull ache that kept her where she needed to be. Too late. Callan was gone, lost in the static of the outside and far beyond her ability to accurately pinpoint with Victor's draining presence, and the others were going to be pulled into a suicide mission just as reckless as the one she'd agreed to with Brent. Damn it. Her fingers scraped at the screen of her phone, the dull ache sharpening into something more severe to hold back another wave of heat that threatened to close the distance that Victor had created. Through grit teeth, she searched for a new mark as the crimson started to slip back into the storm.

As soon as she'd swung the door shut behind her, pulling against the harsh sands with ease thanks to her super strength, Callan bolted towards the place she last remembered seeing any of the staff members. It was a relief not to feel the unsettling itch of Siena's ability as she left. Perhaps that wasn't the best sign that she had Siena's blessing, but it was better than being attacked. She was getting pretty fed up with having to keep an eye out for both her foes and friends. Allison's transmission alone was certainly enough to send her nerves into a tumultuous offset, however. What kind of plan was that? Jump on Chris and start flying to the ferry? They had no idea what was over there!

One thing at a time!, she urged herself with a curt shake of her head, resuming her run through the raging sands, searching for any sign of white ruffles and black fabric.

:: BAҞLAVA'S ARŦ Sħ㊉P :: 0/5 ｓｌｏｔｓ ｏｐｅｎ :: temporarily closed~

@shylarah Ganbatte. I believe in you.