Oso

Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players!

YES COME JOIN US XD!!!!!!!

Z-Team: Operatives of the SDN

Sacrifice

S D N A S S E T D O S S I E R

Active Liability Status

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ASSET PORTRAIT & ID NAME: Liam Bellamy CODENAME: Sacrifice AGE: 27 HEIGHT: 6’1” BIRTHPLACE: Rydell City, East Sector VIBE: Tragic but Pretty, Broken Anti-Hero DETAIL: Shaggy dark-blonde hair, white-blue eyes, lean muscular frame, scarred chest and arms, faint stubble CONTRACT: Probationary Rehabilitation Contract under SDN Z-Team Initiative (commuted sentence for Class-B villain complicity) | STATUS: Active Liability POWER & LIABILITY P O W E R S E T ABILITIES: Liam can amplify the powers of others through his own pain. Physical or emotional suffering triggers an augmentation field that strengthens the abilities of a chosen ally...sometimes exponentially. The deeper the pain, the stronger the boost. His regenerative factor allows him to survive prolonged agony, though not without consequence. The link is strongest through direct contact and intensifies with emotional connection. C O R P O R A T E F L A W (MANDATORY) LIABILITY: His ability requires constant pain stimulation. Excessive use causes psychogenic disassociation, hallucinations, or blackouts during missions. Emotional attachments increase the enhancement as well as the instability. Without supervision or dampeners, he may unconsciously boost unauthorized targets during trauma-based incidents. PR risk: The whole “using his pain to make the others more powerful” narrative is a difficult one to control. Especially given what he has already endured. We should keep the details of his abilities as discreet as possible, especially from the press.

ASSET CAPACITY STAT | VALUE | RATIONALE Combat | 3 | He picked up some tricks from his previous affiliations, but he's nothing special. Vigor | 4 | Enhanced endurance & rapid healing factor. This guy just won't stay down. Mobility | 2 | Capable under stress, favors defensive positioning over speed. He's just a guy though. Charisma | 2 | Intense presence but mostly just sad; avoids eye contact; quiet and unsettling to most. Intellect | 2 | Decent awareness; trauma limits emotional reasoning. MECHANICS & STATUS DESIGNATED ROLE: Utility Support/ Field Amplifier SIGNATURE TACTIC/MANEUVER: Puts himself in dangerous positions for highest percentage chance of being wounded—using his pain to boost the power of his chosen ally. EMOTIONAL STABILITY RATING (1-5): 2- Fragile but functional under guidance. We do not believe him to be a malevolent man, but always remember that "hurt people hurt people". Years of torture, the constant pain, the loss of his sister, the shattering of his world. He's the definition of hurt. HISTORY & DESCRIPTION PERSONALITY: He's kind of funny once you get past all the buzzkill. Seems like he could've been sweet under different circumstances. Seems so different from his sister. Lorelai was likeable, but it's my finding that Liam can still be an asset.

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BIO: One half of the infamous Bellamy Twins, Liam was born alongside his twin sister Lorelai. Liam’s power manifested as an inverse to his sisters. Their powers did the exact same thing: amplify the abilities of others, but they accessed their powers in opposite ways. His comes from pain where hers derives from pleasure. A powerful villain named Dominus found them, took them in (more like enslaved them if you believe the stories), exploited their duality of abilities, and shaped them into living conduits for his strength. In truth, they are the reason Dominus and his Dominion criminal organization rose to such heights. Liam endured years of torture under the illusion of devotion; Lorelai, broken differently (this report will not go into details on how they manipulated her powers...for obvious reasons), eventually betrayed their captor on behalf of SDN to save him. The plan cost her life and left Liam with no one.

Following the imprisonment of Dominus, Liam was detained by the SDN for complicity in multiple meta-terrorist operations. Instead of life imprisonment, he accepted a Z-Team probationary contract, serving under constant monitoring as an “Active Liability.” His sister had real potential, it was a shame that she died in the operation. Whereas Liam, well, it's up in there air whether or not he'll be able to rise to the occasion. After my interviews with him, it is my recommendation that we should give him a try, and my professional opinion that being part of a team...even a team of misfits and broken toys like Z-Team...might be his only hope of recovery.

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CRIMES: Accessory to mass-casualty meta incidents under a Class-A villain organization, though his level of involvement and willingness has been debated. Recorded counts include forced augmentation, unauthorized meta enhancement, and collateral destruction exceeding 1,200 civilian casualties. Sentence commuted under SDN Rehabilitation Act §47.3b (“Utilization of High-Risk Meta Assets”).

Don't

I said don't!

STOP IT

What's wrong with you! STOP STOP STOP!

Fine, you're one sick bastard...enjoy his suffering

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

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Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Guardian
Location: Airship – Top Deck
Mentions: Phia @princess, Arya @potter, Menzai @samreaper, Corin @Lava Alckon
Equipment:

equipment

☼ Tower Shield
☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.)
☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook.
☼ Aged Leather Satchel
☼ Worn but cherished scarf
☼ Maintenance Kit .
☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself).
☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake.
☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.

Attire:
☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 63 gold
Injuries:
☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.

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Bastion…did not like this place.

For one, there were far too many people in so small an area. Furthermore, this was not your average crowd…every single person in their vicinity was clearly a threat. This Port Verge was a proverbial den of vipers, and to say a being such as Bastion was on high alert would be a massive understatement. Can a construct feel anxiety? Whatever the feeling, the threat levels around them kept the Warforged close to his new allies, ready to defend them if the moment called.

It was the way that men stared at Phia and Arya that made him most uncomfortable. The crooked smiles, wandering gazes, and the hunger in their eyes painted a picture Bastion smear with their blood without hesitation if needed. Not a hair would be harmed on the heads of those in his care. This was his mission. Moments like this were the very reason for his inception.

Some of those predatory eyes eventually rose to meet him as he walked behind his charges. The hunger in them diminished, transforming into something less confident when the blue-lit optics on his face shifted to a deep and dangerous shade of red. It was a silent warning. One he hoped the others did not see, but one he knew would lower the chances of those he safeguards being fucked with.

It was at that moment, as his red-lit gaze was dishing fear into the heart of a petulant and obviously ill intended fish monger…in that brief moment where his attention was pulled away from his charges…that Phia bumped into someone.

Bastion turned to the man as he analyzed him.

He was broad and heavily armored…eyes were tired…voice polite as he and Phia exchanged words. The man was a wall of a human; competence emanating from him. His threat level, despite the decorum he presented, scored far higher than those of the unsavory men and women Bastion had analyzed thus far. This was a man who was capable of great harm, if he wished to turn his ire towards them. Bastion took note of that.

But wait.

The Warforged had been too preoccupied with sizing the man up that he hadn’t had the capacity to really take in his features…features he had seen before. It was a face he had never expected to see again. A welcome one at that.

Patiently, Bastion watched as the two spoke, and soon Menzai joined the conversation, pulling Phia away briefly before continuing to address the man who was a stranger to the two of them. He was not a stranger to Bastion, however, and as the moment finally allowed him to step forward and address his companions, he did so with a smile.

“Do not fret, Menzai…Phia is right to trust this man. He is no mere knight. This is Sir Talmor, Gem Knight of Cyre, a hero…and a brother to me.” Bastion exclaimed as he moved forward, hand outstretched with honor and gratitude towards his old comrade.

“It’s good to see you again, Commander.”

Dispatch RP Anyone?

God I'm so interested in this. There hasn't been a game to spark my imagination like this in so long.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

APPROVED!!!!!!

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

APPROVED!!!!!!

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

That you are

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

My friend, Gina and I have both decided....

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Gears

FLASHBACK

First Day on the Stormrider

I remember the smell first.

Not gunpowder. Not oil or blood or the iron tang of rain on armor. Just… citrus cleaner and warm bread. The kind of smell that makes you think maybe, just maybe, you get to live a little longer than the war said you would.

The Stormrider’s galley was smaller than any mess hall I’d known, but brighter. Someone had painted the walls a soft teal. There were little glass bottles on the counter, each filled with dried herbs and flowers. Nothing tactical about ‘em. No purpose except to look pretty. I stared at them for a long time, like I was waiting for someone to tell me to line them up in formation.

Instead, a voice called from behind.

“Ah, so you must be my new bartender?”

I turned so fast I nearly knocked over a crate. The captain stood there...Cindralis, all slick grin and pretty green eyes. I saluted on instinct, arm snapping to my chestplate with a clang so loud half the crew looked up from their stew.

He blinked. Then laughed. “At ease, soldier. Old habits die hard, I’m learning as well.”

I froze. My arm didn’t know how to go down.

“Right,” I said, a little hiss of steam escaping my vents. “Apologies, Captain…Everything’s new these days. Not sure what to do, being a free girl and all.”

That got another round of laughter. I liked that sound, it was better than the sounds of war I had grown so used to.

They set me to cleaning glasses, which seemed simple enough. Turns out, I was terrible at it. My fingers are built for swords and rifles, not stemware. I broke three before lunch. One of the crew...a gnome engineer named Pell...handed me a rag and said, “Maybe just polish the counter, sweetheart.”

“Copy that.” I said, defeated.

By midafternoon, my nerves were buzzing. I couldn’t stop cataloguing exits, angles, headcounts. Every time a glass clinked too loud, my plating twitched. I caught my reflection in a mug...staring, unblinking, too sharp around the edges. I whispered under my breath, “You ain’t at the front no more, darlin’. Nobody’s dying here.”

And then a kid came in, as young as fifteen. He was a cabin hand. The poor fella couldn’t meet my eyes when he asked for cider. I poured it slow, careful not to break another glass.

When I set it in front of him, he whispered, “Ya know…You’re the first Warforged I ever met that smiled.”

Something clicked behind my ribs. A gear, maybe…or something softer.

I smiled wider. “Well then, sugar, you’ve been meetin’ the wrong ones.”

That night, after the ship rocked into the clouds and the crew started singing old sea shanties, I stood behind the bar and listened. My vents hummed soft. My fingers finally stopped shaking. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like a weapon on standby.

I felt like… part of something.

And stars above, I promised myself right then...I was gonna make sure every soul that sat at my counter left a little lighter than they came in.

I might’ve been built for war.
But that night, I decided I’d live for peace.

Maybe I didn’t have to die like all the others, panicked…surrounded by chaos. Maybe I’d get to make friends, memories, and actually know what it means to live.

I could get used to this kind of peace.

Here's hoping it lasts.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Bastion

FLASHBACK

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☼ The Battle of the Brey River (919 YK) ☼

The river screamed.

Not with sound, but with motion. A thousand blades beating against its skin. Sunlight cracked across the surface as the Third Cyran Vanguard advanced through the shallows, shields locked, pikes thrust forward, swords ready to go. The water bit at their legs, cold and relentless, but not his…For the Warforged felt nothing as pathetic as cold

Bastion led the first rank.

He was a wall of bronze and ivory, eyes burning cyan in the gloom of the early dawn. Commands buzzed through his mind in coded pulses...march, hold, strike...and he obeyed each one without hesitation. He felt the thrum of the arcane heartbeat in his chest, the rhythm of his power core syncing with the drums of war.

To his right, spellfire bloomed. A Cyran battlemage unleashed a storm of emerald bolts that carved through the enemy trenches. To his left, a soldier screamed as divine light burst across the water. The was no fear in Bastion like there was in the others. Only purpose.

“Advance!!!!” came the order.

He moved, the Vanguard surging forward as a single organism of steel and flesh.

Across the riverbank, the banners of the Silver Flame rippled in the wind. Thrane zealots raised holy symbols toward the sky, chanting through the smoke. The air rippled, reality folding. A column of silver fire struck the water ahead of them, vaporizing men and fusing flesh and armor, bringing screams of terror from the survivors. Bastion just kept marching.

One step, two, three. Each strike of his foot sank deeper into the mud. Each movement burned brighter with the purpose stamped into his mind since creation: protect Cyre, destroy its enemies.

The first line of Thranes met them at the ford.

Steel hit steel and shields shuddered. Bastion’s glacium sword split through a paladin’s helm like butter, molten blood flashing in the light. He pivoted, driving his elbow into another’s throat, crushing the man’s trachea, and simply moved on before the body fell. The world was red and white and noise and chaos... This is what it meant to be Warforged.

A mage screamed incantations behind him, summoning a lightning arc that snapped across the water, lighting Bastion’s armor like glass. The smell of ozone mixed with rot. Bodies floated past his knees. Still he continued to fight as though it hadn’t even phased him.

Another of his kind was felled beside him fell, chest caved in by a hammer. Bastion caught the weapon mid-swing, tore it free from the assailant, and drove it through the man’s ribs.

For a heartbeat, he looked down at the corpse he’d made. Flesh peeled from the bone. Eyes wide. Lips moving in prayer as the life poured out of him.

He felt nothing.

The Thraneish broke rank for a moment under the counterstrike. Bastion saw opportunity, and drove forward alone…cutting through their weakened flank. Each strike was precise. Each kill was perfectly clean. This was a perfect soldier, with no hesitation, no conscience. Just purpose and instinct.

Behind him, the river boiled again.

A Thraneish cleric raised a sigil of silver flame the size of a tower. Light swallowed the sky. Bastion turned, shielding his eyes as the blast ripped across the battlefield. The bridge behind him folded inward, collapsing into fire and debris. A hundred Cyran soldiers vanished in an instant, torn between heat and gravity. The shockwave hurled him to his knees. His auditory systems rang.

He rose to see the ford gone. The water was dragging bodies downstream, armor flashing beneath sunlight in the current. Mages tried to mend the bridge, screaming arcane words through smoke, but the spells fractured mid cast. The air itself caught fire around the space.

Bastion waded forward, through corpses and ruin, until he stood knee-deep in the dead. His unit was scattered. They were losing this fight. This is where Humans, Elves, Dwarves, or any of the other races of Eberron would have questioned the moment. This is where their morale would have been tested. But not him. Not the Bastion that he was made to be.

He planted his sword and braced as the next wave came. Thraneish screaming their holy hymns, banners burning. Bastion met them with the fury of forged steel. Sparks burst from every impact. Holy blades cut into his plating, leaving bright scars of molten metal. But he tore them apart with relentless unyielding swings of his blade, one after another, until the mud turned red beneath his feet.

When the fighting finally stopped, the river had risen to his waist. The field was silent except for the distant cries of wounded men calling for their gods. He wondered if there was a God for him.

Bastion stood alone on the ford until reinforcements reached his side. He watched the bodies drift away in the current.

Roque appeared to his left, accompanied by the Warforged mage named Conduit, who rarely left their side.

“We got to get out of here, big guy…” Roque declared. Bastion took in the sight of the human man’s face. He had lost an eye in the battle, blood still dripping from the wound. “There are wyvern riders flying in from the South. If we don’t fall back, we’ll all be bodies in this fucking river by the end of the hour. It’s time, Bastion. We have no choice.”

They lived to fight another day, but the battle was lost.

They had failed…Bastion had failed. That was his first taste of such a thing, yet it would not be his last.

No, for his greatest failure was still to come.