Alaira glanced out the skylight with that prideful smirk of hers as the carriage rolled on. Ever since her 'operation', the woman had seemed... happier, though the difference was more pronounced to those close to her. The trauma she had experienced was not forgotten, but with the scars healed she seemed to finally be moving past it. She was more like the boisterous show-off of old, but tempered by the lessons she's learned. She wore simple clothing much like Athalus beside her, but in her case they were simply what she tended to wear outside of her armor. A simple set of trousers and a sleeveless tunic. She also wore a short sword on her hip, as she couldn't really justify a ten-foot spear as a weapon of self defense.
She heard Lyn speak, followed by Henri's answer, her smile becoming a frown. She kicked at the bench Henri sat on directly across from her, her foot thumping at the wood paneling just below his groin. "Behave." She muttered coldly as she looked out the skylight again, her point made. Some things didn't change. After Athalus was finished with his little spiel, she thumbed towards him over her shoulder. "What he said. You don't have to like the damn nobles, just shut up and mutter a pleasantry or two." She idly glanced over to the woman seated across from Aramir.
Danica, however, was very much unlike her usual self. She was dressed in her 'hunting' leathers, all sorts of bandoliers and belt pouches apparently empty (Though, Athalus could tell that many of her weapons were simply hidden). She had her mask on as per usual along with her hat, pulled down low. She sat in the corner with her cloak pulled tight around, like a child trying to hide. "It's... It's a lovely city." She said nervously, glancing out the window. "I have not been here in some time."
Her behavior was especially strange to anyone that had even met her for a moment. Simply put, she never seems to shut up about Billant, and for whatever reason she's conspicuously quiet at the biggest festival celebrating her goddess in all the land. She looked up to the snow elf, the subtle movement of her face mask implying a smile. "The music was always my favorite part." she added, with a very light chuckle.
For Grey however, things were far less interesting. He didn't have the luxury of conversation from his position atop the carriage. Unlike most he was allowed to carry his weapons, given his position as a bodyguard. That didn't extend to his armor however, as he was expected to wear his fancy dress uniform. He looked around, occasionally smiling or waving. As much as he wanted to relax though, the last time he was at any kind of festivities he got into a fist-fight with a demon fifty times his size, so it was best to remain alert.
Alaira was silent as the instructor took her hand. No point protesting, she had to see what the damage was, didn't she? Repairing her flesh wouldn't be much of a challenge, but putting it back in a manner that wasn't arguably just as ugly as it was now would be a difficult task. Child's play for Lidda, but beyond the ken of most students she could intimidate into silence. "I understand." She said quietly. It was a sentiment she agreed with, of course. She was happy she had lived of course, but she was more upset with herself. She wouldn't be in this mess if she'd just swallowed her stupid pride earlier.
A wave of anger rose in her at Lidda's words. Not at the Vitamancer, more a general rage, kept bottled and silent. "Th-these... These are not proud scars." she said, simmering fury plain in her voice as she glared at her hand. She took a deep breath when she'd realized her temper was getting out of control, but it could still be heard. "I got these scars mewling as I was flayed and drowned in my own melting lungs." She was shaking as she covered her eyes, trying not to lose herself to the memory. "I didn't have to jump into the thing. I could have shot it with a bolt or two and it would have died, I was told. These scars? Stupidity and failure."
She sighed, stepping back and more or less falling into one of the chairs before her desk. "I... I don't know you. I don't pretend to, I don't pretend that I have it worse than everyone. I'm pretty sure you went through a lot before you got where you are, but... have you ever felt like a monster? A beast?" She asked quietly, averting her gaze. "And not just looked like one. Been one. I hurt people. It's all I really do." Her tone was even, flat. "My bloodlust doesn't just hurt me anymore. It hurts everyone around me. People I care about almost died because I just had to set fires and start fights. After it happened, I... I realized that I looked like one too. So I tried to hide it with the bandages. As ugly on the outside as the inside. but..." She gingerly stroked at her own cheek with her uncovered hand, eyes closed. "Not my face. My face was healed up fine. But it taunts me. Is that what I should be? Or is it just a lie that covers up what I am, like the bandages?..."
She groaned and shook her her head. "Sorry, listening to my problems isn't your job. I just... I want to change." There was a sort of choking sound, as if she was forcing herself to speak. "I-I... I want to be better. I need to be, I can't just be a sadistic thug anymore. It's just... easier to start with the outside." She finally admitted. "Besides... who could want me like this anyway?" She muttered right after, extremely quietly. She probably wasn't aware she'd said it out loud at all. Her answers to the other questions were far more succinct, at least. "I don't remember, I'm sure there was something I got given, but I was braindead for a few months after they patched me up." She clicked her tongue at the offer, a look of apprehension crossing her face as well as a somewhat amusing blush. She'd never seen her with a look like that, that's for sure. "I... uh... Do you... want anything else? I could... hurt myself and let them practice? I can backfire my lightning and burn myself if I want to..." Alaira seemed much more concerned with her image than expected.
Alaira had noticeably blinked a bit when she saw her, clearly a bit surprised at her appearance. Not that it was that strange, or anything. Lidda was fairly well-known among the college for her predilections toward more... extravagant shape-changing. No, Alaira just found the fact that she never seemed to really run out of ideas was the surprising part. She hadn't ever seen her look the same way twice. However, she didn't really say anything on the subject. Whoever makes her furniture deserves a raise. She thought.
Lidda didn't really say anything either, it seemed like she was waiting for her. Alaira felt a lump in her throat as she had suddenly felt very small indeed. "I-I..." She stuttered, massaging at her wrist and looking into her palm as she swallowed hard, every single word something of a battle. "I-I need your h-help. I-I'd ask a student, b-but Iunno how hard this is g-gonna be an' I don't really t-trust them anyway." She started, finally working up the courage to look her in the eyes. "It's not... it's not life threatening. So I dunno what it'll, uhm. Cost. Money... or a favor, or whatever." She muttered, squirming slightly as she stepped closer to her desk.
She decided that it might be easier to just show her than it would be to tell her what she wanted, so she carefully peeled off one of her gloves and unwound the bandages on her arm. She inhaled sharply as she clenched her fist. It was... well, disgusting. Her flesh looked almost raw, cut and burned and pitted, possessing a somewhat oily sheen yet worryingly dry to the touch. Presumably, it was more than just her arm as the bandages could be seen at her neck as well. During the attack all that time ago, the student that had gotten to her wasn't good enough to repair her externally, and the more experienced among them only had enough time to reconstruct her face before moving on to more pressing patients. Some had offered to repair her body after the fact, but she wouldn't let them. To admit one needed help was to admit weakness.
And now here she was, doing just that. She shook slightly, looking down to her feet. "I... I can't live like this anymore. I've been called an 'ogre' before, but..." She grit her teeth. "I'm a damned ghoul. And... just... If you can make yourself look like... well, that, I figured you could fix me."
Danica was dimly aware of the... noise being made. It was distant in her mind, a sort of animal bleat barely heard through the haze of her fading consciousness. She shifted slightly as she felt something touch her, and then... well, it was hard for her to tell. The thing within her was mostly in control, and it had decided that whatever was near could be a threat. She turned over rather suddenly, taking a swipe at the hapless elf with an almost bestial growl...
She missed, naturally, she was no less exhausted than before, and any blow she could make was slow, drunken, and lacking in force. She was about to scramble to her feet and perhaps pounce her, or some other similar, violent action but she just... froze. Slowly, she looked from the elf to her hand, noting that it had become a rather wicked claw. She watched it slowly shift back into a less threatening limb now that she'd calmed some. "I am... sorry. The power, it is... difficult to control." She said softly. It was a little difficult to understand her, she had a rather thick accent and her face mask wasn't helping matters. In fact, Aramir might notice her clothing was rather strange in general. Unlike the other humans about, her clothes didn't seem particularly warm. Just tattered leather under a tattered cloak. No boots or gloves, and the ends of her sleeves and her trousers and sleeves were torn. Then, of course, there was the blood. So much of it... Most of it around her sleeves and upper chest.
She collapsed to a knee for just a moment, and summoning up her strength she managed to stand again. She didn't seem to be, well, injured, but she certainly seemed unwell. "I must apologize again, but this is the... er... Twi Light College, yes?" She inquired, placing unusual emphasis on a word, as if unsure of the pronunciation. She leaned in closer to the elf, and went a step forward and began to kneel even closer, her face just a couple inches away. "Are you from here? There's food, yes? Can you take me to it? I'm starving." She asked question after question, her tone... desperate almost. Pleading. It was a little sad, almost enough to distract from how ridiculously creepy the woman was. Almost. Her eye wasn't helping, the way it seemed to bore straight into one's soul, not to mention its aberrant coloration. There was a hunger, plain as day.
Salvation would come in the form of a pair of guards. While they arrived in something of a hurry, they seemed more relaxed when they saw that the woman was not, in fact, currently unconscious. Danica seemed to suddenly feel very threatened and vulnerable, pulling her cloak tightly around herself and averting her gaze, shuffling a bit to put Aramir between herself and the guards. "I-I wasn't going to hurt her, I'm sorry I'm-sorryI'msorry..." She muttered, almost whimpering it sounded like. One of the guards seemed to have his face buried in his palm, and the other had this incredulous look on his face... "Uh... Right." he said, looking around. "She looks... er, healthy, mostly. Can you... take care of her? We have to watch the gates, and... uh..." Of course, Aramir wouldn't have had to call for them if they hadn't been slacking off in the first place, so it was probably just an excuse to get out of dealing with the crazy lady.
Grey grimaced. He was far too used to Tyrael hurling death threats around to be too surprised, but all the same. "Lord Tyrael, he is not a threat..." he stated with an even, albeit exasperated tone as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course, he also recognized that he might just be putting on a show. He was dramatic like that. "For Gaurot's sake, there's only a one-in-fifteen chance he'll be one of your students, you can save the tough act." And then he heard Henri speak. With possibly the worst choice of words he could have managed.
He moved himself between the two of them and looked over his shoulder toward Tyrael. His gaze was pleading, as if to say 'please let me handle him.' Thankfully, it seemed like Tyrael would be leaving without flaying the poor boy. He sighed, turning back to the boy. "I am going to speak plainly. That 'Thing' is the demonomancy instructor, and you will show him the proper respect he deserves." He stated, keeping a strong grip on the boy. "And while none of the other instructors... hell, no one else on Tiien is like him, you can't just go around casually insulting people that can kill you with a thought. Less than that, actually." He let go, taking a step back and cracking his neck. "Look... I'm sure you're a good kid. I just don't wanna see anyone get hurt because they can't keep their mouth shut. Alright?" He said, his tone much softer. He turned to head inside, beckoning him to follow.
Alaira Taenn
Alaira smirked, folding her arms. "Heh, cute." she said, looking over her shoulder. She seemed just a little surprised to see him, not something that was easily picked up on. Just the slightest tensing as she looked off to the side. She was quiet as he spoke, hiding her mouth behind her hand. She tensed again when Helena seemed to agree, albeit much less subtly this time.
"I... that's- No, it's really important." She said, looking increasingly uncomfortable. While Helena had just met her and didn't know a whole lot about her personality or mannerisms, Athalus would know that Alaira would not show weakness like that easily, nor would she pass on an opportunity to beat someone else and talk about weapons at the same time. So either someone had apparently decided to impersonate her, or she was really worried about something. "Look, I gotta go... I'll teach you how to use a proper weapon later." She said, apparently not so distressed as to completely forget her utter disdain for knives.
She smiled weakly and gave a short wave as she turned and marched down the hallway at a brisk pace. She didn't really give them an opportunity to follow, as the moment she rounded a corner she bounded through the halls with the assistance of her Aeromancy. She sat against a wall once she was far enough, sighing as she looked down to her arm, wrapped in the bandages. She'd thought she didn't care about the scars. Thought it didn't matter how ugly she was. And the person she was a few years ago certainly thought so. But if that was still the case, why did she wear the bandages? Why did she hide it? These scars weren't like the ones she had before. Those were proud scars. But these... These were a mark of failure.
She was too stubborn to admit it, but her time here had changed her. Before she hardly thought about anything. She just mindlessly stumbled across the land from town to town in whatever direction the next fight was in. She hadn't cared before. She hadn't cared about anyone else, and least of all herself. So what if she fell? There was nobody for her to fight for, and nobody would mourn her, for she was just an engine of violence. Now though, there were others in her life. People she cared about, and people that were around to call her out on her faults. The reason she hated that Eysire, Ssarak so much was that he was often right about her. She simply threw herself at whatever problem in her way with little thought, and never took responsibility for her failures.
She would have brushed him off before, she wouldn't listen. But now... it mattered what other people thought of her now. Thug, brute, monster. All of those words were just white noise before, but now they hurt. Because they were right, or at least she thought so. Who would want someone like her? Someone as ugly on the inside as they were on the outside. She'd tried to just suffer quietly, foolish pride forbidding her from speaking to anyone, seeking help. After all, for all her newfound perspective she was still herself. She still feared the appearance of weakness. But... it hadn't worked out.
She sighed and rose, shaking as she reached for the door to the office of the Vitamancy instructor. She knocked three times, though she opened the door a crack anyway. "Uhm, L-lidda? Are you here?" She asked with uncharacteristic meekness. "It's, er, Alaira. One of Serge's students." Now, she didn't really, well, know the Vitamancy Master or anything. Had only spoken to her a few times, mostly being scolded for going to hard on someone in a sparring match. But she was the only one that could possibly give her what she needed right now.
A pair of deer bounded through the snowy forest, seeking to flee a predator the likes they'd never encountered. It had been upon them ever since it had found them returning to their den, and had chased them all throughout the night. It bounded behind them, never too far but never too close, claws like knives reflecting the moonlight as it tore through the trees. One of the deer collapsed, unable to run any longer. Its fate was predictable, the predator pouncing atop it and dismembering it quite messily. It howled in a mighty rage, tearing off the fallen creature's head and hefting it in one claw as it stood upright, a sick parody of man.
The other deer had kept running, until the sight of a disembodied head sailing into the snow in front of it spooked it, causing it to trip and stumble. The last thing it felt were the dagger claws sinking into its skull, and the last thing it saw was the beast towering over it.
Meat.
The feeling of claws tearing into warm flesh, steam rising in the winter night air.
Blood.
The taste of still warm-blood oozing over the tongue, the scent of it as it rolled down the chin.
Bone.
The sound of bones cracking between razor teeth, robbed of their marrow.
As it tired, it looked down, shaking, and regarded its soft, feminine hands, stained with blood. A lock of silver hair fell before her face as she looked over the carcass, shaking as she pulled her mask over her mouth. The woman sighed as she rose, her gloves were gone so she had to hide her now quite bare forearms within her cloak for warmth. "A-again..." She muttered quietly as she looked to the stars, slowly walking away and leaving the carcasses to the scavengers. These... blackouts were happening more frequently. Initially, she'd been skeptical of learning to control her magics, but it was only a matter of time before it wasn't just two random animal corpses she was standing over when she woke.
It was to that end that she'd begun her journey to the Twilight college. Initially, she'd dismissed the notion. They willingly cavorted with demons, they were heretics at the absolute best... but, she was getting desperate, and the teachings of the Lady of Sunlight decreed it a grave sin to disrespect the rules of another household... While it only provided metaphorical warmth, she muttered verse to herself as she walked... With where she was, it was a long way to go.
That all was a week ago, in the present day Danica stumbled forth, robe pulled tightly around herself as she struggled to maintain consciousness. That deer had been the last thing she'd eaten, and she had barely slept. It was a wonder the cold hadn't finished her off. Still, as she reached the limits of her own power she collapsed before the main gate of the college, not even ten paces from her goal. Of course, it was far enough away from the gathering near the carriage that they may not notice immediately, unless one was particularly sharp-eyed.
Age: 31 Mageblood Type: Obligatio Favored Magic Class: Demonomancy, sort of. She mistakenly believes herself to be a Vitamancer. Previous Magic Training: Absolutely none, her continued survival is something of a miracle. Race: Naersan human. Appearance: Her coming is heralded by the thud of her boots on the muddy streets, the soft glow of the censers at her hip casting her form in an eerie light, and the gentle scent of thrice-sanctified incense carried on the wind. Sister Danica, the Purifier has arrived. Her appearance is an ill omen, for where she goes death follows.
She oft introduces herself as a beast hunter first and a woman of faith second, but were it not for her near-constant muttering of hymns and verse it would be difficult indeed to mistake her for a woman of the cloth. She's incredibly tall at six and a half feet, yet awfully thin, with limbs seeming just a bit too long. her unnatural appearance is only accentuated by her chosen means of dress, with nearly every ounce of her covered. She wears thick leather boots, with all manner of belts and pouches at her hips. Her garb resembles that of a more mundane beast hunter in general, dark leathers and simple cloth packed to the brim with knives and holsters and tools, though above her withered, tattered cape dangles the ceremonial scarf of a servant of Billant, perhaps one of her only concrete visual links to the church. Much of her face is hidden by a wrap, and combined with the bandages over her right eye and the worn tricorne, only her left eye is really clearly visible. Her worn garb is slightly charred as well, speaking of multiple brushes with fire. What can be seen of her flesh is ghostly pale and her hair almost equally so, tied back in a ponytail. Her eye is... rather terrifying and unnatural to most, a bright, burning amber mostly but partially a deep brown.
Though her face is covered, it's clear enough that she tends to smile. And why wouldn't she? She rather enjoys her work. She revels in her most solemn of duties more than anyone rightly should, always seeking the next twisted creature to rend and tear with a most unholy fervor. Perhaps then, that is why a disciple of the Sun goddess is always sure to cover herself so? Her work is the necessary evil, but it yet still makes her unfit for Her light.
What is she hiding? Razor-sharp, monstrous teeth, that's what. In the monster-slaying profession, being strange is a given. However, it generally isn't good to have to explain to potential clients that you are not, in fact, a monster yourself. besides, if she didn't wear her mask she'd generally drool all over herself, which is somewhat impolite. The eye she keeps covered is functional, but there's also the fact that it is obviously demonic in appearance, all fiery orange with the dark sclera. It's amazing how she hasn't put two and two together yet.
Bio: Who is this most grim of figures? She isn't so difficult to understand, really. She wanders from village to village, ever seeking stronger and stronger beasts, a never-ending cycle of bloodshed. For she is a beast-hunter, one that wanders into the wilderness between villages and puts to death those unspeakable creatures that would prey on the civilized. At the same time, she is something of a wandering preacher, just as likely to spout verse at the townsfolk as she is to demand what they would have her kill. Despite being of such a violent occupation, she has a relatively sunny disposition. She's always polite and eerily cheerful, rage doesn't come easy to her. Some say that this actually makes her more unnerving, not less. Especially when she gets flirty, which despite her beauty is often one-sided. She often gets into clashes with other followers of Billant, however, who often see her as no better than the monsters she fights. In general she just seems rather care-free, prone to flights of fancy and general forgetfulness. One thing can be sure though: When she shows up, something bad will happen. Though is she a symptom, or the cause?
In a fight, she is even more terrifying. She revels in bloodshed and carnage, and the absolute joy she displays in such situations is often plain to see. Nothing brings her greater pleasure than to maim and kill, and it is somewhat inspiring that she somehow manages to avoid just butchering everyone she sees. No, wanton slaughter of random people doesn't appeal to her, she is spurred on to fight ever greater foes, to tear them open, to... You understand. She is clearly mad, but she is useful. She never, ever breaks an oath and for all her insanity she is not much of a sinner. Sure, she's a killer. But she isn't a murderer. She won't kill someone for no reason. At least, not usually.
She wasn't always like this. Years ago she was a simple nun, kind and quiet. She led a simple, humble life at a temple in shimmerstone, mostly doing chores and keeping the temple clean; her perceived lack of mage-blood made her ill-suited for healing or becoming a wandering warrior-priestess, especially as she was lacking in the self-defense department. She had always wanted to see a bit more of the world however, and had convinced a warrior-priestess to allow her to accompany her on a mission. They were to be escorting merchants onto Djarkel, which seemed simple enough.
To make a rather long story short, it wasn't. They were ambushed by unknown assailants, and most of the merchants were slaughtered. Danica, the warrior-priestess, and a pair of merchant women however were instead captured rather than slain. It soon became clear that they had become the captives of some demon worshiping cult. The horrors they experienced were without number, seeming to blend into each other. It's unknown how long they remained captives, but from deep within the cult's lair in the Ravine of Demons the passage of time was impossible to tell.
There was torture of a mundane sort, of course, unspeakable abuses. But the experiments were by far the worst. The cult sought to infuse their captives with shards of a great demon, Fenrir, to create powerful mutant warriors. They... succeeded. It took time to tear away a fragment of this demon's beastly power, but one by one the four women were separated. Danica was last. She cried when they took the warrior-priestess, the woman's last words to her to 'have faith, even in the darkest times.' Those words echoed in her mind as she sat alone in her cell for weeks, until they finally returned for her.
The process of grafting the demon to her soul was repeated, but Danica came out different. For unlike the others, Danica did in fact possess mageblood attuned to Obligatio. The shard of power came to rest inside her more amicably. Instead of forcibly transfiguring her into some wolf-like abomination, she appeared much the same. Believed to be a failure she was nonetheless tossed into the pit. She landed in a pile of flesh and bone, shaking as she rose to regard a trio of creatures, roused by her arrival. They were disgusting, as if an artist set out to paint a human, and gave up halfway to make a hellhound instead. They snarled and snapped at her, and as she regarded the lopsided, multi-eyed creatures she noted a tattered scarf hanging around one's neck, and recognized them.
She snapped. She was overcome with emotion. Grief. Despair. But most of all, rage. A mighty, all-consuming rage. The demon within her responded, and she blacked out. She awoke an unknown time later in the wilderness, feasting on... some variety of flesh, soaked in blood and clothed in naught but a stained church scarf. She ran her hands over her face, tracing her fingers over her jagged teeth... and laughed. A long, loud, manic laugh. She had been a mage all along, hadn't she? Clearly she had slaughtered her captors with her power, and her faith had been rewarded... At least, that's how she rationalized everything. She had escaped and avenged her fellow prisoners, and it was by Billant's blessing that she had discovered the power to do so. Vitamancy could be grim at times but it was an honorable magic, was it not? And the rest is history. Of course, who knows how she actually managed to get out, or even if she ended her captors at all. Her memory of her time in the ravine is beyond fuzzy. Who knows if the memory is just gone, or if she's intentionally suppressing it.
The fragment of the great hellhound Fenrir that lives inside Danica, Garmr eventually became a demon of his own after a time. Much like his father, Garmr is a violent, barely intelligent beast. While more intelligent than a common creature, Garmr is basically an animal. Unlike most animals however, Garmr is especially keen on wholesale slaughter for its own sake, not survival. Again, much like his father. Garmr is different, however, in that he only really cares to murder foes that would pose at least something of a challenge, likely due to being influenced by his host's personality. Unlike Danica however, Garmr doesn't want to murder civilians because it's wrong, but because it's boring.
Garmr has power over fire, which can be bestowed on Danica when she becomes more skilled at controlling/channeling him.
As for motivation, his needs are simple. Garmr needs to kill and to be fed. And the longer he's unsatisfied, the more anxious and irritable Danica gets, and if it goes on for too long, she will eventually enter a 'blood rage' and he will be able to forcibly take control of their body. Which is bad, because for as little restraint as Danica seems to have, Garmr has none when he's starving. Occasionally though, she might get so caught up in a fight as to lose herself to a blood rage then and there...
Despite the influence they have over each other, neither one of them are aware of the other. Since Garmr runs on instinct he isn't really able to comprehend Danica's existence yet, only whether his needs are met or not. Danica, however, simply loses consciousness in the event he takes over, with no recollection of what happened.
Finally, Garmr occasionally feels an odd pull from his father, who longs to be whole. he cannot ignore this compulsion, but he cannot understand it either. Thankfully, the 'pull' is fairly weak... usually. But who knows, maybe someday Fenrir will come to forcibly take his essence back. Or perhaps not. Such is the way of things.
Garmr provides a number of benefits to his host. For one, Danica is very strong, very fast, and very tough. She heals extremely fast, and as such can shrug off a number of wounds rather easily. She's immune to mundane disease, and her senses are heightened. All of these effects are 'active' at all times, such is the nature of their shared body. However, sometimes during times of great exhilaration she is capable of partially transforming, for example growing a savage, bestial claw in place of her arm, which may or may not be aflame. When this happens however, it is not Danica's will. She cannot consciously tap into Garmr's power, as she is not even really a novice demonomancer. No, when this happens it is Garmr himself. As such she can't really rely on this. When it happens, great. If not, it just... doesn't. Until she receives actual training in her actual discipline, she will never be able to call on his strength on her own.
Good Attributes:
Powerful: Despite her thin appearances Danica is unnaturally strong and tough. Comes with being a demon's host.
It will not die: She also possesses powerful regeneration. Sure, it's typically not fast enough to fully heal a wound mid-fight but it does keep her up longer.
Beast within: When Garmr deigns to help her, she's a monstrous force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of flame and rending claws. However, the demon inside rarely acts.
In Her Name: She is faithful to Billant, and keeps to her teachings despite what she's become. She never breaks a promise, and while she does do her work for coin more often than not she is obligated to help whenever truly needed.
Sunny Disposition: She's a rather positive sort, in part because she adores her work, and also just in general. She rarely feels hate or anger, and tends to be friendly to a fault.
Resourceful: She has to repair her clothes and gear a lot, so she's pretty handy with a needle and thread, in addition to being alright at leatherworking. While no craftswoman, she can be counted on for all manner of simple repairs. Additionally, she's a good cook provided you're alright with meat. And you don't ask where it came from.
Bad Attributes:
Maim and End: Danica loves killing, thoroughly, and tends to take fights way too far.
Unsettling: Despite her apparent friendliness, she is at best incredibly creepy. And while she won't hurt someone for no reason, most don't know that. As such, friends do not come easy for her, and she tends to rub people the wrong way. As it turns out talking about flaying is frowned upon in polite society.
Beast Within: Make no mistake, the demon inside of her is still a demon, and it will be fed.
Together Forever: Garmr and Danica are inextricably bound, and one cannot exist without the other. Meaning, they will both die if they are separated.
Laughing mad: She is more than a little unhinged, obviously, meaning her perception of reality can be a bit... different. She follows the law and tries to be upstanding and moral, but her senses of those are skewed.
Strong, but unskilled: Danica relies on brute force to fight, she is no swordmaster. While she is certainly an opponent to be reckoned with, expect nothing fancy.
'More, More, More!': In combat, Danica runs the risk of losing herself under certain circumstances, going into a blood rage and leaving Garmr in control. This is very, very bad.
A small smile played across Grey's face for a moment. That was rather good news, especially after the disaster his prior mission had been. Well, mostly. He turned his gaze to... Well, the young man currently doing a handstand for... reasons? He tried to get a read of him, but apart from his odd choice in exercises there wasn't a lot of red flags going up. "A bit bored out of my skull, yes. That said, that's good to hear." He said with a short bow, noting that Ssarak and Meirin were apparently here as well.
"Uneventful, I take it? I don't suppose one of you have written a report?" He sincerely hoped that one of them had. When students returned from missions without writing a report, he'd have to sit down with them and hear an account of the whole thing, and then write a report himself. It was... frustrating, to say the least. Still, protocol was protocol. And it had made him a bit better at writing.
He smelled Tyrael before he saw him, a rather... pleasant aroma. He'd recognized it as belonging to something Lady Riovas was working on, which meant that it would be something rather unpleasant. And as he turned around and was greeted by the terrifying visage of the demonomancy instructor with plant life bursting from his flesh, he was understandably slightly shocked. "Ack, Tyrael... You're... okay, right?" He said, grimacing. Of course he'd be fine, if one could treat... that happening to them as a minor inconvenience, they were clearly rather tough.
"Er, anyway..." he said, shivering as he regained his composure. He put on the most authoritative voice he could muster, and spoke. "Before we get ahead of ourselves with talk of dinner I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." He said, gesturing to the potential student. Realizing that he may have sounded a bit too intimidating, he quickly added: "We just need to take care of the paperwork to get you properly registered. Normally you'd meet with Lady Riovas, but she is no doubt indisposed at this moment. I, however, am capable of processing you on my own." He explained. He held his hand out. "The name's Grey. May I ask yours?"
The guard sat at his post in the bailey, stretching and yawning as he kept watch. Being a bodyguard for wizards could be a surprisingly boring job, at times. Or perhaps, it was more accurate to say that it wasn't much different than usual. Save now he worked on a salary rather than a contract. Still, he supposed quiet boredom was much easier to stomach than demonic incursions or zombie invasions. That talking axe he had had been rather quiet of late as well. He supposed Tyrfing was not immune to boredom itself, and had gone dormant. He'd tried to learn more about it, but... it was beyond the scope of his worldy experience, and he wasn't really keen on telling the rest of the staff about it. He felt like he should hang onto it, and he was worried it might be confiscated.
He idly tapped at his eyepatch. He'd considered getting a glass eye instead, but he wasn't sure if that would just make him scarier. Being intimidating was nice in combat at all, but it would also be nice to look a bit less like the villain in a children's fable to those under his protection. Perhaps he should wear brighter clothing? His musings were interrupted by the sight of a carriage coming in, branded with college insignias. Perhaps it was returning students? He'd heard there'd been a few excursions lately. He rose, waving to the gate guards to let them know he was handling it.
"Hail!" He said, waving as he approached. When students came pouring out, he was proven right. He recognized two of them, Leith and the Naga's hybrid daughter. The third one though, he wasn't so sure. He supposed it would be best to address Leith, he was hardly familiar with the other two. Especially as the other... contorts so. "Welcome home, sorry to intrude." He stated, nodding to the other two. "Is there wounded to be attended to, cargo unloaded, messages to be relayed? Or anything else I may assist you with?" He preferred to skip straight to the point, most of the time.
Alaira crossed her arms and laughed a bit, turning her gaze toward the window she'd just tumbled through, then down to her arm. She looked over her hand for a moment, letting a few sparks dance between her fingertips. "Heh, I suppose so. Quite the rogue's gallery here." Indeed, she'd never seen such a collection of... shall we say colorful individuals. Not that she was without her own eccentricities. "So, you're a student yourself, yeah? Or just a run of the mill scholar?" Most of the students were here to master magics of course, but from what she could tell occasionally the college took in people of a more... mundane persuasion that wished to learn.
However, she soon felt a light ache in her head. She wasn't sure what, but she felt like something was... wrong, and that it involved Lyn somehow. A momentary disturbance. She shook it off. Probably nothing. "Anyway, I suppose I should take my leave soon. Got things to take care of." She said, sighing a bit wistfully.
The Irish Tree