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    1. Gentlemanvaultboy 12 yrs ago

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I guess my comfort zone is "eccentric side character."

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Name/Alias: Grigori
Appearance:


Biography: Once upon a time there was a brutal and empty hearted murderer. He had within him no trace of mercy or compassion, for he had been shown none in all his life. He used his incredible fighting skills to end lives across the world, caring not for the suffering he inflicted. An empty, wretched thing, more like a demon than a man.

No one cared when this man was betrayed and left to die in the cold, vast emptiness of Siberia. He would have succumb to the elements had he not stumbled upon what seemed to be a temple sitting alone out in the middle of the steppe. He knocked on the door and it was opened by a young man. Like an animal the murderer lashed out, felt his fingers reach the mans heart, but with a fluid grace the man reached out with his final breath and placed his hand upon the murderers head as though he were a child. There was a flash of light, a moment of pure bliss, and then all was darkness.

He awoke some time later. He was lying in a comfortable bed, next to a warm stove, with the taste of broth in his mouth and an old man smiling at him from a chair nearby. The murderer asked if the man was dead. He was, replied the old man. The murderer asked why he was not dead. He had already been forgiven, replied the old man. In his final moment the young man had redeemed him. The murderer asked the old man to explain.

Their talk that night was long. The old man was the leader of a strange cult founded by a group of executioners long ago, who had come east searching for the most painless way to kill. They had found it somewhere out here. A revelation from God that let them kill not only without pain, but inspiring a heavenly bliss in their subject. Being killed with it was comparable to being enveloped in the warm hands of God himself, and so they called it Heavens Palm. Being hit with the full force of it, they had thought, would make even demons repent in their final moments and be welcome into Heaven. However, they knew what evil could be wrought with this ultimate killing technique. They could not return with it to the amoral princes that set them to their work. However, they could also not throw away a gift from the almighty. So they had remained out here, constructing this temple and teaching wanderers like him.

The murderer asked if they would even teach a murderer like him. Yes, said the old man, for if God had not willed it he would never have found his way to their door. The murderer asked what would happen should he take the technique and use if for evil. Could you, the old man replied, having been shown a glimpse of heavens compassion? The murderer thought for a long time. He remembered that feeling he had experienced when the young man had placed a hand upon his head, a feeling being enveloped in pure love, and found for the first time a stirring in his heart. He knew that he could never use that technique for evil. With is dying breath, the young man had killed his murderer.

That was many years ago. Now, finally, the world is in desperate need of the Heavens Palm and its greatest practitioner has set off across the steppe toward civilization to test the technique against those he knows it was truly meant to combat. Grigori set out to save the souls of demons.

Devil Arms: Heavens Palm is a chi manipulation technique that sends the users chi directly into the opponents body to destroy it from the inside with even the lightest of touches. A bastard technique hacked together from Catholicism, Siberian mysticism, and Chinese martial arts, the technique causes no pain and in fact with every hit imparts building feelings of euphoria.

Firearms: None. Such mechanical devises lack the compassion necessary to redeem a demon. He can, however, concentrate his chi into projectiles that have the same effects as his fists.

Skills/Abilities:

Gods Breath- One of the foundational skills of Heavens Palm. A special breathing technique that focuses the users chi and boosts all their physical abilities. A Grigori was a peak human specimen before learning a mystical martial art from a group of Siberian Hermits the technique boosts his abilities to truly superhuman levels. To make use of this technique he, of course, needs to be able to breath.

Blood Stilling - One of the foundational skills of Heavens Palm. A technique Russian mystics used mostly on cattle. By laying their hands on the wound these men were able to completely stop the flow of blood and stabilize the patient. This is the same technique the mad monk Rasputin used to save Tsarevich Alexei Romanov during his struggles with hemophilia. This technique does not speed the healing of the wounds, just stops the patient from bleeding out.

Mission: Blackmarsh


Bergoda plucked the map from his hands and started going over it, sucking in a little air between her teeth at the sight of it. Twisty turny waterways cut through dense groves of whatever could find root in the swamp. A complicated journey by normal standards, but other little details caught her eye. "What's these little blobby bits all over?" She asked, holding the map extremely close to her face. "Oh." she said, a bit hollow. "Them's ghosts. Well, s' good thing we got our magic boy here. Oi, Rolf. How ya' feel about ghosts?"
I would also like to know just how magic our magic kung-fu can be.
"Thash me den." Bergoda said, swallowing the last of whatever it is she'd put in her mouth. She hadn't stopped eating since entering the room, and honestly hadn't even cared to look once their host got to talking and became the center of her attention. She wiped whatever residue was left of her face with her sleeve. "Less any of you know your way around muck better'n me, which I don't figure you do."

"What key then, huh?" She asked, grabbing something that felt bread-ish. "Thought the boy was the key?"
Water. Sweet lord, mother of all life, thank the gods for water. Thank the Gods for warm, soapy water and the fat old women of the world who prepared it. Put a couple of young attractive men in here with her and it would be exactly like the old days, her and the boys pulling in to a town of ill repute to spend hard earned loot on drinks, food, and pleasurable company.

Those days were far behind her now, of course. Her sweet good boys were probably all dead, and as she scrubbed the stink of eight years off her body she was struck for the first time with how bony it'd gotten during her confinement. There was still muscle there, a core that had been built over years of ships work and wet work, that she had manged to hold on to mostly through sheer bloody minded spite. It was still nothing like she had been in her prime. She felt it hang loose, and it bunched up uncomfortable as she scrubbed up and down her arms. She wondered if this is how her pop pop had felt when he realized he was getting old.

She dunked her head and started working on her hair. None of it came out in her hands, fortunately.

Oh well. "Fear an old man in a young mans game," as her old pop pop used to say.




She came out of the tub feeling refreshed and light on her feet. She bounced experimentally back and forth to test the spring in her step and stopped only as her stomach started to growl, triggered by this unusual burst of movement. She hoped Dulcena was one of those exercise nuts with a private gymnasium, but even if she wasn't Bergoda felt like she could get back in good shape. Not quite as good as her old shape, but a good one.

There was a simple grey shirt and pair of trousers provided which she threw on as soon as she was dry and headed back up onto the lawn. "Oi, boys." she called out to the crew she'd be working with. "Next one up." She said, walking past them and over to the newly clean boy, Rolf.

"Cheeky boy, cuttin' in front of a old lady on the way to the bath. Weren't you raised with no manners?" She said jovially before sticking out a hand. "Rolf, right? Heard you introduce yourself to the big guy. Bergoda's the name. Probably heard me introduce myself to the Lady, but I figured I'd be polite about it and all seein' as we're crew-mates now."
The Fortress of Owls.
Bergoda couldn't see anything, the brown sackcloth bag tied around her head enveloping her in total darkness and muffling the meager sounds of woe that had been her lullaby these past eight years. She'd take it off, were it not for the fact that her arms where strung up to the ceiling by cold iron chains. These measures were on account of her little indiscretion earlier in the week, which really wasn't her fault anyway. Charley had been working here for how long? He'd been here when she'd arrived. He should have known better than to turn his back on her cell, no matter how weak and decrepit her body looked or how securely he thought the manacles held her. He'd been asking for it.

Gods, that ear had been the sweetest thing she'd tasted in a long time. It was the little things like that, the defiances, that kept life worth living in here. Little cruelties that kept Bergoda the Eel, queen of the Crimson River, warm at night. Kept the fire going in her. Kept her from turning back into weak old Bergoda the dock urchin. Kept the treasure out of the Baron Rustmore's hands until he and his house wasted away to nothing expecting it to deliver them.

That was when something new entered the cellblock. A slight smell hidden under all the muck. Perfume. She listed, could hear the familiar shuffling gait of Fenster and the unheard of but distinct tapping of posh women's shoes on the stones. She smiled. "Fenster, ya dirty ol' bastard!" She called out jovially to the jailer as she heard the steps passing her cell. "Finally got up the stones to step out on yer wife, eh? Gods, how much ya save up for a high class bird like this? Lady, no matter how much he pays ya it ain't worth it! He's a freak, that one! I got the scars to prove it, hahahahahahahaha!"

She didn't hear the footsteps momentarily stop over the sound of her own laughter. By the time she was done, they'd continued down the hall.




She was jerked roughly from her cell and led out some time later, up a flight of stairs, and had the bag ripped off her head. The face reveled could be said to possess a certain rugged charm by a well intentioned liar. What could have once been a handsome young woman had been warped by time and trial into the sort of face that wouldn't look out of place skulking halfway out of the waters of a bog, mentally separating everything it observed into two boxes labeled "potential food" and "not worth my damn time."

Lady Dulcena definitely fell into the "potential food" category. Dangerous food, she could tell that right away. She wasn't the normal sort of rich poncy twit that decided to take a spirited pleasure cruise down the Crimson River and maybe give those pirates what for while they were at it. She had that look in her eye like the Baron had, the sort of old school noble who got where they were by being ruthless and smart and really, really, really good at slitting throats if the need arose. She'd made the mistake of confusing the two once. She was lucky enough that she had the opportunity to apply what she'd learned.

"Bergoda the Eel at yer service, m'lady." She said, doing her best impression of a curtsy with her shackled hands and the tattered remains of what might have been a potato sack some time in the distant past. She felt her wrists slip free of the binding and took a moment to stretch out in the sunlight that poured through the window and enjoy the sight of one of the guard in the room, less one ear, quaking in what was either terror or rage. Probably both. She waved back at them as she stumbled toward the carriages. "Bye Bye Charley. Hector. Fenster. Swear on me pop pop I'll never forget out times together. Swear on it."
Name: Set-forth-with-the-Sun-at-thy-back Gorum.
Age: 46
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Hetero
Class: Paladin

Appearance:

Out of armor: An average height but muscular human woman. Her skin is the color and texture of brown leather, and what was once long flowing blond hair is just starting to wither and show the grey of her age. She could never have been called a beautiful woman, with an abnormally long nose and features sharp enough to poke an eye out, but the trials of her life have chiseled her face into something that could be called handsome. Her body is covered in evidence of old injuries. Among the more notable of her scars are a small clean one down the middle of her chin, a long jagged one going all the way down her right arm, and what looks worryingly like a bite mark that wraps around her entire left thigh.

Weapon(s):
Halberd of Elim - One of the holy weapons forged and consecrated by the church of Elim for its paladins, each one is capable of channeling the goddesses power through it in response to holy chants spoken by the paladin. When this happens the weapon emits a radiant light that inflicts harm on any evil creature of the dark.

Halo of the Sun - The holy symbol of the Church, displayed on the paladins armor behind the helmet. The more ornate the halo, the more venerable the paladin in crowns. In response to similar holy chants as used to alight the halberd the halo can also channel Elim power to cleanse dark magic, heal wounds, or shield people from harm with Elims holy light. Greater halos grant access to even greater power and are only entrusted to the mightiest of the order.

Armor:

Blessed Armor of Elim - Standard armor bestowed on Paladins on mission, consecrated by the church of Elim to resist black magic and curses. Strong, sturdy and warm to the touch even in freezing conditions, Paladins take great care to keep their armor in tip top condition not only because it could save their lives but because they are the projection of Elims will in the mortal plane and their garb should strive to shine as brightly as she.

Personal Trinkets:

-A pair of simple gold rings worn on a necklace around her neck.

-The Book of Radiance, the holy text of Elim in condensed form.

-A journal.

-A small sack filled with precious blood rubies.

-A satchel of food, containing an unopened bottle of Glimmering Spring wine from her homeland.

-The broken pieces of an extremely ornate Halo of the Sun.



Other:

-Greets the sun every morning with an hour of stretching, prayer, and breathing exercises.

-Is still a remarkable dancer from her priesthood training, but was never any good at singing.

-Fuck your rules.


I believe in you.
The ship wasn't any better than on the ground. There was some sort of problem, some conflict in his programming response to Japan and Japanese civilians that didn't quite gel with the concept of Japan's of other worlds or going directly from the island into space. The end result of this conflict was that he was normal when he was alone in the halls of the Ruler of the Sea he was fine. Functioning normally. However, whenever his finely tuned sensor picked up even the hint that someone else was around, something booted up in his head and he felt his mind and body slow down. It booted on. It booted off. It would boot on again as he started to turn the next corner. It was like a toddler had discovered his stupid switch and was eagerly flicking it on and off for her sick amusement.

It wasn't just the constant switching that was irritating him, either. Every single second he spent in "user friendly" mode was a second where it would be harder to identify the aberrant thoughts flowing from Souji's heart into his head. There was the uncomfortable notion that this might have been going on all along, that he had simply never been "himself" long enough to learn how to properly distinguish between his thoughts and Souji's. There was another possibility, however. One he wouldn't have acknowledged if he was a human but his robotic nature would not allow him to turn away from. What if these aberrant thoughts had only begun recently? What if Souji's heart was becoming stronger somehow? This seemed far more likely to v2 than him simply missing these signs for two years, and this possibility brought to mind one last question related to this unprecedented situation. If Souji's heart, his personality, became too strong what would become of his replacement?

It is because of these fears that v2 took a circuitous route through the ship, making his way through the more quiet and unused parts of the ship to remain as himself for as long as he could. Too make sure none of those aberrant thoughts slipped through. If he heard someone coming he would move the other way. If he saw a door open he would duck around a corner. He even resorted to concealing himself within empty rooms and closets at a few points, waiting until the footsteps and voices vanished before continuing on his way. This was frustratingly impossible as he came to the living quarters, and he felt himself fall into Souji's slow, easy going gait as the sheer density of people destroyed any hope of further resistance.

He stored the box containing the head in a trunk at the boot of his bed. He would have to confirm that it was indeed what he thought it to be, but if his suspicions proved true he wasn't stupid enough even in this form to take this anywhere near the princesses. Just to make sure he acquired a pen and wrote CONTENTS HIGHLY RADIOACTIVE across the top. He took a moment to appreciate the perfect handwriting afforded him by privacy before heading back out into public.

As he opened up the door to the holding cells he saw that he wasn't the first one here. "Drake. Mai." He greeted with a tired little wave before entering the room. "I sort of thought this briefing thing was my job?" He said, then gave them both a weak smile. "Just as well, I really don't feel up to this right now. So I don't mind the help. Have you started yet, how much do they know?" He turned to the scared kids in the room. "How much do you already know?"

@SMS@Rex
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