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Time: Present Day - 10:00 PM
Location: Lost Haven, Maine


On the far east side of Lost Haven, the docks had quieted down. After the earthquakes earlier that evening, a lot of areas had shifted and for a few ambitious scavengers they took the opportunity to pick through what might have been impossible to sift through before. A pair of hooded figures leisurely walked down the docks, chatting excitedly for the spoils of the evening. At first glance they were scruffy to look at, old clothes, faces hiding beneath hoods. Figures difficult to discern their gender. Their leisurely pace from their confidence, working under the assumption no others would be out at this time of night to take advantage of the earthquake that kept the more skittish inside. One walking specifically with what looked to be a staff.

Upon closer inspection one would find they dressed ready for dirty work, dark browns and greys. Layered, most skin surface covered in spite of the summer heat still persistent even with the sun being set for hours. Knowingly choosing steel toed boots for where they were heading.

Earthquakes seemed to be the tip of the insanity iceberg, as of late. Especially for locals of Lost Haven, stranger things have happened and are happening all the time. Life went on regardless, no excuse was good enough to keep the brave off the streets.

The pair arrived to their destination, clambering deftly past no trespassing signs and fences. The abandoned warehouse had been all but picked clean, piles of haphazard machinery were stacked against the walls inside. Impossible to move aside safely. While the grounds outside of it were overgrown with weeds, tall grass, and littered garbage blowing across the open space.

It took two pairs of hands to force open the sliding door on the south side of the building, it gave way after a fair amount of cursing.

Twin shoulder flashlights lit up the area shining over displaced engines, rotors, all manner of heavy machinery parts. The taller of the pair removed her hood revealing dirty blonde hair tied in braids. Charlene Croll pulled down her dark brown mask to speak to her partner, “Smell that? Disturbed mildew and dust. Mask up, you were right the quake shifted shit.

Yvonne Thompson removed her mask as well to reply, revealing dark brown hair twisted into a bun, a middle aged face lined with crows feet crinkling at the corners of her eyes with delight. “What’d I say, Charlie? We’re gonna have the pick of the crop tonight.” Clapping Charlie’s shoulder affectionately.

Charlene grinned toothily, “I got this area covered if you want to check out next door, yeah? I’ll radio you if I find something good.” She suggested gesturing with her wooden staff, the fluorite crystal catching the light of the flashlight. “Check in at the top of the hour.

Yvonne nodded pulling her mask back up and stepping back out their entrance, jogging off to explore the warehouse one over. Pulling up her wristwatch and setting an alarm, it was just past 10 o’clock. Without further ado, she tuned the old, duck taped radio on her hip. Local news was playing, between music breaks. The radio and all other news sources were following all developments with the fall of STRIKE and attacks from a terrorist organization called Hounds of Humanity. Terrorist attacks rightfully scared the piss out of everyone. Magic and metahuman alike. Walmarts being blown apart, metahumans getting into a fight in the wreckage.

Then there was the gang wars raging across the west and south side of the city, everything was going to hell in a handbasket as far as everyone else was concerned. For Charlene, it felt like it was right at their doorstep. The rest of the Croll clan felt otherwise, they felt it was a world away. They kept to their own business, concern only reaching out for their neighbours and regulars. They lived in a half decent neighbourhood, most folk looked out for one another the best they could.

A point she and her mother, Julianne had butted heads on regularly. Jules wanted to keep her fresh university graduate home working in their shop.

With the news droning on Charlie set to work scrounging up parts that weren’t eaten away by the salty sea air. She picked through the piles the best she could, when the music returned she hummed along to the top forty charts, knowing most of the words to the latest pop songs. She moved through the piles, deftly examining pieces here and there scrutinizing parts while throwing some into her backpack immediately. At the top of the hour she climbed her way up to the second floor toward the foreman’s office radioing Yvonne.

Checking in, Evie. Finding some good bits over here, how goes the hunt on your end?

She paused waiting for the reply, it came through a few seconds later. “Yeah same over here, probably going to have to come back tomorrow with the truck to pick up some of the bigger- wait, hold up. Do you hear that?”

Charlie turned down her radio, listening intently. The sound of engines revving close by. “Hide. I’ll take a look.” There had been only a handful of times when they had to dodge the cops. Even in the abandoned areas, trespassing with a backpack full of scavenge was hardly offensive but… not something to be caught with. It was really unlikely for them to be doing a sweep through the area, they were too busy as it were.

She stepped up to the dirty window using her sleeve to wipe away a thick layer of grime, moving her goggles to her forehead. Squinting green eyes peered along the street looking for headlights. Down the far end two pairs of lights lit up simultaneously the sounds of engines revving loudly. The lights sped forward racing past the warehouses a few seconds later.

Bringing the radio up, unimpressed she spoke. “Street racers, Evie. I thought they were holding the races on the North end?

Yvonne answered dryly, “Cops probably caught the rumours and chased them off over here. Let’s go before-! Shit! Char there’s some assholes at your front door! Get out of there!”

Charlene clutched the walkie talkie, making quick on hiding herself inside the foreman’s office. She replied seething, “I’m not going any fucking where. They’re responsible for all those hit and runs.

“Charlie! No-” Charlene turned the walkie talkie off.

The voices below came through loudly as the door opened with a loud whine, rusty hinges protesting against the strain. She listened, grinding her teeth. A couple 49ers waltzed in beckoning the drivers in, Charlene heard a little Mandarin. Peering around the doorframe she counted three heads, including the one stepping out of the customized Mazda. Both vehicles were decked out with gaudy aesthetics spinning rims, green neon lights along the bottom of the car, rumbling chrome exhaust pipes. Lit up speakers thrumming with bass.

Eyesores. Charlie thought.

An idea coming to mind then a decision. She stepped away from the doorframe looking around the office, unafraid of whatever noise she could make being drowned out by the vehicles. Searching for anything she could use, she snuck around to the other side of a desk to find an abandoned homeless person’s bed. Opened soup and fried bean cans strewn about over a dirty sleeping bag. Snatching up all the empty cans, standing up she carefully placed each can in a line across the desk. She moved onto unscrewing some dead fluorescent lights. Stepping over puddles of water, seeing her last ingredient. The fire extinguisher.

She scrawled out old elemental symbols from memory, a steady hand while mumbling the formulas. Talking to herself through equations, as she was prone to do. Straightening them, gently Charlie opened her palm across the cans a deep breath through her nose, she concentrated on the mysterious forces of magic that dwelled within her blood.

The equation firmly in mind, the magic flowed through the scrawlings. The natural guidance of magic came as second nature to the likes of Charlene, deconstructing the base elements of the cans, separating them as the magic interacted with it, like following an instinct. Intimate knowledge of chemistry, the building blocks of life. Instinctually a skilled alchemist like Charlie understood what no microscope could provide the most dedicated scientist.

The metal in the cans seemed to spring to life, the aluminum sprang out the sides attaching to the cans around it. Moving like it was water splashing in every direction, the magic pulled all the cans together reshaping it into a larger and taller can with the available materials. Charlie made quick work again with the fluorescent light and fire extinguisher, instead of combining them she separated the more complex points of both objects down to what she needed, from there it was as simple as changing them to gas and sealing the can. Briefly considering the potency and deciding all she needed was an edge.

It was a little over a few minutes, the noise still evident by the drivers and their cars. By the time Charlie was done, the can was sealed with her surprise. A sly smile under the mask while she had worked.

Using both hands she carried her concoction over to the door peering around to see they had gathered in a small circle passing around a smoke. Adjusting her goggles, hood and finally mask. Taking another look at the trio of Triads. One sported a green mohawk, another wore a leather jacket, and the third was bald shaved down to the scalp a tattoo noticeably on the back of his neck. Pulling her ceramic knife from her hip she stabbed side of the can and threw it down to the group of 49ers, it landed rolling to tap against the one with the mohawk, the gas plumed around them.

Visibly the gangsters looked as if they were losing their balance, complaining. The bald one clumsily tried to reach for their gun, while the mohawk gangster tried to kick away the can. Pushing off the door frame she took a running leap over the railing, landing she pushed off from her crouch aiming for legs belonging to the man wearing the jacket. Her staff swept under his feet, he went down like a sack of potatoes. Her next target was baldy, with the gun in his hand. With the extended reach of the staff, she crouched low out of the crosshairs, spinning the tip of her staff against his hand, he lost grip, sending the gun clear out of his hand skittering across the concrete. He yelped holding his hand. Mohawk had snapped to attention.

Her grabbed her backpack trying to pull her off balance, cursing at her. Charlie shifted her foot back to compensate for the sudden pull, turning on her heel she brought her staff around in a one armed swing, connecting with his head with a audible crack. The hit sent him reeling, a final kick to his chest to sent him to the ground seeing stars. Baldy was recovering, her knock out gas still working him into a wobbly stance, he was on his feet trying to shake the effects.

Charlie circled holding her staff out, moving herself between him and the gun. He snapped something in mandarin, Charlie didn’t bother with a reply instead answered feigning left causing him to flinch. Ruthlessly she closed the space jabbing the butt of her staff into his chest, and much like the man who tried to grapple her she brought the staff around his head knocking him out cold.

The one on the ground rolled to his side, looking up at her and asked in a heavy accent, “P-please.”

No.” She snarled then kicked him out cold with her heavy boot.

All three of them were out for the count, she left them where they lay and instead turned her attention onto sabotaging the vehicles. It was several minutes before she turned on her walkie talkie walking out the back entrance, radioing Yvonne, “We’re cool, let’s get the fuck out of here.

Behind Charlene the cars were unrecognizable. All the lights were destroyed, the paint peeling up all over the body of the cars, rusted out bumpers and fenders. The windows were all strategically cracked. The treads of the tires hiding pins that would only sink in when they moved. When the gangsters would wake, they would turn over the engines only then to discover it would burst into flame from Charlie’s tampering.

Whistling as she waltzed out of the warehouse, by the time she crossed the yard Yvonne was waiting for her nervously double checking over her shoulder. “Are you insane!?” She hissed.

Charlene shrugged, “I couldn’t just walk away. You’ve heard the news about how bad the street racin-

Yvonne snapped, interrupting her, “No! The first time I let you beat up some assholes was because they were trying to mug some guy. Second time-” She held up two fingers, “-was because some drug dealer and his knife were between us and the exit. Today you had the choice to sneak out of there, you didn’t have to mess with them!”

Charlene rolled her eyes, “Come on, cut me some slack here Evie.

Her friend snarled at her, “No! Look I make some pretty big allowances here keepin’ your weird magicy crap a secret because you’re a good partner and have gotten us out of some jams but you went out of your way tonight to show off.” She pointed at her adding, “Don’t think I don’t know you have an ego bigger than your head.”

That is so untrue-

“Reckless!”

But I-

“Absolutely stupid!”

Uncalled for-

“What will your mother think?” Evie demanded of Charlene.

Charlene let out a big sigh then smoothly slung her arm around her friend’s shoulder guiding her into a walk, Evie allowing her while she glared. “She doesn’t have to know shit, Eves. We did the neighborhood a favour, I just busted up their cars bad enough they won’t be back on the roads with customized eyesores any time soon.

Yvonne stewed on that crossing her arms.

The city’s got enough to worry about, now it’s two street racers less. Yeah?” Charlie said tilting her head her tone light.

Evie stuck up her lip then relented, “Fuck, girl. You’re a real pain sometimes y’know. Don’t ever shut off the radio on me again, got it?”

Holding up two fingers Charlie replied, “Scout’s honour, ma’am.

Yvonne pulled on Charlie’s ear at ma’am, that earned a few chuckles from the pair.

Charlie pulled out her phone checking her messages, noticing in particular her friend Carrie, was trying to get ahold of her. Scrolling through her wall of text messages, something was wrong.

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banner credit to Nitemare Shape
Oh no, I'm just spectating and reading. Don't mind lil ole me. @Vordak
Grime, slime, and... a Little Time

@Captain Jenno - @Baklava - [@DearTrickser] Collaborino


Anybody carrying water?

From the safety of her little perch the skullkid had watched Archer lose his temper over his pants on the skeleton, she shook her head but kept her eyes on the skeleton. The funny thing about the undead is they had a terrible habit of standing back up when your back was turned. Though without a head or spine... Well it was debatable. Now the remaining skeleton was in pieces, little flames still hopping across the bones clinging desperately. She squinted at what was left of the fire and decided that the first chuchu did a great job at smothering the skeleton, the second time would surely just be for safety's sake. It also occurred to Jillian that Archer needed something to take his mind off his pants woe, hit two birds with one stone.

While Archer was examining his pants Jillian took the opportunity to summon one last chuchu. Similarly to the first green chuchu it appeared out of the dark purple summoning portal beside where Felicia had slipped. It chittered at Archer, with unnatural flexibility it stared up at Jillian. "Well go on then, smother the fire."

The chuchu hopped forward, it's gibberish sounded like excitement to the skullkid. It loomed over the remains of the skeleton then belly flopped on top of the pile of smouldering bones. A fresh wave of green slime splashed in all directions effectively removing the fire. Archer however, would not be spared the same treatment as the fire.

Archer was bereft of the energy to kick up a fuss about it, however. He felt heavy, as though he were wearing weights about the shoulders and ankles. Anger made his blood feel hotter, and an inability to adequately express it - no faces to pulverise, no bruises to sober him- made it feel thick, and sluggish. As though every vessel was squeezed at an angle, and the flow was choked. Only coming through when enough force pushed it. He made a mental note to yell about this later, however, because this was his favourite jacket, too. And he didn't doubt he'd feel chuchu jelly 'neath his nails and follicles for weeks to come, if he ever left this temple at all.
Archer exhaled again, but the breath rattled. Adrenaline laced and wasted. He leaned forwards to tear at the lengths of his jeans that stretched down beneath the knee, until he was wearing (and the thought sickened him): jorts.
He raised a heavy hand, and addressed Jillian with a pointed finger, "You're lucky I... ah, forget it."

Out of breath, Felicia managed to pull herself up from the chu jelly puddle using the bars of the jail cell. She grimaced as she moved, reassured her hip and elbow were going to be several different shades of purple by the time she got a chance to change clothes. Fixing her hat, she watched as Archer ripped the ruined portion of his pants. She opened her mouth to suggest she might be able to salvage them, but hesitated for far too long. Oh well. He probably wouldn't trust some random woman he barely knew with patching up his clothes anyway.

She clutched the sword to her chest with both hands as she focused on trying to calm down instead. Her heart was still beating wildly and, though it was now silent, she feared something might jump out at them at any second. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before scratching her shoulder and turning to face Jillian. No. Panicking now wouldn't do her any good.

"U-uh," she swallowed hard and wiped some chu jelly from her cheek with a clean portion of her hand, "Th-the chu jelly was a good idea actually. I-it should clean out of clothes. Doesn't stain too bad...." She glanced at Archer reassuringly before looking back to Jillian with an attempted smile, "Are-- are you okay?"

Archer was tired and burnt, red skin showing beneath tattered pant-legs. A few bruises of his own, too, albeit self inflicted. His eyes were heavy and glassed as he came down from the adrenaline. When Felicia threw him a glance, he offered only an unenthusiastic thumbs up. Less of a 'good job, team!' and more of a 'that sure happened, and now I need a drink.'

Jillian drummed her fingers across the bars, then nodded at Felicia, "I'm okay."

Tentatively she climbed down from the bars, removing her mask and holding it to her chest she began rather uncharacteristically bashful, "Thanks for fighting the skeletons I guess. If you guys hadn't I would've been toast, so... thanks." Staring at her shoes she kicked at a bone. "I've come back from nasty stuff before but I've never seen a skullkid bounce back from being a pile of ash."

Feeling she said her piece, she replaced the mask, "Those wallmasters huh?" She dug out her book again flipping knowingly to a page about them. "My book basically calls 'em useless to summon if you don't have a place to put whoever you're tryin' to catch. Otherwise they just take whoever and plops them wherever they want. Stupid things."

She held up her book for them to see. A crudely inked picture of a wallmaster on one page and notes in hylian on the other. "We're still in the temple, obviously but we need to get outta here."

Archer squinted at the page, sceptical of its contents, and mouthed the words under his breath. Slowly. Very slowly.
"Yeah, it sure does... say that..." he muttered, noncommittally, a different sort of red in the face. He put his hands into his pockets awkwardly, and then looked away, out through the bars of their cell.

"You're right, though. Even I'm not cocky enough to think I can melt the bars, though," he said, half-truthfully. He wasn't cocky enough to think he could do it right now, because he was physically and magically spent for this moment. But with a little rest, he was certain this level of arrogance, too, could be achieved.

"You think you could somehow slink through 'em? Mayb--", dawning realisation.
"Wait. If you're here, and I'm here... who's annoyin' my brother?!"

"Lethe I guess, I saw 'em make it across the bridge before I got snatched." Jillian shrugged. "Did you guys find the keystone yet?"

"We got attacked by keese, boulderbrains Hogswash rolled off, we figured out some stupid puzzles, mostly me, some weird mirrory scythes showed some spooky and hilarious reflections. Then Zephyrus poked himself with an arrow and so did Naviela. Then the wallmasters showed up and that was pretty scary." Jillian carried on in her nearly useless explanations, talking without much of a pause. When she did pause she looked between Archer and Felicia. "We didn't find the keystone though."

"We made it through literally one corridor before that hooded asshole started bein' all... hooded. And an asshole. I'm not sure how this is his fault, but it is and that's the hill I'm willin' to die on," Archer scratched his cheek, a thoughtless little gesture, "Also there was a Poe, I guess. Not our one, though."

Felicia listened quietly until it seemed appropriate for her to speak up. "We didn't find the keystone, either," she said simply. She ran her thumbs over the ornate pommel of her sword, thinking on Jillian's book and remembering how she'd summoned the ChuChus But what sort of monster could safely break the bars without potentially injuring someone? She slid her sword back into the scabbard at her hip as she turned to look outside the cell.

A single torch and a long hallway, leading off into pitch black darkness.

"Maybe there are some keys somewhere," she suggested, the end of her sentence tapering off into a whisper. What a stupid suggestion-- of course there were keys. There was a lock. There were keys. But where? "If-- if we could see further down that hallway..."

"Did you say that book can summon monsters? What're the odds you can just, have one'a those handsy freaks drop us off on the other side of the bars?" Archer asked, not quite grasping the extent to which Jillian was able to work her metaphorical mojo. Magic to him had always been very straight forwards. Get mad; break stuff.

Jillian scratched at some hair under her hat, "Are you deaf or somethin'? I just said they're useless, they'll just stick us right back into this cell. We'd have better luck trying to make a lockpick-! OH! I can do that! I can make a lockpick." She said slamming the book shut and diving her hands in deep to the slime to pull some bones free. Shaking the boney fingers free of slime she said, "Bones make great toothpicks too."

Toothpicks? Felicia didn't want to ask how Jillian knew that. She stepped aside and waited, quietly hoping Jillian's idea would work.

"I thought you said they were useless if you didn't have anywhere to dump what they catch. We have somewhere - outside of the cell. Why can't one you summon just... ah, screw it, just. Pick the lock. 'More I try to understand magic, the more I start to understand why Zeph is as boring as he is. Too much maths."

Jillian pulled apart the knuckles on the skeleton's hand separating the fingers. "Anyone wanna lend me a knife or something? I need to whittle this down a bit."

"I have a line cutter..." Felicia said hesitantly, snapping open her small tackle box for the second time that day. It was a very small pocket knife, but should she really be giving it to a child? Er... someone that seemed so childlike? She held it out to Jillian half heartedly-- a worried frown creasing her features.

Jillian hardly glanced at Felicia, spinning the knife in her hand then setting to work on the bone. "Bone is weird, the drier it is in the more brittle it gets. The opposite of wood ya'know..." Jillian paused finishing shaving down past a knuckle then shot Felicia a look seeing her worry, "Who d'you think made those puppets? I've been makin' puppets and other stuff for over a hundred years. I'm really good at it. Makin' a lockpick is nothin'."

Jillian turned back to the boney fingers, deftly gliding the small knife with her thumb. Flicking the excess shavings of bone as they curled. She whittled it down to a thick but fine point, then went to work on another finger, expertly following the natural curve of the bone to create a small hook. When she was done she held them up, smoothed down and ready to be used.

"I'm no good with locks, I usually break somethin' before trying to pick somethin' open."

Archer cleared his throat, and raised his hand: "Not to implicate myself in anythin', being an honest, upstanding citizen and all, but if you've got the pick, I've got the dexterity. Zeph doesn't let me carry lockpicks on me, but bein' a...", he coughed, "Magician has made me pretty nimble. Picked my first lock with another kid's hairclip when I was still real small."

Jillian stared at him, "Yeah yeah, if you're askin' me to make you lockpicks on the regular then whatever. Get us outta here and I'll make you 'em." She grabbed his hands then put the lockpicks into his sticky digits. She passed the knife back to Felicia, handle first. "Thanks, you good at fishing or something with carrying around a tacklebox?"

Still pondering the implications of Archer's 'dexterity', Felicia was surprised by Jillian's question. "Uh. You could say that I guess," she half shrugged, returning the knife to her tacklebox, "It puts food on the table anyway...." Her eyes followed Archer as he set to work.

"Can I look through your box?" She asked, her curiosity taking precedent.

Felicia turned her attention back to the undead child, pausing before she snapped the latch shut. Her box? She hesitated, running through the contents of the tackle box in her mind as she tried to assess what might happen if she handed it over to the childlike creature. Several lures, three old bobbers, some sinkers, some plastic worms, needle nose pliers, extra line, and a small matchbox filled with extra hooks. Then, of course, there was the first aid kit and knife. And a small jar of homemade sunscreen. Perhaps it would be fine. She had just handed Jillian her knife, hadn't she?

"M-mind the hooks," she muttered, holding out the box, "They're sharp."

Archer was already at work and a few tumblers deep, tinkering with mechanisms he couldn't even see. At one point this had been second-nature to him, when he'd been out on the streets, competing for his evening meal against performers whose pockets jangled when they walked. What was a couple incidents of lighthearted burglary between rivals?
Now, however, he found himself straining to raise each new weight. These older locks employed heavier levers, kept in place by rust and grime. His lock picking set, discarded now but once a valued tool of his trade, had been shaped from the shredded parts of an old saw. In a lock like this, the picks would easily have broken - but the bone, gross as it was, was at least not too brittle.

Archer thought to ask for quiet, but he knew that in old mechanisms such as these it was just as much luck as it was focus. Instead he narrowed his eyes, and stuck his tongue out to the side, concentrating - a rarity in his otherwise reckless lifestyle. Employing some semblance of the discipline Zephyrus had wished to instill in him, albeit in a less than desirable way, by his standards.
"Almost got it, I think. Just... a couple more..."

Jillian perked at Felicia's permission, surprised that she'd let her poke through her stuff. Slowly reaching out to the box keeping her eyes locked on the Hylian, in one quick movement and jangle of the box's contents Jillian had grabbed it quickly stepping out of reach. Giggling at Felicia's expression.

She sat down, similarly to Archer her tongue poked out when she lifted the lid rifling through all it's contents. In one hand she held up a lure and in the other a hook, catching the light then setting them outside the box. LIfting up the separator to reveal the bottom, and more to inspect. Quickly amassing a pile of everything that she found. Holding up the matchbox full of hooks shaking them as if she needed a clue as to what was inside. She emptied the matchbox of hooks onto the pile. Moving onto the sunscreen she took a long whiff of the jar, pressing a gob of it between her fingers - it was pretty thick. Recognizing the knife she put it onto the pile, carefully teetering it until it balanced. With the tackle box emptied of it's contents she lifted it upside down shaking it around, not finding any secrets as her hand patted along the sides. All the while she rattled off questions about everything she found, not really pausing to hear the answers. What sort of fish did Felicia expect to catch? Wouldn't the fish be the food on the table? Why did some of the worms look shiny while the bobbers were dull?

"You got a lotta junk in here," Holding up the tackle box again for Felicia to take it. Pausing she laughed, "Oh right, should probably put the stuff back huh." Scooping up the pile and moving the separator out of the way, in a few handfuls she carelessly dumped everything back into the bottom of it. The line tangled, hooks and lures tossed together and the only item to placed carefully was the jar of sunscreen on top. When she was done, she could barely close the lid with how things were piled back into it. Her hands were marked and sliced from the hooks, visibly moss already grew out of the cuts filling the new space.

"Oops." Opening and closing her hands slowly watching the moss grow over.

Felicia got the distinct feeling she'd made a terrible mistake as soon as Jillian stepped out of reach. Her intuition proved correct as she watched in silent horror as the skullkid unceremoniously dissected her tackle box. Almost robotically, Felicia took the empty box and stared as Jillian scooped up her belongings and dumped them back inside-- paying absolutely no mind to the hooks.

It being her only request, Felicia found this detail even more worrisome than the state of her tackle box. She watched the moss cuts on the girl's fingers, brows furrowed. There was an old sort of flame here-- angry frustration. Something familiar. More like a spark-- a memory. Why didn't she listen? Why didn't she ever listen?

Dejected, Felicia sighed, leaving the skullchild without any sort of reprimand as she did her best to prod the mess of fishing equipment into submission-- finally settling on leaving the jar of sunscreen in her pocket so she could close it. The tangled line and everything else could be dealt with later. It wasn't like she would be doing any fishing anytime soon anyway.

Click!

"Hah! Not gonna lie, that was... fifty percent guesswork."

And the other fifty percent was prayer.

Real Name: Charlene Croll. Char, Charlie.

Alias: The Alchemyst

Speech Color: Honeydew

Character Alignment: Walking the Line - Leaning Hero. Chaotic Good.



Identity: Secret

Character Personality:

Charlene Croll has a deep and rich family history rooted in studying alchemy for hundreds of years. Her family focused largely on alchemy and alchemy alone, as a result is naive to other magical practices. The talent and magic potential lingers heavily in her family’s blood, granting them the ability to transmute the world around them. With the weight of carrying on family tradition on her shoulders, Charlene hardly acts the part. Her focus is on the present, forging her own path and discoveries. Takes immense amounts of pride in her abilities and her family, but struggles with identifying herself for the current generation.

Streetwise, smart, fast talker. Problem solver.

Incredibly observant, great spacial awareness and great sense of direction. As an urban scavenger, her versatility relies heavily on these abilities. Generally a sociable person when she has time, especially now that she has completed her master’s. Holds a close circle of friends, gets along well enough with her peers within the chemistry department at LHU, Lost Haven University. Charlene prioritizes her family above all else, above school and above herself.





Hero Type:
Mystic

Power Level:
Street Level

Powers/Skills:
Transmutation: An alchemist's bread and butter, able to focus the magic within her to change the form of things around her. For more complex changes she scribbles out the alchemical equation upon the item but for simpler things like removing water from alcohol she can do so without the help of a formula. As a skill it comes as naturally to her as it is to breathe. Excessive transmutation takes it’s toll on her mind in a similar way pulling an all nighter would. She begins to lose focus, much more likely to make a mistake. A good night sleep and a break helps to bring her focus back.

I.e Transmuting a state of an element from solid, liquid, and gas. Pulling and isolating certain elements, like oxygen or hydrogen from water. Adding certain elements to an object to change it’s form, forcing oxygen into iron graters to rust. Changing the shape of a wooden crate to stakes.

It takes time for Charlene to write alchemical equations to breakdown the base elements of what she is transmuting. While with simpler things like separating elements in water, she can do off the top of her head easily.

Fighting Skills: Trained by her mother, Charlene is quite proficient with a staff in her hands. Non-lethal fighting style.

Master’s Degree in Chemistry: Charlene has earned her master’s degree at Lost Haven University.

Scavenging: A good eye for searching an area for valuable components, tearing apart old computers, tvs, cars, quick to pick clean an area for valuable scrap before moving on.

Minor Herb/Medicinal Knowledge: Charlene maintains minor understanding and recognition of medicinal herbs, due largely to her grandfather’s expertise. Can recognize certain herbs and plants, use them for rustic applications.

Strength Level: Normal Human
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Trained - 2 hrs.
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Above Average - Formally educated
Fighting Skill: Trained - Fighting Staff and Self Defense

Resources: Average - holds down a part time job as a lab assistant at the University, helps run family’s shop - Croll Corner. Makes modest cash off of her scavenging materials.

Equipment:
Sycamore Magnum Opus Staff: Made of sycamore, weighted with soft metals worked into the grain like tin, copper, and gold. Able to use the metals in the staff to change the shape, most often to that of a crowbar.



Items found on her person/in small backpack:
Lithium batteries
Cat litter
Aerosol hairspray
Lighter
Flint and steel
Steel flask of whiskey
Water Bottle - Gasoline
A ceramic knife
Little packets of salt
Plyers
A packet of styrofoam

Weaknesses:

Human Constraints: Vulnerable to exposure, a bullet, a nasty fall, a hard hit around the head. Human through and through. Slightly above average pain tolerance, can withstand a hit. Otherwise, easy enough to hurt or stop.

Human Endurance: While her endurance is above average, when Charlene loses focus she begins to grow sluggish of body and mind. Much more likely to mess up an equation or miscalculate an element in transmutation. Which can result in some rather ugly results.

Supporting Characters:
Father (Deceased at 28)- Keith Croll (Changed name when he married Julianne), Keith was rather skilled with metal work and jewellery enchantment. Julianne keeps a set of rings to pass onto Harriet and Charlene from their father. Her father's side of the family approved quite readily of their marriage, the Croll's make annual trips to New York City for reunions and holidays.

Mother (Age 42) - Julianne Croll - Jules. Mother of Charlene and Harriet, manages Croll Corner and manages their training. Her staff is heavy, hardworked metals. The staff itself is dotted with quartz crystals, while it's core was replaced a long time ago with tungsten. Reflective of her teaching, focusing on toughening her children. Her patience for working with tougher materials resulted in an incredibly sturdy and hard staff. While she was a tough teacher to impress, she was never cruel. Always pushed just enough. Is a vehement believer in staying out of metahuman business, firmly believes the magical community was wrongly lumped in with them.

Younger Sister (Age 15)- Harriet Croll - Harry. Young, endlessly sassy, uses sarcasm like it was a second language. Smart, focusing her staff modifications on biological by products like shells and feathers. Struggles striking a balance of the lighter and inconsistent materials. Keeps a collection of feathers, convinced their elderly neighbours to bring back buckets of shells from their tropical vacations. Could spend hours on the shores of Lost Haven's south end.

Grandfather & Mentor (Age 68) - Nathaniel Croll. The gentle teacher to their tough mother. His staff is an intricate array of glass bubble terrariums with his various favourite herbs, most prominently rosemary. The roots embedded deep in the wood of his staff. Refers to his garden of herbs and flowers as classic alchemy. Brewing concoctions, salves, oils and ointments. Maintaining an incredible memory, extensive amounts of formal education and degrees in chemistry, horticulture, and a university professor for several years.

Friends:

Carrie Ludwig (Age 24) - Childhood friend and her go to for witchcraft needs and magical reference. Always smells of sage, cares for a small zoo of pets. Her favourite person to grab a drink with.

Yvonne Thompson (Age 47), a fellow urban scavenger, loner and tradeswoman. Charlie knows next to nothing about Yvonne besides her name, whether she's homeless or living in suburbia with a nuclear family. Yvonne has a great nose for good salvage spots, can negotiate a thrifty pawnshop owner into the ground.

Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:

@fdeviant @ShyDot @Hellis Hey, I need your opinions specifically, but I'd appreciate anyone's really. I feel like this sheet is lacking in either history, abilities or weaknesses. I'd appreciate if you guys have any suggestions. Thanks in advance! <3

Latest IC
Fallenreaper
3 hrs ago

Oh no! I'm behind again!!!


Finals? Is that something younings do?


I think so.

Allow me to dust off this ooc thing here. Has everyone survived their finals?
At long last, I added a few sentences about Kiora. I feel like you were expecting more, but I'm not entirely sure what you want. It's not like we're going to have a long history together, and I would assume figuring out our chemistry would be a large part of the game.


Yes that's absolutely fine. Just something to note about the partnership, nothing extensive. Good work :).
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