Blizz

Camp Athens - Closed

Azariah Willow Child of Hecate * Camp Entrance

Well, she seemed like fun.

Azariah gladly accepted the mead that was pushed towards him. He filled a shot glass with it. Looking at the label, he wondered… Wasn’t mead a Nordic thing, not a Greek thing? Well, with this many people congregating her, supposedly from all over the world, it was no doubt inevitable. It tasted great.

”That is wonderful. Thank you very much,” He said, wearing a grin that was much too sly to fit this situation, matched with eyes that were much too dark. He had something uncanny about him, the way he seemed to be right at home around so many interesting people. All people he never met.

“I’m Lily, what’s your name?”

”Azariah,” He answered, sliding the mead back in her direction. ”I’ve only been here a short while. Probably as long as you. I’ve met only two of these people, tonight. But they’re amusing.”

And, speak of the Devil, there was one of them.

Chariselle showed up again, immediately clocking him. That didn’t surprise him much. He could look like almost anything, and he definitely looked like a lot of things earlier. A bit of mischief here and there never hurt anyone.

”Drinks of all kind, so it seems,” he mused.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

It’s the Lorax,
He speaks for the trees
I don’t have a witty rhyme,
But he’s Japanese

Rohan

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Blizz's Vault of Stuff

Rohan

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Jiro Tadashi N/A Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese ► Possessions Phone Earbuds Journal with a pen clipped to the front Old knife Multitool Flip lighter Cord bracelet Pouch filled with roasted cashews One-handed longsword, from Connie Metal water bottle - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

Ladies and gentlemen, homosexuals of all ages, it shall be my goal in life to make people regret letting me in here.

Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️

Leah Jordan

---

Location: The Kingston-Gray House
Gear:
Skills:

---

---

Works every time.

Ben seemed to be fooled by Leah’s act. That was no surprise, it was a strategy she employed often. When things got rough, it was S.O.P. for Leah to just deal with it. Put on a stone cold exterior that gave zero fucks and walk forward. It helped that she had spent her whole life working towards fighting bad guys. More people were coming down, and Percy apparently wanted caffeine too. So she pulled out the rest and stepped away from the cabinets and Ben at last. He wanted to play Uno, for some reason.

Card games. Another thing she wasn’t terribly familiar with.

She took a long and slow drink from the magical glass Max left behind, that currently tasted like salted caramel, as an excuse to not answer him right away. Vision wouldn’t have left them all here with these gay wizards (of which there was only one, unbeknownst to Leah) right before the contest if they weren’t trustworthy. But then again, Leah’s standards for being trustworthy were absurd compared to the average person’s. She couldn’t help but wonder how Uno would actually go. Maybe they’d lose their patience when she admitted to not knowing how to play it.

Was that what other people did while they were kids? Just play games at other peoples’ houses?

Weird.

What if I just walked out the front door, when no one was looking?

”If you want, sure,” She finally told him. It was’t her house, she wasn’t about to stop someone from doing whatever it was they usually did. But Leah didn’t really play games like Uno. She had some game system that she brought on the trip over here, but that thing had dust on it by the time she remembered it existed. The only time she usually had to do that sort of thing was time she spent with Sabine or time she spent asleep.

Someone would probably say something about how bad she was at it, or how she didn’t know what she was doing. Another little thing that wouldn’t matter but would get to her badly, most likely. The alternative would probably result in Vision coming down to smite her for scampering off back to the hotel without anyone to accompany her.

She’d just deal with it.

”Don’t know what a No Mercy thing is… April, I told them what you’d want. I found the shark things you like.” She sounded a little bit like she was going a bit on autopilot. That talk with a dead person seemed faster than Leah had imagined it would go. Did it even happen at all?

Camp Athens - Closed

Azariah Willow Child of Hecate * Camp Entrance

The bar seemed to be pretty lively. Which was good. After all, it wouldn't be right to drink during New Year's Eve and be depressed about it. There were conversations going on that Azariah didn't pay too much attention to, mainly because a few people already answered his question about the bar having something good. Tequila, vodka... Shots. Of course they had shots, who opened up a bar without them? He caught that look the woman gave him, he knew it all too well. She was alright to look at, but Azariah was here to drink, not to eat.

He reached across the counter for the first bottle that his eyes landed on. Brand of Vodka with a label in Greek. Azariah helped himself to an empty glass and filled it among the sin of conversations around him. It was a lot to take in, so he’d take some time to adjust to all the clamor going on.

”It’s thrilling to see do many demigods enjoying themselves,” He mused. "How long have all of you been here?"

Marlen Ross Child of Apollo * Camp Entrance

"Jeez. What's with him?"

Watching River walk away, Marlen had to wonder what they said to bug him. Was it the music? He seemed like he wasn't a big social butterfly. That was fine, Marlen wasn't either, but they still came out and gave it a shot. Oh well, it wasn't a big deal. They'd have plenty of time to talk the guy's ear off if they were both going to be staying for awhile. Marlen leaned back and began strumming the ukulele a little louder, musing over what he said.

"You never thought that if Apollo had a kid, the other Gods probably existed and had offspring too?"

"Hmm." They glanced at Ocean, who hadn't left. "He's got a point. But I figured a god would maybe have two or three kids. And there's only so many you can be related to at once, right? There's... What, eight of them? Nine?" They asked. "Didn't think there would be enough of to fill a whole camp. I mean... It's not like Apollo ever told me I had sisters, brothers and others out there. Never told me nothing I didn't need to hear. You and him ever meet one of us that wasn't one of you two?"

Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️

Leah Jordan

---

Location: The Kingston-Gray House
Gear:
Skills:

---

---

One thing after another in the damn house was making Leah like the idea of being here less and less. They seemed nice, which wasn't actually helping as much as one might thinking. That made her feel uncomfortable because they didn't know who she was. Leah was willing to believe they were just nice people, but they were acting that way towards a stranger. They didn't know her, but they seemed content to open up and treat her like they were long-time friends. That felt wrong, sickening, on a level she wasn't in a good headspace to articulate. It felt like they were hiding something suspicious.

What hadn't occurred to her, and was yet to click in her head, was that people were just like this sometimes.

When people shouted and started coming back downstairs, and when Max went back upstairs, Leah could not help but stare at the strange glass he'd left. Every possible milkshake in one glass? She'd never had one. She slowly reached for it, holding it and wondering what kind of weird magic it took to pull this off. For a moment, the bubbling anxiety was staved off by curiosity...

Her eyes widened. Each individual sip was something completely different, sure enough. Dark chocolate, vanilla (Sorry, Ben), pecan... That one was awful, actually. One stood out though. It was like biting into a really, really sweet and sugary fruit. It was strong, too.

Strawberry cheesecake.

She didn't hate it. It was nice.

And then the anxiety came right back when Ben had said something to her. How things would be fine, how Leah could talk to him about... Something? She didn't know, but her brain was jumping to conclusions. If Sabine's powers were going off, she'd be able to fix that herself- She wasn't nearly as volatile as everyone thought she was and Leah knew that well enough to trust her- But what if that wasn't what he was talking about?

Leah stood up straighter, becoming painfully aware of what expression her face did or didn't have. If it was obvious enough that a total stranger could read her that way, she seriously needed to get her shit together.

"I'm fine," She lied. "Sabine knows what she's doing. Whatever it is."

Right?

Then Leah turned around slowly before anyone could call her out on pretending to not be extremely anxious. She methodically started grabbing things as previous instructed, and sat things down. She glanced at Percy and Andy, who were slightly familiar and more familiar. She didn't know how to talk to these wizards, but at least Andy was easy to get along with. The little axe-murder twink though? She wasn't really sure about that. But at least he wouldn't pretend he didn't like her if she bugged him... Maybe.

"Hey. I told them you'd want something with caffeine in it, Andy. Don't know what you wanted, Percy."

✨ Under Black Stars ✨

”Of course.”

The moment Annika took her eyes off him, he was no longer there. He blurred and faded into things, like an optical illusion of two images becoming more alike the other. Jack’s ability to navigate the realms was strange in the sense that sometimes he opened portals, and sometimes he was

The housecat wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as she was, though. Nochalla bounded around Annika’s feet, staying close to the girl and flickered her eyes to everything around where she walked. The things she could see weren’t limited to what Annika could see, and she saw things that alarmed her. Nochalla smelled something that couldn’t be smelled by a human noise. The air had shifted nanoscopic fractions in ways that only Jack was familiar with.

“Mmmrw,” the cat said. Her ears cocked backwards.

Somewhere within the bounds of the Hawthorne House, there was a force that wasn’t or ally seen. The house didn’t feel like it was just the two of them, and something else had enough presence that it made the walls feel… Smaller. Different.

It was not the same space-warping presence of their magic.

Young Justice

Warm sand. Windy air. The ocean. It was a good day.

Cora decided that she felt like looking cute as shit, so she grabbed the closest thing to beach appropriate clothes she had brought with her after leaving home. Everyone was having fun, and the sun felt so damn great on her skin. It was much better than living up by the cold oceans in Happy Harbor where the sun set so much sooner. This was the kind of weather Cora had grown up in, it felt nice to be on a beach again. There were other people here, so Cora had brought a pair of sunglasses to hide her glowing eyes. And thanks to the high-tech bracelet hanging off her wrist, she blended right in with the average person. No crackling interference, no exploding phones. Just normalcy.

She laid back in the sun, resting on a towel with a sunhat halfway covering her face. Things had been rough lately, for a few reasons. People were fighting, no one really knew what the deal with the other guy in Metamorph's head was until now... Cora damn near got herself killed. But in the end, they had all made it out okay. Everyone had, more or less, reconciled in one way or another.

And now that she had the time to think, it occurred to Cora that she needed this. It had been rough, going from her old life to frying a hospital room, and now being a superhero. If that had been explained to her a year ago, she'd laugh it off. Nah, I'm on my way the NASA, she'd say. But in the time since, she'd thrown herself into scientific things she could barely touch back home. A gun that shot lightning bolts, working with Static- It had her so busy that it became too normal. There wasn't enough time to just be Cora.

Her friends were okay. She was okay.

Oh, and the occasional hot girl walking up and down the sand was a plus.

Cora heard Vincent shouting about food, and then she smelled it. Her first instinct was to float upwards, then she remembered they were around people. She stood up and walked over, taking in everything. She grabbed a kebab that was set aside, and chomped into it.

"Ohhh man, that's great," She said, between the first bite and another. "I didn't know you could grill watermelon. How's that work out?"

The Season of the Enlightened

Location: The Haven

---

Creeeeeak.

A door closed behind Morris, plunging a hallway into darkness. He could faintly hear the footsteps above ground, and locked his side of the door. His construct waited patiently for him to continue giving instructions.

”...And this one is to be delivered to Winnifred. Next, this one to Helena,” Morris instructed, handing letters down to a servant. He was a knee-high Unliving creature, with the bones of birds for his center mass and the bones of an ox for extremities. It was a somewhat humanoid design, hunched over with wing bones for a chest and a slightly, disproportionately small bird’s skull for a head. Joints were made from metal hinges, with bits of oil to keep things quiet to a certain extent.

”Afterwards…” As the two walked and shuffled down the hallways of the underground structure, Morris reached into his coat and withdrew a compass for drawing. He handed it to the Unliving. ”This goes to Ysolde. She’ll borrow it and return it to you. When she does, return it to my room. Then rest.”

Tagen the Third gathered up the letters and the compass, sliding them between his ribs into a compartment specially made for this exactly purpose. He was a courier of a sort, constructed to run errands and retrieve things sent to Morris. It was a good investment considering the cost to make him. The first Tagen was lost with the Saint Judith, the second was incinerates by one of the girls a month later. This one was made of stronger stuff… Ox bones, instead of deer bones

Morris had given him a list of names and letters addressed to them. Some from family members who didn’t have the privilege of entering this place, some more clerical to be given to newcomers so they could have basic information about food, who taught what, not to mind the macabre goblin he called a servant, and so on.

”Go.”

Tagen’s bones creaked and clacked as he hobbled with more speed, about as much as someone jogging. Morris let the little creature do his thing, and then turned down a hallway. He had a few things to drop off to people, some things to discuss and other things to ask about. He walked down some steps, and into the wider, common areas of the underground. He went about his day, doing what needed to be done and bringing people something from above ground after his mail run.

Location: St. Eustace's School

---

"Now, let me be sure that I understand this..."

Two young boys stood in front of him, a blonde one named Johnathan and a dark haired one name Wallace. Johnathan was covered in fresh bruises, and yet Wallace was barely even scratched.

"You two were sparring, teaching each other methods of self defense, using your abilities. One of you decided it was safer to avoid that, and yet you both persisted." Silas craned his scaly head to Wallace, fixing a look on him that showed nothing. The boy looked away. They had been throwing fists back and forth, and Johnathan's telekinetic gift wasn't very conducive to that. Unlike Wallace's gift for exaggerating damage.

"Why?"

"He- I tired to tell him, sir!" Johnathan squeaked. "He insisted, he-"

Silas raised a hand to stop him, keeping his eyes on Wallace. "I know he insisted, young man. I want him to explain to me, in certain terms, why he did so. Wallace, you have attended this school for two years, now. You should know that not everyone is as capable with their gifts as each other."

"And?" The boy retorted. He had an attitude that Silas really didn't like. "What is the purpose of learning the skills to use these abilities we have, if cannot use them?"

"Are you suggesting you have a right to brutalize a student who wanted to end the training?" Silas asked him, rhetorically. "You are better equipped for defending yourself than him, but you do not learn such a thing in one day. I am disappointed in you."

Johnathan looked ready to fall over. The boys had been fighting, as students tended to do, in a training area for those who wanted to learn self defense. Johnathan insisted he needed to stop, and Wallace had kept going.

"Sir, with all due respect, Johnathan has been repeatedly asking to cut it short, every time," Wallace said. "He needs to learn if he's going to keep wasting time with-"

"It is not for you to say whether time is wasted, Wallace. Everyone begins somewhere."

"And yet, he hasn't begun. He expects a fair fight, when we're all Enlightened."

"You barely touched me, and now my leg is numb!" Johnathan remarked, just a little indignant.

"That's the way of things. You can't expect a school full of your own kind to fight fair.

Silas rubbed his eyes. "How has it come to be that you-"

"I've only attended for six months!"

"You could have learned so much by then! When I was in my first year, I had already learned to wield a sword with competence. What have you-"

"Oh, God have mercy, Wallace. Not everyone is fortunate enough to come from noble parents such as yours."

"Boys."

"I'll have you know, Johnathan, that I learned that skill here. You could stand to step outside your comfort zone, you know. Fairness is a myth, do you think-"

"Enough."

That shut them both up. Wallace stood up straighter, and locked eyes with Silas. Johnathan, on the other hand, just looked down at the floor. Silas was short on patience with this boy, who came from the Gentry and thought himself above other students. He'd been here long enough that he should have known better. But it seemed he'd have to sort this young man out the hard way.

"Johnathan, you may leave. If your teachers ask about you, tell them I said you are to be given time away from your studies until your wounds have healed."

"Yes, sir." He quickly limped away. Leaving only Wallace. There was a long pause where the two stared at each other, as Silas thought long and hard about how he'd set the boy straight.

"Fairness is a myth..." He echoed. "Do you believe that? Truly?"

"Well, I-... Yes, sir. Were it not, there would be more of us in the world."

"I suppose so. Then, boy, let me show you how correct you are." Silas took a step back and curled his fingers into a fist. Wallace saw the punch coming from a mile away and ducked it. He ducked the incoming elbow as well.

Silas stepped towards him, swinging fist after first knowing damn well that Wallace was quicker. He kept swinging and swinging, deliberately giving him space to duck and dodge, but not space to escape. It resulted in Wallace being back into a brick wall. A look of abject terror was written on his face, betraying that smug sureness he had seconds ago.

"Defend yourself!" He rasped.

Wallace shot his hand out, put a fist against Silas' chest. He felt the boy's Enlightenment kick in, an ability to exaggerate pain and damage tenfold. But Wallace was a lightweight, he leaned on it too much. He was all speed and dexterity, no force. The amplified punch barely stung against his own Enlightenment that gave him skin sturdier than oak.

Wallace looked like he'd seen a ghost when Silas didn't flinch.

"I could flay your flesh from your bone," He began. "I could brandish you as if you were no heavier than a sword, and toss you over the trees. You'd land in grass or in water, and you'd be unable to hurt me enough to prevent that situation."

"I-"

"I choose not to. Because in this school, we are fair. Now, you will apologize to Johnathan at the earliest opportunity. And once you do, your sparring matches for the remainder of this week will be with me."

"Of course- Yes sir- I understand."

"Good. Now go."

As the boy ran off to nurse his injured pride, Silas cracked his neck, and began strolling back inside the school where other students were milling about. Some waved at him, some followed him for moments to engage in idle chat. It was just another day here, at the school he represented. Lately, there hadn't been many new students Lord Poe himself didn't go out to speak with, so Silas had spent more time among the students. Some were more inclined towards combat and weaponizing their less benign Enlightenments, and the dignified dragon loved a good scrap.

Always available, should anyone need.