Crimson Raven

Pandemonium

Good


Can't say no to Yona


Fits her like of small animals


These have been the best so far

This is what I have so far:

Pandemonium

Amara Themis Solidor

Guild Membership Card

"A wise man once told me thus: 'Revenge is never a straight line. It is a forest, and like a forest, it's easy to lose your way, to get lost, to forget where you came in.' ...but what does he know?”

Personality

<sub>Amara is a odd girl. She seems reserved and quiet. She doesn't speak often and when she does, she speaks softly. But don't mistake this for shyness or lack of self-confidence. She is a strong willed, confident, and stubborn girl. She has guts. And spunk. She is a girl of iron, grit, and rawhide. Once resolved, anything in her way is merely an obstacle to be overcome.

Yet, this isn't immediately obvious. She is polite and kind to most people, even strangers. She carries herself with confidence and more bearing then one would expect from someone so young, and despite her youth she behaves mature beyond her years. She is slow to anger, endlessly patient, and carries an absolute calm even in the most stressful situations. She is a rational and level-headed person.

But, she has a dark side. A side that lacks mercy, compassion, or forgiveness. She holds grudges like a merchant holds debts, and she will never let the unfortunate target know. Instead, she will smile and be nice to them for weeks on end—-only to get her revenge long after they have completely forgotten the insult. Amara is the last person you would want to piss off.

An then there is her rage. She burns with rage against the Librarium for what they did. A rage so hot, so, powerful, so bitter, it turned ice cold. If she could, she would single-handedly tear down the entire Librarium and slaughter anyone who gets in her way. And to her, this is logical. Like two and two make four, the Libraium. Must. Fall.</sub>

| Nａｍｅ: |

Solidor Themis Amara

| Alias|Nickames|Titles: |

N/A

| G e n d er: |

Female

| R a n k: |

C

| Ａｇｅ: |

16

| Guild : |

Cloud Chasers

| History: |

A Brief History Lesson

Centuries before the Lbrarium rose to power, a small splinter of mages split off from those that came from Fiore. They were mages who practiced an ancient, deep, and powerful magic: Summoners. They had come to find a place where they could practice and refine their magic in peace, unbeholden to king or country. Like the others, they made peace with the natives and learned to survive from them. They established a small village, which was creatively referred to as the Summoner’s Hamlet. Despite being in the depths of the jungle, it was a safe place to live due to being under the protection of the Summoner’s mighty eidolons.

Through the chaos that later plagued Pandora for centuries, the little haven was untouched by war. In fact, refugees and other sorts came from all over, seeking asylum. The Summoner’s Hamlet out grew it’s name, from a humble village to a small but beautiful city. It was eventually renamed to reflect the first thing many people called it when they first saw it: Arcadia. Paradise.

Part of the reason it was not visited by war was because of the stubbornly pacifistic nature of its many leaders. In their minds, protecting Arcadia’s people and magic was above all, in that order. The other part was the power the Summoner’s commanded. Whenever a new power came, they would establish a treaty with the conqueror, or simply surrender with only a few terms.

However when the Librarium came to power, they fought to preserve their freedom to practice magic.
Fought and lost. And their name was wiped from history, leaving behind nothing but ruins, a legend, and a book. That book was in the hands of one of few that escaped the fate the befell the city. It was then hidden and the secret of it’s location passed from parent to child for a century…

Amara Themis Solidor was born from a tryst between a nobleman and beautiful, but poor woman. While considered an illegitimate child, her parents were in love, her father brought her mother in and made her his wife officially. Her father was a very high-ranking officer in the Librarium, as had been his father and his grandfather back many generations, thus their noble title. He childhood was, for a time happy. She had an older half brother and a little full brother.

But it didn't last.

She was eight when things began to go wrong. Her father was suddenly arrested and charged with treason. Rebellion, they said. Her older brother disappeared as well. She was forced to watch her father hang in a public execution. She will never forget the face of the one who could have spared him, but instead condemned him to death.

After he passed, their wealth was slowly taken away from them. They were pressured, politically and personally. For what reason, she did not know or even understand.

In their decline, they were refused even the simplest of help. A sickness took her younger brother, and without the right medicine, he died. Slowly and painfully.

Not long after he died, they came for her mother. She, now a girl of fourteen and her mother were arrested and declared traitors. Official story went that the mother fought back with forbidden magic and she and her child were killed rather than captured. The truth was, her mother struck a deal, then their 'death' and disturbance it cause was faked. Amara was quietly taken, and then tossed into a dark cell. Beyond that, however, they did nothing to her. She was brought three meals a day of decent quality, and the cell had a second room that contained a working bathroom, she was also delivered water and things to bathe once a day, along with a change of clothing. The main room was small but it was clean and it had a bed with blankets and a pillow. Not exactly luxury but it could have been far worse. The worse part was boredom and anxiety. She had nothing to do, except wait.

An unknown amount of time passed before they came for her. They seized her firmly and marched her through endless hallways then pushed her into a different room. Her mother was there. She was beaten, thin, haggard and most of her hair was grey, but it was still her mother. They tearfully embraced. But their reunion was cut short.

An ominous masked figure demanded to know where The Book was. Her mother came back with a reminder that part of the deal of her coming peacefully was that Amara was unharmed. The figure laughed and pointed out that, as she could see, her child was unharmed. And if she wanted her to stay that way, she would reveal to location of The Book. All this mostly went over Amara's head, but she was frightened of the man in the mask. Cruelty and sadism oozed from his every word, every gesture. Her mom called him a monster, to which he merely laughed and gave her two minutes to decide. Amara's mother looked at her, her eyes filled with such tender love for her child and a deep, resolute sadness. Amara would always remember that look. It was clearly hard, but in the end, her mother chose her child over some forgotten legacy. She used magic to pull the book from where it was hidden in Amara’s body. The deal she had struck stipulated that Amara was not to be harmed and was to be cared for. Which, technically, the masked man pointed out with obvious cruelty, she had been. Her hope was to hide the book with Amara and then kill herself, foiling the Libraium’s search for the book.

But, it had all gone wrong.

Now that they had no further use for the mother and daughter, they cast some magic on them. Not knowing what it was, Amara’s mother pushed her out of the way and out of the radius of the spell. When it vanished, she seemed unharmed, so Amara approached, calling out for her.

“W-who are you?” Amara’s mother asked.

Amara, frightened, her world crumbling around her and her mind breaking, called out again and crawled closer. They repeated the exchange. And then again. But suddenly, something broke in her mother’s mind. With sudden, feral ferocity, she leapt on Amara and tried to strangle her, screaming “Not my daughter!” Over and over. Her screams attracted the attention of the masked figures, who had been intent on the book. Even they were shocked at what they saw. One of them, out of kindness, or cruelty, drew a sword and rammed it into Amara’s mother, covering her with her blood.

“Not my daughter…but her ghost.” Were her last words, whispered in Amara’s ear.

That was the final blow that shattered the mind of the young girl.

She screamed. And Her magic awoke. She sent out a summon, seeking something to fill the sudden void in her. And someone did. Her screams stopped.

She stood calmly. "I am the First Summoner, Solomon." She proclaimed, the words falling like hammer blows. The being speaking through her with her mouth. "You who have hurt my daughter," He glared death at the masked figures. "Pick your god and pray that he lets you in."

The First Summoner proceeded to summon a trio: a dark-haired, golden-eyed man with a metal arm, a dark-haired girl with grey eyes and a masked pushed to one side, and a tall, inhumanly beautiful woman with a similar set of features to the girl. The man seemed to object to being summoned, but The First Summoner talked him down and pointed out he had better things to do, like chasing the fleeing masked men. He unwillingly did so, along with the woman. The girl, he commanded to stay with him.

Now that he had a moment, the Summoner wondered how this girl had managed to summon him. Then he saw the book on the table and it became clear. She had, on pure instinct, accomplished the impossible. She had used both her own blood and the book as catalysts and somehow summoned him.

He tucked the book away and walked over to the woman with sadness in his eyes. “Such a brave daughter. It wasn’t your fault. Rest now.” He reached down and close her eyes. When he stood up, he staggered. The girl didn’t have enough power to sustain her conjuring for long. He had to get her to safety. He realized calmly.

With unexpected help from one of the masked Librarians, The First Summoner managed to escape with Amara. A contact the traitor Librarian knew was able to get them on board the Cloud Chaser’s ship and the next thing Amara knew is that she was waking up in a bed on the ship. With the last remnants of his borrowed power, The First Summoner explained to her what had transpired, what she was, and gave her advice on what to do. He also transferred two summons contracts to her in hopes they were protect her in his stead. With that, his sprit vanished

Now, two years have passed…

In that time, Amara seemed to undergo a miraculous, incredible recovery. Almost too incredible to believe…

---

| Magic: |
Summoning

Summoning is a very broad term for a type of magic that contains many disciplines. The magic of Summoning has long been studied by the Solidor clan, passed down through generations which each spending their lives to study the art. Despite this, much is still not understood about the mystical art of Summoning.

More information

Summoning is simply put, the ability to call upon and dismiss something at will. These can be living or non-living objects, however for reasons not understood, it is much easier to call living things then non-living things. Non-living things summoned are usually the result of a failed or flawed summoning, but not always. Requip magic is a subtype of summoning, using the same principals to move inanimate objects in an out of storage. Summons are mainly accomplished by a combination of chanting, gestures, force of will, and of course, magical power. More advanced summons might need a catalyst, which helps guide the summon to a target, a sacrifice or payment, which play a number of different roles, or a focus, that helps prevent interference and protects the summoner. All or some of these can be combined into a ritual or done on the fly. The difference being the necessary focus and power of the summoner, with the amount of risk they are willing to take. Rule number one: "Do not call up that which you cannot put down."

One of the most important safety measures taken by any summoner are contracts. Contracts are an agreement by two or more parties to abide by certain conditions, contracts between summoner and summonee are very common to the point that there is a standardized and detailed basic contract that has been drafted by the Solidor family that covers most of the basics and is integrated into their summon formula. Exact terms, however, are vary between summons. A contract can be made any number of ways some examples are through the summons's formula, which the summonee can (sometimes) accept or ignore, or, more traditionally, through written word and signed with blood.

There are six classified branches of Summoning: Physical, Imaginary, Mythos, Soul, Object, and Conjuring. There is one more that is little more than a rumour: Celestial. The classifications are, for the most part, an artificial creation, and as such, some overlap might exist. There are always exceptions.

Physical Summons

Physical summons are people, plants, objects, or animals that exist within the same dimension as the summoner. These summons are less taxing and have a low chance of a spell gone astray, and a relatively low risk of conjuring up something beyond the summoner's ability to handle. However, the summoner must have a magical affinity with whatever they are summoning. This severely limits any summoner and is a difficult limitation to get around. Contracts can help, though and they can be made with anything that has some form of intelligence. However, these contracts are far less binding than any other form. Humans, theoretically be summoned this way, but no one has found a way to do it safely.

Imaginary Summons

Imaginary summons are a curious case, and probably the least well known. Summons that fall under this category are beings and objects that don't exist in reality, but inside the imaginations of humans. Scholars theorize that they come from a dreamscape, plane composed of human dreams which contains many things that simply defy explanation. Anything that has been dreamt up, but does not actually exist, is (theoretically) there. The more prevalent the dream, the stronger the manifestation. A summoner reaches into this plan and gives form and substance to the dream and calls it into the real world. This includes personifications of ideals and emotions. Most summoners dip into this realm to call up familiars and then bond with them. These familiars start as insubstantial wisps and gradually take shape, power, and personality based on their bond. More experiences summoners can call up beings of their own designed, made right out of dreams. These are of medium power, but easy to maintain and unlikely to turn on summoners. Their power directly correlates to the power of the summoner, meaning that they are unable to create anything more powerful than themselves.

However, dipping into the realm of dreams is dangerous for the sanity of the summoner, for there, there are found reflections of their innermost dreams, good and bad. The eldritch horrors that stalk the plane are merely an afterthought. It is said that if one can master the realm of dreams, they will master themselves and gain god-like power. Pity the fools who believe this and have tried, for the Dreamers do not like their sleep disturbed...

Mythos

Generally the most powerful of all forms of summoning, but also the most dangerous and difficult. Mythos summons include monsters, djinns, horrors, powerful creatures of myth and legend, demons, angels, gods, and things that do not have a name, abominations that would destroy all of reality simply because they can. Summoning Mythos is truly dangerous in the extreme. No novice is ever allowed even the knowledge of the existence of this branch of summoning. Summoning mythos is unlike other forms of summoning. These are beings of unimaginable power and have been around for millennia, which they have spent getting the better of mortals. The only way to safety deal with mythos summons are vast and detailed contracts, along with every advantage the summoner can get a hand on. Most of them will offer deals for, knowledge, power, wealth, ect in exchange for something equally precious. Successfully summoning one is rare, and surviving the experience is even rarer. Wise summoners stay far away from attempting to summon Mythos.

Souls

Soul summoning is the most reliable form of summoning. Similar to necromancy in many ways, it calls up the souls of the dead to serve the summoner. But that is where the similarities end. Soul summoneing calls up powerful beings, called Einherjar, who accomplished great things in life. Einherjar are not precisely undead, but rather the recording of the souls of beings who were great in life. These things do not have to be human, only dead or destroyed. All attempts to create one intentionally has failed; the exact details of the creation of an Einherjar is unknown. Einherjar usually need a catalyst, something with a strong connection to them, for the initial summons and the creating of a pact. The conditions are up to the Einherjar, it could be steep or it could be nothing. It is possible for a sufficiently powerful summoner to disregard a pact and completely overpower an Einherjar, in combat or otherwise, rending them little more than unwilling puppets. The opposite holds true, though if the Einherjar wins, then can choose to dismiss themselves or stick around. But, they will eventually vanish if they don't have a supply of magic. Once a contract is made, Einherjar can be passed from person to person or bound to places or objects. Einherjar's power and skill varies greatly, but all of them excelled at something, making even one a powerful ally and a dangerous enemy. They can fight to the death, and even if they are killed, they can be re-summoned after some time has passed.

Object Summons

Though difficult and of limited use, Object summons are possible. The most widespread form of this is requip magic, which stores objects in pocket dimensions. Other forms of this include using inscribed runes to summon objects, or summoning random objects from a distance, usually as the result of a failed summon. The magic requirement increases exponentially with size and mass. Also, enchanted objects are much harder to transport because the enchantments interfere with the summoning spell. However, there is a discipline of Object summoning that focuses not on summoning objects, but on drawing out the spirit of an object.

Conjuring

Conjuring is an advanced form of Summoning that allows the caster to call upon their summon internally. A through conjuring, a mage can access the powers, skills, physical abilities, and even memories of the target. Take-Over magic is one form of this. Conjurers can also cast spells by channeling the power of the summons and using it as their own. The inherent risks are fairly obvious, conjurers run the risk of being possessed or influenced by their summons or killing themselves by channeling more power then they can control, but at the same time, it could be considered safer then summoning, due to the mage having conscious control over their power. People have long believed that by using this, they could channel the power of gods, but none have ever attained this level of power.

As a side note, physical appearance changes are common among conjurers. Things like hair color and eye color changes, both temporary and permanent are among the many side effects of hosting beings in their bodies. Others like scales, fur, even extra limbs, and personality changes happen. The ultimate change is a dramatic shift in their magic specialization. Things like drawing upon large amounts of power or hosting for a long time increases the chance of these changes happening and or becoming permanent.

Celestial

Considered an old wives tale, if not an outright myth. But, old books indicate the existence of celestial keys that can summon spirits of awesome power. Little else is known, no key has ever been seen, and no reliable evidence exists.

The way a summoner acquirers summons varies depending on what they are trying to obtain. In general, it is done in three ways, performing very specific steps in a ritual, with the details differing depending on what is being called up, using a catalyst, or defeating creatures in combat.

Amara has talent in both Soul summoning and Conjuring, but little to no experience in them. She has a great amount of potential magic stores and power, but she has been unable to harness them properly so far. As of now, she only can pull out two or three medium summons or one big one before she gets completely exhausted. She can summon a great number of little critters easily, though. As for contracted summons, she has three, a Chimera, a minor Mythos monster, and two Einherjar; an easy-going sylvan swordsman named Quaid, and a honorable but bloodthirsty demon-sword-wielding samurai named Mifune.

Contracted Summons

Chimera: A minor mythos monster with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a serpent's tail, it also breaths fire. Strong and surprisingly fast for it's size, and those wings are not for show. It is capable of flight. However, it isn't the brightest creature. Instead, it relays on its primal, savage instincts, tearing apart whatever is unfortunate enough to be in its way. Amara acquired this beast during her time with the Cloud Chasers after a misadventure that ended with her accidentally braining the creature with a kitchen sink out of a failed summon. That stunned it long enough so that, with help, she managed to capture and claim it

Sylvan Excalibur Quaid: An Einherjar. He started out as a simple sellsword who traveled from place to place, but his life changed when, with the dying words of his father, he was given a sacred position. He, along with even others held these positions, as guardians of their country. He was given a divine, sylvan sword and trained in magic and combat. Over time, his kindness and strong sense of justice made him a leader figure in the group.

In those days, demons threatened their country, so the twelve, each powerful in their own right, were sent on a mission to eradicate the threat. But after they left none of the twelve were ever heard from again. Curiously, neither were the demons.

Quaid has power over the wind, and he is a fine swordsman. He can be described as well balanced, a jack of all trades but master of none. While not the most powerful spirit, he makes up for what he lacks in power with cunning and a solid grasp of tactics.

Heavenless Bushi Mifune: Einherjar. A samurai warrior, who wields a cursed demoniac blade. His demonic blade is said to be the sharpest sword in existence. He can behead a man, and that man not know it until a gust of wind comes by to finish the job. But in return, it desired blood. It's will worked on Mifune's, stoking his will to fight. So, he traveled everywhere he could, fighting the strongest fighters he could find, also fighting in many wars along the way. With his incredible swordsmanship and powerful blade, it seemed like he would never be beaten. However, he met his match when he challenged a powerful dragon. During the epic struggled, he was dealt a fatal wound. But such was his skill that he returned the favor with a single mighty blow that split the dragon in two. He died soon after, blade in hand, satified. However, even in death, his demon-blade would not let him rest. It pulled him from the underworld and returned him to a sort of unlife to continue to do battle. Dying only sharpened his skills further, and his will and the will of his blade were entwined. At the very height of his power, it is said he slew a god with a single blow. Only time could dull his might. He continued to fight until his body and Blade crumbled to dust.

A very taxing summons, Amara dislikes him and will only call on him if she is in true danger. She obtained him from the mysterious stranger who saved her life.

Mifune is a master swordsman, wielding a powerful demonic blade. His lightning-fast movements combined with a supernaturally sharp sword makes him a dangerous foe that can end a fight in mere seconds. However, he is a relatively fragile spirit, a few solid hits will cause enough damage to kill or dispel him.

| Miscs : |

Amara's guildmark is white and located on her left shoulder.

Is left handed.

Secretly feeds the small animals and birds on board the airship, much to dismay of her crew mates.

Reads just about anything she can get her hands on.

Prized possessions:

- a large, old plain looking book

She is sensitive about her body. Calling her short or small or any comment about her size is a sure and quick way to piss her off.

Theme: This will be the day.

Cloud Chasers | First Book: Casting Stones Upon the Glass Sky |[ Invite Only ]|

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Ferrin Astra

Ship to Tenrou Island

Ferrin glanced over his shoulder. Just to be sure. He saw some concerned crewmembers coming over to see what the commotion was about. Ferrin waved them off, while remarking to Edarn, "I said girl not woman. Then again, that could be a compliment. I knew one girl would could and would kick your ass if you crossed her." His expression turned sad as he remembered some friends lost. The boy reached out to accept the proffered hand, but he was interrupted by a very loud and enthusiastic tackle-hug.

Ferrin raised an eyebrow.

Then something odd happened: man he was talking to changed. Their persona did a complete one-eighty into that of a hyperactive kid on sugar and coffee, then let loose with a rapid-fire 'explanation', while showing off some impressive transformation talents.

Ferrin blinked, nonplussed. He looked at his offered hand, still unshaken. He used it to scratch the back of his head. He still didn't know the kid's name.

He looked up just in time to get a faceful of a giant tongue.

Right in the burn.

He froze in shock, head tilted upward, eyes watering, his expression seemed to be stuck in a priceless mixture between surprise, pain, and disgust. His fingers twitched on their own. He hissed as he inhaled, bracing for the pain, which, strongly, didn't come. He closed his eyes and let the pent-up breath out slowly, with a calming motion of his hand.

"Gross." He stated, that one word carrying as much weight as several books. He opened his eyes again, glaring at the cheerful man.

He dismissed his sword and used the back of his gloved hand to wipe the slobber dripping from his face. It was not lost on him that the burn felt better.

Ferrin put two and two together and got four, took that four and made a rapid series of deductions.

His expression segued into one of extreme calm irritation. "Right. Now that that is settled. I have a question for you. All of you."

He looked from the serious to excitable boy and the passive-aggressive newcomer and back again.

"Exactly how many people am I talking to right now?"

@Silver Fox@Demon Shinobi

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Ferrin Astra

Ship to Tenrou Island

Ferrin's brow furrowed at the boy's monotone explanation. He lowered his sword and dismissed the lightning enchantment, judging the threat to be diminished. "I follow. You mistook me for someone else and lost control."

Edolas...Edolas...Where have I heard that name before? Ferrin thought, absentmindedly tapping the hilt of his sword against his leg.

Page 1345, Chapter 112 of Maddox the Mad's Treatise on Alternate Realities. Came the unexpected reply.

Carefully keeping his expression unchanged, Ferrin focused inward. Ah, I remember now. Fanciful dreams of flying cats and floating rivers between theories of grey aliens and penguin-men. The man was indeed mad.

Not as mad as you think.

Ferrin blinked. There was truth to his madness?

Some.

Ferrin was aware that the silence was growing.

Could this boy have met someone who looked like me?

Not just like. An alternate version.

So that means...

To Karn and Edarn, it just seemed like Ferrin had spaced out for a moment.

Ferrin refocused on Karn. Looking closer, the description 'boy' was inaccurate. He looked to be about twenty, only six or seven years younger than Ferrin himself. Strange, Ferrin felt older. Technically he was, but he didn't actually live all those years. This man also had somewhat feminine features, explaining the difficulty he had earlier placing their gender.

"A flimsy excuse, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Ferrin said with shrug. "It was only a punch, thrown in misunderstanding. I have had far worse." Renewed humour sparked in his eyes and he smirked. "Besides, you hit like a girl." After saying this, he held out his metal hand in a gesture of peace. "No hard feelings?" In truth, Ferrin wanted to hit him back--the man's earlier blow hurt like hell--, but Ferrin was far more interested in what Edarn had to say then in pursuing a petty grudge.

@Silver Fox

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Ferrin Astra

Okay.

Ow.

Pain blossomed on Ferrin's cheek. He watched the kid's reaction unfold as if in slow motion. He vividly saw the kid lock up upon seeing Ferrin. He saw the emotions flash across this kid's face:

Rage,

Pain,

Fear,

Hate.

He saw the blow coming, but the shock and surprise at the sudden and violent reaction left him unable to avoid it. It exploded on his face with tremendous force, snapping his head to one side. He tasted blood and he could smell burnt flesh and hair. Burning pain clawed at his face briefly, followed by a tingling numbness. His combat reflexes kicked in. He flinched away from the blow and rolled with the punch. He also staggered backwards as his metal right arm swept up in a defensive position to ward off a follow up blow. Even through the pain, he kept an eye on his assailant, ready to react if necessary. His other hand reached out. Ten heartbeats later, the familiar weight of Shiden fell into his grasp. Electricity crackled along the blade and the air filled with the smell of ozone. He pointed his blade at Karn, and barely kept himself from releasing a deadly bolt of lightning. Meanwhile, his mind scrambled to analyze the type of magic he has just been hit with. Slayer magic.

Images of a blood-soaked figure laughing on a blood-drenched field flashed through his mind. On his chest, a scar from a long-healed wound throbbed.

He gingerly touched his face and winced and the renewed pain broke his mental suppression. Burns. He thought. Some kind of fire element. Solar energy? Followed by I have just been punched. Ow.

Ferrin kept the kid at blade's length as he tried to figure out how he was going to handle this. As the shock wore off, anger flared in it's place. What in the hell was that for?! A bad joke?! But then, he remembered. He remembered the look in this kid's eyes and the emotions write large on his face. They were gone now but the memory was there, vivid and bright. He knew that look, that expression.

He had seen it in the mirror. Something else was going on.

Ferrin seized his anger and strangled it. Flying off the handle wasn't going to help right now. He cupped his injury with his metal hand, while keeping an eye on Karn down the length of his blade. "Good morning." He grunted. "That is one way to wake a guy up. Are you always so heavy handed?" A wisecrack, that was a good sign. It meant he wasn't going to kill anybody. Probably.

His expression grew grim. "I have no idea what you are talking about. You, however, have ten seconds to explain yourself before I lose my patience. Ten." His sword was pointed menacingly at Karn while lightning crackled down it's length.

@Silver Fox

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Ferrin Astra

Once everyone was on board, they were quickly away with little fanfare. Ferrin first went below to stake out a cabin for himself. He chose a small one, and after checking the inside, he shut the door and locked it with a spell. Then he pulled out a light pen and wrote in silver letters: M.F.A., although he hesitated to include the 'M'. He then proceeded to cast a weak ward that would deliver a small shock to whoever grabbed the handle. Nothing more than a strong static shock, but it had multiple charges. He stood back and admired his handiwork. My room. He thought with a satisfied nod.

Room claimed, he walked back out on deck.

Outside, he breathed deep, enjoying the salty air and the gentle rocking of the ship beneath his feet. Motion sickness had never been an issue for him, at least at reasonable speeds. However, it seemed not everyone was lucky enough to have this trait. Ferrin noticed one such poor sap at the railings, looking a bit green in the gills. He (she?) was a guildmate, Ferrin had seen them around but never talked. Not one to miss out on a perfectly good opportunity, Ferrin sauntered up to the lad (lass?) and made a show of searching the water below. "Looking for your lunch? By the look of you, it is long gone by now." He quipped with a cheeky grin plastered across his face and humour dancing his his golden eyes.

@Silver Fox

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Ferrin Astra

Ferrin walked back to his apartment his mind whirling from his talk with Patrick.

No.

That's not right.

His mind was clear and a center of calm. Control. He was in control. He paid little attention to his surroundings and focused on breathing. Deep, steady breaths.

Like a match dropped in water, the storm of emotions vanished and Ferrin entered a familiar, deadly calm. He let out a breath in a muted, but frustrated sigh. So life it tough, what else is new? Boo-hoo. Get it together Ferrin.

His apartment wasn't a far walk from the guild and he arrived within minutes. He descended the stairs to his door, brought out the key, and then undid the lock-- along with the wards protecting it. Infused in his door was a layer of protective magic that made the flimsy-seeming wooden door as strong as steel. Also, any would-be intruder who managed to batter down the door, would be met with a powerful shock of lightning magic. Though not strong enough to be deadly to a reasonably healthy adult, it would be a nasty surprise and hurt like hell. It’s secondary purpose was to be bright and noisy, in theory thwarting any attempt at a stealthy entrance. However, as wards go, they weren't very powerful or through. It had one charge and was mostly designed to stop a physical intrusion from a single person, relaying on the intruder being careless or ignorant about the trap. It would do nothing if someone were to, say, light the building on fire, throw something expendable at it, or have other, nonphysical mean of entry. All in all, it wasn't an effective means of defense, but it was better than nothing. It was the wizardly equivalent of a chain lock and burglar alarm. On the other hand, it was stable. Most wards had a tradeoff between trigger sensitivity and stability-- Ferrin didn't want the thing blowing up in the face of some poor mailman or the next person who knocked on the door.

The door opened with a creek, Ferrin slipped inside, closing, locking, and arming it behind him. The room was dim and the air smelled slightly musty. The only illumination was from a small rectangular window set high in one wall. The young, dark-haired wizard reached out and touched a light lacrima, which flared to life at his touch. The apartment was small and austere. It had three rooms, a living room with a kitchenette, a bedroom and a bathroom. It was an old place, with stone walls, wood ceiling and wood floor. Set against the far wall was a fireplace and a ventilation system to take the smoke out. No rug adorned the floor and the walls were bare of decorations. What it did have was shelving. Simple, utilitarian, somewhat mismatched shelving which filled the wall space. Most of them were empty, awaiting whatever use Ferrin might have for them, but some of it was in use. Books had begun to fill one side. There were books of all kinds, story books, cook books, how-to, biography, classical literature, historical, and more, with a very large section on magic. On the other end, creeping across like moss growing on a stone, was rows of containers along with what could only be described as an eclectic collection of nick-knacks. Ferrin had a habit of keeping and collecting things he found interesting, or deemed possibly useful which invariably lead to a buildup of random objects in any place he spent a long-time in. Most of his collection came from jobs, either as trophies taken, curiosities found (and/or taken), rewards received, and the occasional "borrowed" object. Plenty of them had been or could be useful in the future, especially with ritual magic.

Back in his time, he had quite a collection, including some very powerful magical objects and rare materials. What he had now was a small shadow of that, an attempt to recreate what he lost. Or was it his way of starting over?

The rest was of the apartment was simple and spartan. A light armchair for sitting, a small couch for reclining, and a table made up the rest of the furniture in the living room. His bedroom contained one full-sized bed, one truck of clothing, and one folding table. The whole place was clean and orderly. The only thing out of place was a book that lay up-side down and open; Ferrin took great pains to keep his places neat and clean. A stranger might remark that the place gave off a temporary vibe, like its occupant was only here for a little while and could pack up and leave at any time.

The place was not ideal. It was small and cold and musty. But it was a roof over his head and a place to sleep. Most importantly, rent was dirt cheap.

Ferrin crossed the room in a few long strides. He lightly snapped his fingers, sending out a weak current of magic. With a quiet pop a fire flickered to life in the fireplace. Without breaking stride, he moved to the kitchenette and with thoughtless movements, fixed a small meal of leftovers. He brought the food out and sat in the chair.

He ate in silence, staring into the fire.

It was quiet.

The fire cracked and popped. He didn't taste the food.

He took the dishes back and mechanically washed them off, leaving them submerged in water in the sink to soak. Now that he had eaten, he took off his boots and placed them by the door. He picked up the light lacrima as he passed it and brought it with him. Walking to the bathroom, he stopped by his bed and gave it a longing look. He had just gotten back from a long and dangerous job, and Ferrin wanted nothing more right now then to lay down and take a long nap. But he didn't have that luxury right now. He was going to go right back out on the trip to Tenrou Island, which would also be long and dangerous. With a sigh he shook the melancholy mood. He had a few things things he need to do before setting out once more. First, he needed to do some maintenance on his arm, then he needed to make sure all his other gear was in good shape, he needed to check his supplies and restock anything that was low, he also needed to brush up on information about the island and dragons, including the information stored in Sasha’s journal.

In a few hours.

Oh, and somewhere along the way, he needed a change of clothes. He sniffed. And a shower. And a shave.

“Do you know the difference between a living wizard and a dead one?” He asked the room. “Preparation. I could tear down mountains, raze cities, and rescue puppies if you just gave me time.”

First things first, he had to do some maintenance. slipped out of his Armament, his spell-reinforced coat, and tossed it on the bed. It landed a bit more solidly then it should have. Beneath it, usually mostly hidden by the sleeve, was his Gauntlet. From shoulder to tip, it was slightly longer then it’s opposite, and much wider. The body of his forearm and arm to the wrist was grey-black, covered by segmented pieces of metal. His shoulder joint was a light and shiny grey. It protruded out, forming a natural pauldron. His arm and forearm were a dark grey. Covering the elbow was a piece of metal not unlike the one protecting his shoulder. His hand was quite wide, the palm was double the size of his normal left hand, and the sharpened, hinged fingers, twice as long as anatomically usual, formed an intimidating-looking silver claw. The palm had the same grey-black color as the rest of the arm, while the fingers were a burnished silver. Set into the palm was a round opening that hid a gun barrel. It could be used to fire physical projectiles or blasts of focused magic, not unlike a vastly scaled-down version of the legendary Jupiter cannon. Deep inside Ferrin’s Gauntlet was a powerful focusing lacrima that served as its core and power source for the magic cannon.

Ferrin pulled out the foldable table and tucked it under his arm. He brought it to the main room where there it was lighter. There he set the table up in the middle of the room, pulled up the chair, and retrieved from various magic storage pockets a brace of tools and brushes, and carefully laid them out. With them he placed a cleaning solution, some refined oil, a very rare and expensive commodity, hot water (kept in a special heating container, powered by a small lacrima), and a bundle of rags. He took a moment to open the small window.
What he was about to do was extremely difficult by himself by, however he didn’t have much choice. To start with, he used a tool to carefully remove the clawed fingers of his metal hand. Underneath were far more practical digits that were less of an impediment when doing finer work that required dexterity. Now, the removal of the arm, a difficult process in itself. It was strongly connected to the anchor which, itself, was grafted into his shoulder bone. He laid his Gauntlet out and held his other hand over the shoulder. Closing his eyes, he focused his magic and began to chant. The chant itself was meaningless, just a series of Latin nonsense and sounds, mean to help him focus his thoughts and magic. The real work was in his head. Using his intimate knowledge of the Gauntlet’s design and applied amounts of metal and force magic, along with unsealing magic, he mentally loosened screws, detached hooks, pushed levers, separated joints, pressed weights, taking it apart piece by piece from the inside. No seam or screw could be found from the outside so it would not fail him in battle, nor could it be taken apart without being destroyed. There was another layer to it too, powerful and complex magic bindings that held everything in place. Those were considerably tricky to undo without outright dispelling the magic, but Ferrin had long hours of practice, in addition to knowing the magic inside and out, due to the fact that he help cast it.

The whole process took ten long minutes of concentration. He could have done it faster, but he was trading time for care. With an audible click, Ferrin grunted as he felt something give. He grasped the loosened joint with his other hand as he undid the last series of magical and physical locks, the toughest and strongest ones that gave it its considerable strength. He had the excruciatingly weird sensation of his arm loosening and sliding off. And finally it did. Ferrin gingerly placed his detached limb on the table. Groaning, he dropped into the chair and wiped sweat off his sucked in a deep breath and let it go ith a groan. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag. His throat felt like he had attepted to gargle sandpaper. He left the detached prosthetic where it lay to get a cup of water. He filled it and drank it down. He filled it again and brought it out with him.

“You see, class,” Ferrin rasped. “A task like this needs at least two hands to do properly. However, as I am a supremely awesome, card-carrying wizard, I have a trick up my sleeve.” Ferrin posed and spoke as if he was lecturing a class. He brought his left hand to his right shoulder and, once again, summoned his magic. “You see, where the body fails…Magic must venture.” He said softly. He then closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and composed his thought. This was a powerful working he was going to undertake, one he had been working on for years. The theory was sound, and the spell was merely an alternate of one he already knew, just…applied differently. Strange, ethereal silver mist, an interesting by product of his magic, began to rise from his body. The air around him shimmered like the air over a fire. When he exhaled a puff of Mist streamed out and evaporated, like breath on a cold day.

“Aether Construct Magic:” He intoned, his voice sounding strangely modulated.

“Titan’s Arm”

The magic poured out in a rush. The effect was immediate, starting from his shoulder, a silver outline took shape. Like a sketch being drawn in the air, the lines lengthened and changed. They twisted and turned in the air, connecting, growing. The air between the lines became opaque turning a glowing silver color. An arm, an elbow, a wrist, and a hand complete with fingers quickly formed…and clenched into a fist.

His right arm, where there was once was nothing, and before that, metal, there was now a softly luminescent, ghostly arm.

Ferrin held up his new, silver appendage and examined it with a critical eye.

It seems some congratulations are in order. The spell worked. A powerful voice echoed out from deep within Ferrin’s mind.

And It wasn’t his.

Ferrin nodded absently. “It will do for now. The magic formula isn’t perfect yet. Just sustaining this is taking too much magic energy and concentration.”

You have progressed well and quickly for a mortal. At this rate you may achieve adequacy in a few centuries.

Ferrin arched an eyebrow at his arm. “A complement? From you?”

Silence.

“Typical.” Ferrin grunted.

...

For the next half-hour, he used a combination of the disassembly magic and tools to take apart most of his arm. Everything seemed to be in working order. Progress was slow, as maintaining his magic arm and performing disassembly magic at the same time was taxing to the very limit of the aether wizard’s capabilities. Nevertheless, he soldiered on, pausing only to recast the spell when his concentration lapsed and the arm vanished. About halfway through the process, he abruptly let out an acidic curse and his magic arm vanished. In the core of his Gauntlet, now exposed was the vitally important focusing lacrima that powered it and controlled the lesser lacrimae embedded throughout the prosthetic arm. It was small, about the size of a large marble, and spherical in shape. Despite its size, it could manage enough magic energy to power a city. Such a thing was very rare and exorbitant expansive, due to the quality of the crystal required and the expertise needed to craft it.

And it had a crack in it.

It was a small one, fortunately. However, even a small crack would notably impair its performance. But the biggest problem was that the crack created a fault, and that fault could buckle under stress. Best case scenario, the lacrima would shatter, rendering his arm limp. That would be inconvenient, but manageable with a bit of golem magic that could animate it for everyday tasks. Worst case scenario, it could explode, releasing all the magic energy it contained in one massive boom. Either way, his combat power would be massively hindered.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit.” Ferrin cursed, repeatedly, following them with several more, much more vile, ones.
The focusing lacrima was the same one that had been first built into it, and it had been through a lot, including a full-scale war. Ferrin realized, feeling like an idiot. Of course it wore out. It could be replaced, but ordering a new one would take time and money and lots of both. Neither of which he had.

“I am just going to have to make do with it.” Ferrin said with a sigh, remaking the temporary arm. “I hope Tenrou is not going to be as exciting as I fear it will be.”
Fifteen minutes later, he finally leaned back with a groan, finished with the disassembly. Besides the core, nothing else was amiss. Now he had to clean out the mud, grime, grease, rust, ash, and blood.
Yes. Blood. His last job had been a messy one.
The cleaning process took fifteen more back-aching, eye straining, curse-filled minutes. Finally, he oiled the parts up and let it sit.

Finally done, Ferrin let his magic arm vanish and leaned back in the chair. He closed his eyes and stayed like that for a minute. His eyes were watering from the fumes let off by the cleaning solution. His hand was covered to the wrist in machine oil, on top of the travel grime he still bore.
With the creaking and popping of joints, Ferrin got up and staggered through the bedroom and into the bathroom. He tore off his ragged clothing, which was too far gone to save, and soon was under the water in the shower as hot as he could stand it. In total bliss.
He lingered there, letting the running hot water sooth his weary, aching body and refresh his mind.

A good while later, a cloud of steam billowed out with the wizard as Ferrin emerged from the shower dripping wet. One-handed, he dried himself off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He opened pulled out another outfit, similar to the one he had been wearing. He dressed his the lower half, but left his upper body bare for the moment; a shirt could get in the way of reattaching his Gauntlet.

“Break’s over, dæmonion. Time to earn your keep.” He said, issuing a mental summons.

And suddenly, it was there, a mental presence, more like a force, doing the mental equivalent of hovering behind him, peering over his shoulder.

You have become more creative with your names. It noted.

Ferrin snorted. “You like it? Dæmon is the Latin word for the Ancient Greek, daimōn, which could mean god, godlike, power, or fate.”

It rippled. I am no god.

“That is not the end of it. Daimōn is derived from an even older language, so old it does not have a proper name, the word meant ‘provider, divider or divider of fortunes or destinies’. In ancient times, some humes believed that dæmons were benign spirits, beings of the same nature as both mortals and deities. Sometimes, however they were liked as to evil spirits, like demons.” Ferrin continued, with cheerful blithe. “But it is generally agreed on that they were not the same as deities or gods.”

The being eyed him. And the ion?

Ferrin’s smile grew. “As in small, or servant. A portmanteau of minion that is technically a word. So, you are my little dæmon.”

Amusing. It rumbled, conveying the exact opposite. Get on with it. You want information.
Ferrin rolled his eyes and nodded. “You can see my intentions here. I need everything you know about dragons, and your take on the girl, Sasha’s, journal.”

Very well.

For the next roughly fifteen minutes, the two talked back and forth. It knew little more about dragons then what Ferrin knew, all it could say is that they were magical-physical beings of incredible power, not unlike itself, which was a magical-spiritual being. Humans being spiritual-physical beings and human wizards being magical-physical-spiritual beings.
They concluded with the mutual renewed interest in studying one of the creatures up close. But then…

About the hume who called himself Time Lord.

Ferrin stiffed. No.

Magus, It warned.

Shut up. Not another word.

…as you wish. And it withdrew.

“Tsk.” Ferrin tsked. His mood had immediately soured at the mention of Patrick. He buried the thoughts deep and began the painstaking process of reassembling and reattaching his Gauntlet. This required his whole attention, and helped him avoid dwelling on unwelcome thoughts.

Soon, his Gauntlet was reattached. He briefly went through a serious of movements that tested its range of motion. Everything was in order; he felt no hesitation. Perhaps the crack in the lacrima was merely superficial? He hoped so.

He finished dressing and pulled out more food. All that magic usage made him hungry again. He idly snacked as he laid out his coat and started to do an inventory check. He found he needed a few things but they could be easily bought at the market. Next, he requiped Shiden, his long, curved blade. He used more oil and a rag to thoroughly clean the blade and hilt, after unwrapping it. He checked the grip wrap, which was still in good condition, before rewinding it around the hilt. Finally, he ran a whetstone over the edge, grinding the magic sword to razor-keen sharpness. Next, he requiped his surprise weapon, a length of weighted chain about 142 cm long, made of a series of nine sections of rods, connected by loops, terminating in a sharp bullet-shaped piece. It was a chain whip, at once a beautiful and dangerous weapon. Ferrin had spent some time learning to use one, at first because it was cool, then in earnest as he found how dangerous a weapon it could be. He was by no means an expert, but he could rely on the surprise and unfamiliarity factors to finish a fight. His third and final weapon was a simple length of ashwood, a staff carved from a lightning-struck tree. A wizard’s staff. Eventually. He still hadn’t finished laying down the enchantments yet, so it was currently just a slightly magical stick.

All three weapons were in good repair. He dismissed them. He pulled on his coat, it’s familiar weight settled on his shoulders.

Everything was set. He extinguished the fire and left his apartment. His first stop was by his landlord’s place. At first, he seemed irritated at the disturbance, but when Ferrin explained he was paying this month’s rent and next month’s in advanced the irritation vanished. A brief walk through town brought him to Magnolia’s market, where he purchased the supplies he needed.
He had no intention of returning to the guildhall, instead he sent a message via a runner to Jamie, informing her that he was going to go ahead of them and catch the next train leaving to Hargeon, and meet them at the docks there.

---

Onward to Tenrou

Ferrin slept the whole ride there. He hit the seat and went out like a light. He hadn’t realized the extent of how tired he was until the caffeine gave out. At least the nap was restful.

From the train station, Ferrin headed straight to the port. Locating the ship that was hired by Phoenix Wing was a simple matter of asking a few questions and a glint of coin. Once he found the right ship, he spoke with the crew, informing them who he was and why he was there. That done, he found a spot on the railing where he could lay and watch for the arrival of the rest of the wizards. He drank in the salt air and hummed as he listened to the gull’s cries. Ferrin loved the sea. He sea was like magic. It was vast and deep and mysterious. It was beautiful and dangerous, awe-inspiring and grand. Poets have written songs and poet about it. Stories were told about it. And yet it was utilitarian. It provided food, transport, livelihood. It sustained life and it took life.

Ferrin closed his eyes and waited with a contented smile on his face.

---

It wasn’t long before everyone else arrived. As they approached the ship, Ferrin leapt off the rail, down to the docks with an easy grace. He addressed them all with a flamboyant bow and a matching smile, gesturing widely as he spoke. “Ladies, Gentlemen, Friends, Guildmates, Others…and Patrick. Goodday. I am Ferrin Astra, of a certain guild,” Here his grin stretched wider. After a significant pause, he brushed up he sleeve, revealing his Phoenix Wing tatoo. Of course, that was the obvious conclusion and only half the truth. “Right this way.” He said, indicating the gangplank that lead up to the ship. Still wearing his grin, and feeling rather pleased with himself, he followed them aboard.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

@Krayzikk@Plank Sinatra@Kaithas@HereComesTheSnow@FlitterFaux@Eklispe@Ryonara@SevenStormStyle@MULTI_MEDIA_MAN@Forsythe@Abillioncats@Lazo@Awesomoman64@Guess Who@harinezumikouken@Lucius Cypher@Ayazi@Crimmy@Silvan Haven@Crimson Raven@Caasicam@SuperCustodiam@Suku@Write@Ookawa@Tominas@Driving Park@Nevix@Norschtalen

sixth period woo

@NarayanK

Tip: After so many consecutive mentions, the site goes 'fuck it' and doesn't send the rest.

I didn't get one from this.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>

What is this outdoors you speak of? What was it like? Tell me more about this mythic land.

@Joshua Tamashii

Well... its uh

hot

sometimes

cold too

sometimes

kinda dull really, and the people there are rude

it can be pretty. like...HD graphics with surround sound pretty.

And uh

That's about it.

Oh wait, bookstores exist. I guess it's not so bad.