Gelatinous Cube

What Are You Listening To?

I have not been able to stop listening to Ayreon Universe

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

Quint did as he was asked and slipped his arm around Esperanza's waist. The scene around them was pandemonium, the chances of finding the little girls parents were slim. He hoped dearly that they weren't caught in the fire. Morvai had enough orphans to speak of, Quint knew too well. He also knew what happened to the kids that didn't make it into an orphanage.
Thankfully he had the sound of Esperanza's ambrosia voice to take those morbid thoughts away. They were soon behind the cover of buildings, blocking the sight and some of the sound.

Quint couldn't help but be amazed at how Esperanza was handling the situation. He was known to keep his cool while staring down the barrel of guns, but in this instance he was clueless. It was little wonder the kid wasn't completely freaking out, Esperanza just had that effect on people.
At last she had convinced Anika to cooperate with them, and she approached Quint with her arms up. He dutifully stooped down to pick her up and she took up a very similar position to how Esperanza had held her.
"Well, I guess we'll be doing this the old fashioned way, huh? We've gotta go out into that crowd and find them," Quint turned to speak to the girl in a soft, calm voice, "Don't you worry at all sweetheart. We'll find them."
I really hope they're still alive anyway...

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

"Wonderful to see you again Quint. It has been a bit." He held up a finger and ordered himself a beer. "I do indeed. And as we both know, a friend in need is a friend indeed. A friend with cash."

"Well, that's the most important part, isn't it?" Quint offered casually. As well-mannered and pleasant as he seemed, he still had to pay the rent. Besides, one does not gain a reputation for quality without attaching an appropriate value to their skills.

"We can discuss business in a moment though, how have you been since the last time I saw you?" He turned in his bar stool, leaning slightly against the bar. He was a very open, warm sort of person. His smile was never faltering and manner of speech genuine. "Been by the Lotus recently?" He sipped his drink again.

"Oh, you know. Keeping out of trouble, making sure I don't step on too many toes. Did a job for your boss about a month ago, had a bug up his ass about some creep." Of course, Quint was none the wiser that Connor "Sully" Sullivan had just wet his fists with said "creeps" blood only a short time ago, but such was the nature of Quint's work. Don't ask too many questions. People expected a certain amount of discretion, and he made sure his guarantee was airtight. He liked his and Sully's relationship. It was professional, respectful and almost never difficult.
"Unfortunately I haven't had the chance to hit the Lotus as often as I like, but I'm sure I'll be around sooner or later."
It had been far too long since he had the pleasure of hearing Esperanza sing, or the pleasure of her company in a more private setting. He liked her a lot, but he knew that any sort of romantic pursuit was a fools game. He could try and believe there was something there, but once all was said and done and the money transferred it was all over. Besides, as cordial as he and Miguel were, he did not think the overprotective brother would approve.

As Quint responded to him, Miguel's phone began to ring. He subtly pulled it from his pocket to see who it was that called. Work. "I sincerely apologize, my good friend, but I must take this. When the boss calls, you know." He winked before answering the device.

Quint waved it off casually, "Business as usual, far be it from me to get in the way." He sat alone again and drank his beer, savoring the cool, crisp taste of it. He really should pay a visit to the Lotus sometime soon. Normally he wasn't too picky about his watering holes, but nothing beat air-conditioning and good entertainment.

"Sorry Quint. There's a fire nearby. The boss man wants all hands on deck. I'm afraid we'll have to postpone our chat a bit. Of course, if you would like to come along and help you will certainly be compensated."

As calm as Miguel seemed, Quint could see the worry in his eyes. If it was enough for everyone to be called in to help, then it had to be serious. There was more than that, though. Miguel had the look about him that somebody important to him was in danger, and that could only mean one thing. Suddenly Quint had a vested interest as well.
"Of course," he said, wasting no time in springing to action. There was no need to stop by the bartender, he always pre-paid his drinks if it was a business meeting. He hated the interruption, and it made the client feel more comfortable knowing they had his full attention.

In no time at all, they arrived at the scene. Smoke billowed from the building and countless displaced, tear streaked faces milled about not knowing what to do or where to go. It was pandemonium, but through it all he saw the stoic and calm figure of Connor Sullivan controlling the situation. No wonder that man had risen through the ranks, he was a natural leader.
Miguel and Quint quickly got to work, doing what they could with limited resources and preparation. It wasn't much, but those they managed to aid were grateful.

Eventually, Miguel met up with Esperanza, who was cradling a distressed child.
"Esperanza" Quint nodded as she greeted him, still somehow managing to smile in spite of the intense situation around them.
Miguel asked him to look after her, and of course he obliged. He could do no less, "You have my word."
He turned to Esperanza and the child and tried to speak softly to the little girl, "Hey sweetheart. Don't worry about a thing, we're going to find your parents and everything will be okay. My name's Quint, but my friends sometimes call me Quinsey."
She didn't seem terribly receptive, but at the same time she wasn't panicked so that had to count for something. Quint had little to no experience with children, but knowing he had been rescued from a baby farm he felt a need to help them when he could.
"Come on, Esperanza. Let's see if we can't get her some place quieter, calm her down a bit. Connor and Miguel will handle everything."

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

Gotta love a joint that smells like so much stale smoke you light up just to get a fresh breath.
This place wasn't exactly the Floating Lotus, but it had heart where it counted. Quint Casey never was one to cry about standards, just don't water down his drinks and he was a happy man.
Well, not happy but...well, you know. Less miserable?
The ceiling fans did only a little to alleviate the summer heat, but he didn't mind too much. Today he was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and light blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Small moisture stains had sprung up around his pits, but for the most part he was comfortable.

He took a casual sip of his beer and held the chill in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Summer was going to make him an alcoholic.
Though he would be careful not to indulge too heavily today. Today was all about business.
One of his regular friends and clients, Miguel Hidalgo, had phoned him to meet him here about a job. Quint knew Miguel was good for the money, and Miguel knew Quint was good for the skills. They had a casual, easy friendship marked by a shared love of the same alcohol and a shared interest of mutual company.
Quint loved listening to Esperanza sing, and Miguel loved protecting her.

It was then that the immaculately present Hidalgo arrived.
Quint raised his glass to him as a way of greeting and gestured for another drink to be brought to the table.
"Miguel, always a pleasure. I hear you've got a friend in need."

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Mortar fire. Pyromancy. Blood. Smoke. Screaming.
It was like he was really back there. Charging through trenches, cutting down cultists and baring his teeth in directionless rage. He was like a rabid wolverine, all snarls and claws. Of course, the cocktail of uppers and pyschotics he'd shot up into his bloodstream at the first sign of battle were mostly to blame for his undeniably warlike disposition. His eyes were orbs of pure, pitch black, the blood in his teeth clashed with the mud on his uniform. His hair was shaved into a messy, tribal mohawk and his beard was scruffy and pointed. His body was the scrawny, wired musculature of a serial shooter.
Even his comrades were afraid of him when he was like this. So different from the quiet, withdrawn man they knew in the quiet hours. So far removed from the cyclone of violence they now witnessed.
Suddenly, a massive explosion threw him several feet backwards, heat and concussive pressure hit him like the fist of an enraged god squarely in his centre of mass.
He looked up at the clouded sky with shell-shocked eyes, seeing a million rockets bearing down on him. Only they weren't rockets at all. They were needles. Full of sloshing, murky liquid. He smiled and laughed as they blotted out the sky and sent him to a realm of painless black...

...then he was awake. Soft light beamed through the slitted blinds of his room and a ceiling fan whirled lazily above him. There was no shock, no jolt of awakening. Raymond had been experiencing that dream for years now. It was at the point where he would be perturbed if he didn't.
He turned his head and looked at the digital clock beside his bed.
He was late.
"Ah, fuck it all!" he exclaimed as he sat up and rubbed his eyes and face. No time to shave, then. He quickly got dressed and freshened up as fast as time would allow and was hurriedly making his way toward the common room. He was met at once with the delectable aroma of pancakes, syrup and strong black coffee.
Scanning the room he could see a large number of students had already taken their place. He recognized none of them, despite knowing that a great deal of them came from rich stock. There would be plenty of time to get to know them over the year, however.
He turned his attention to someone he did recognize, and his heart momentarily sank.
He caught Oren Kovalenko's gaze and shot her a half-hearted sheepish look of apology for his tardiness. Not that it would do him any good, she didn't like him at all.
Though he didn't think she really like anyone, save for Professor Maeve. Ray was endlessly grateful her second half was not currently present. He could handle them one at a time, but there was no defense against the two of them. Not even for the Professor of Defense!

Ray helped himself to a plate of pancakes and a mug of strong, black coffee.
How on earth did I get into this mess? He thought to himself wistfully, as he went over his lesson plans and class attendance rolls for the umpteenth time. He had it all memorized, he was really just going through the motions in order to avoid sitting by himself and staring creepily at a bunch of kids.

Red Dragon Bone Guild

Hey, I'm sorry but I think I will bow out of this one. It's been a few days and nothing has really come to me character-wise. I do hope it all takes off and you all have a lot of fun with it though.

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Raymond Matheos

Full Name:
Raymond Matheos

Nicknames/Aliases:
Never one for fancy nicknames, he just lets people call him Ray.

Age:
38

Gender:
Male

Position:
Professor of Defense and Toxin Production

Primary:
Defense

Secondary:
Toxin Production and Magic Weapon Infusement

Description:
Ray has certainly brought his dress code up since his...old life. He still enjoys muted tones, but his collection of coats with the elbow patches and plain slacks and dress boots make him look somewhat more mature than his sense of humour would suggest. His black hair is kept short and neatly pomaded back, and he doesn't let his beard go beyond the rough stubble phase anymore. He cuts an average figure, standing at even six feet tall.
He looks like just another guy.

Personality:
Ray has something of a dry sense of humour, interspersed with a penchant for well-timed quips. Often times he uses sarcasm or self-deprecation to steer somebody away from the subject of his past. Otherwise, he's a devoted teacher and takes his lessons very seriously. One could even be forgiven for thinking him a pacifist, though the way he carries himself suggests that his soldier habits have not entirely left him

Skills:
He has an intimate knowledge of Defense and Toxin Production, owing to a tragic, criminal past. He gained his knowledge of Toxin Production during the war, providing a valuable boon to the Council's forces...as well as a not so valuable boon to his substance abuse.
During his time in the war, he became an accomplished swordsman, with a preference towards one-handed, single edged blades. He still has the Sabre he was given when he passed basic training, though it hasn't been used in so long it's enchantment has mostly worn away. He has neglected to re-enchant it for personal reasons, though he has a hunch that he may need to dust it off sooner than he would like.

Weaknesses:
His past, definitely. Although it would seem to be behind him, and he outwardly appears to have made peace with it, the guilt still lingers. Anyone with enough knowledge of it could manipulate his emotions to their own will with the right finesse. The thing that scares him the most is how little it would take.


Brief History:
Ray was once a promising young student of Magic. He excelled in Defense and was a voracious learner. Whatever time not spent with his girlfriend Kyra, was spent with his nose in books. He eventually came to chance upon a recruitment agent for the Doomsday Cult named Mathias Delancourt who saw potential in Ray's eagerness and naivete. He took the boy under his wing, acting as something of a tutor. All the while he was taking control of Ray's mind, subtly indoctrinating him into the Cult. It all culminated one stormy night at Ray's official initiation into the cult, wherein he plunged a dagger into the heart of an innocent man. It just so happened that the Council's strike force was too late to stop him, but quick enough to see everything.
His punishment was severe.
Mathias was executed, Ray was not. The next decade of his life made him wish he had been. Ray had murdered an innocent man for the Doomsday Cult, and thus deserved to be tried and punished. However, the Council was embroiled in war with that very cult, and could not afford to execute an able Wizard. Ray was drafted into service under the Council to fight their war. Kyra had joined voluntarily, after tearfully leaving Ray a year earlier when it became apparent who he had been getting involved with. The war took her, and Ray was shattered. The love of his life died hating him, and he had never been able to let that go. Upon completion of his service, his record was cleared and he was let go a free man. His employment options basically non-existent, he took up the councils offer to put his unfortunate knowledge of Black Magic to some good use and make sure the next generation of Wizards and Witches did not stray down the same tragic path he did.
Thus his unexpected tenure at Marchand, a place he could do well and be closely monitored. Nobody really knows his past exactly, only that he fought in the war and that his drafting was anything but orthodox, but the rumours spread around the faculty and alumni.
He does his best to ignore or deflect them.

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Raymond Matheos

Full Name:
Raymond Matheos

Nicknames/Aliases:
Never one for fancy nicknames, he just lets people call him Ray.

Age:
38

Gender:
Male

Position:
Professor of Defense and Toxin Production

Primary:
Defense

Secondary:
Toxin Production and Magic Weapon Infusement

Description:
Ray has certainly brought his dress code up since his...old life. He still enjoys muted tones, but his collection of coats with the elbow patches and plain slacks and dress boots make him look somewhat more mature than his sense of humour would suggest. His black hair is kept short and neatly pomaded back, and he doesn't let his beard go beyond the rough stubble phase anymore. He cuts an average figure, standing at even six feet tall.
He looks like just another guy.

Personality:
Ray has something of a dry sense of humour, interspersed with a penchant for well-timed quips. Often times he uses sarcasm or self-deprecation to steer somebody away from the subject of his past. Otherwise, he's a devoted teacher and takes his lessons very seriously. One could even be forgiven for thinking him a pacifist, though the way he carries himself suggests that his soldier habits have not entirely left him

Skills:
He has an intimate knowledge of Defense and Toxin Production, owing to a tragic, criminal past. He gained his knowledge of Toxin Production during the war, providing a valuable boon to the Council's forces...as well as a not so valuable boon to his substance abuse.
During his time in the war, he became an accomplished swordsman, with a preference towards one-handed, single edged blades. He still has the Sabre he was given when he passed basic training, though it hasn't been used in so long it's enchantment has mostly worn away. He has neglected to re-enchant it for personal reasons, though he has a hunch that he may need to dust it off sooner than he would like.

Weaknesses:
His past, definitely. Although it would seem to be behind him, and he outwardly appears to have made peace with it, the guilt still lingers. Anyone with enough knowledge of it could manipulate his emotions to their own will with the right finesse. The thing that scares him the most is how little it would take.


Brief History:
Ray was once a promising young student of Magic. He excelled in Defense and was a voracious learner. Whatever time not spent with his girlfriend Kyra, was spent with his nose in books. He eventually came to chance upon a recruitment agent for the Doomsday Cult named Mathias Delancourt who saw potential in Ray's eagerness and naivete. He took the boy under his wing, acting as something of a tutor. All the while he was taking control of Ray's mind, subtly indoctrinating him into the Cult. It all culminated one stormy night at Ray's official initiation into the cult, wherein he plunged a dagger into the heart of an innocent man. It just so happened that the Council's strike force was too late to stop him, but quick enough to see everything.
His punishment was severe.
Mathias was executed, Ray was not. The next decade of his life made him wish he had been. Ray had murdered an innocent man for the Doomsday Cult, and thus deserved to be tried and punished. However, the Council was embroiled in war with that very cult, and could not afford to execute an able Wizard. Ray was drafted into service under the Council to fight their war. Kyra had joined voluntarily, after tearfully leaving Ray a year earlier when it became apparent who he had been getting involved with. The war took her, and Ray was shattered. The love of his life died hating him, and he had never been able to let that go. Upon completion of his service, his record was cleared and he was let go a free man. His employment options basically non-existent, he took up the councils offer to put his unfortunate knowledge of Black Magic to some good use and make sure the next generation of Wizards and Witches did not stray down the same tragic path he did.
Thus his unexpected tenure at Marchand, a place he could do well and be closely monitored. Nobody really knows his past exactly, only that he fought in the war and that his drafting was anything but orthodox, but the rumours spread around the faculty and alumni.
He does his best to ignore or deflect them.

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Caaaaaaaan do!

Is it alright if I just copy him straight over from the previous RP, or will there be changes I'd have to make?

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Whaaaaaat? This has started again?

Anybody object to me bringing Ray back?