Psyker Landshark

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Ranbu no Izayoi

Izayoi silently listened to the byplay between Esben and Rudolf, as well as Galahad's brief explanation of dragons to Miina. There was no small portion of the latter that she was already aware of: her master had taken her to the Midgari mountains once upon a time to use the beasts as a test for her. Regardless, it was only after everyone else had said their piece that she deigned to open her mouth.

"Then the matter is decided," She looked to Kayliss, who nodded back. "Galahad, Miina, and I will intercept the dragons. The remainder will deal with the Valheimr forward camps."

"Good." Kayliss responded, a mug of coffee in her hands where there had been nothing before. "Then we'll discuss your support. An airship and crew for both parties, with a section of a dozen men for support, each. I would've liked to give you a platoon a piece, but we don't have enough available men on standby for that. I'll be rerouting all returning forces down towards Solitude, so we're on a strict timetable to deal with both situations as soon as possible." She snapped her fingers, and two soldiers entered the room, saluting.

"They'll lead you to your respective airship docks, and I've already had maps and any tactical reports available sent ahead to the ships. Good luck and godspeed to all of you, Ithar willing. Move out as soon as you're ready."

Izayoi nodded back, turning towards the still-assembled Kirins. "Galahad, I will go fetch Miina. The rest of you, do stay safe." Her expression passed over Elly, Chisato, Rudolf, and Esben, softening slightly. "Esben, keep them in line." With that said, she turned and left the room, presumably searching for Miina.

___

Eastern Skael, Alenmiers

The voyage towards the Alenmier mountain range last reported to be assailed by dragons was quick, taking mere hours. With an hour left until sunset, the first of the mountains began to come into view. No visible dragons as of yet, but the skies were eerily calm.

The dozen men Kayliss had assigned to them gathered up on deck, standing at parade rest as their sergeant nodded respectfully to the three Warriors of Light.

"Sir, ma'ams, we'll be coming up on the target area shortly. Where do you want us to set down? Alenmiers're usually more treacherous by air this time of year, but looks like we're having an easy time of it today."

___

Southern Skael, North of Solitude

At the same time, the airship the other half-and-more of the Kirins had taken set down some miles from the farthest reported Valheimr camp, its attached skirmishers already disembarking.

"Sir!" A woman in heavy riding furs saluted as the remainder of her men touched down on the ground. "Orders? Last report estimates four camps in total within the area."

On the Wings of Dragons

@Nameless Hero

Just mentioning briefly in case there's confusion that magus isn't his first name, I just slapped that on as his title.

The Envenomed: Military Science Fiction Deniable Operations

Salvator Rasch

Fuck. EMP?! Salvator swore vociferously under his breath as his HUD and comms crashed, immediately switching to his mask's redundant analog sight and reacquiring visual. They were made by...something. He couldn't even assume it was an etheric horror, if the lack of ether was any indication. Either way, this bode poorly.

By the time comms reestablished, Salvator nodded in response to Alice, considering their options. A flicker of purple out of the corner of his eye cemented it, and he raised his carbine, his rebooted HUD trying to lock in on the signal. Fuck's sake. A brief glance towards the drone just floating there reinforced how much the squad needed an actual tech expert, rather than relying on a secondary team. Something to bring up with leadership if and when they made it out of this mess alive.

"Right. Ilshar, back Alice up. Echo, Kleo, eye on the drone. Try to radio our support, see if they can backtrace it if you can get a direct uplink. King, with me. We've got a runner." He grunted, getting a running start before blinking away in a warp jump. The voidhanger reappeared atop the trailer the purple unknown had emerged from, trying to acquire it visually for King to secure.

"Marking it on your HUD now. Nonlethal capture if you can, but not at the cost of your own safety. Want to see what we're dealing with."

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

Reeva Bonner

How in all hells had a mission requesting no less than iron rank wind up with two coppers in the party?! The Hundi noble at least came with a silver ranker jointed at the hip to her, but some fucking elf novice had also managed to tag along! Reeva resisted the urge to hold her head in her hands, much less groan out loud. Babysitting novices was always such a hassle, especially when her own skillset didn't quite lend itself to such things. Would that they could have found any sort of dedicated meatshield. As it stood, the ranger woman with the axe was the closest damned thing.

"Right," She nodded in response to the request she'd been given, as they all stared up at the fort's gate and walls. "Not as if I wasn't planning on scouting ahead, anyway." Thankfully, Liliane had enough tactical acumen to befit her rank. A crumbling, dilapidated fort ought to be old hat, regardless. The supports would be irritating to evade on the climb up. Damned creaky wood.

Reeva folded her arms, mentally mapping her route out. Once she had it memorized, the sneak hunched slightly, prepared to take a running start toward the wall.

"You all feel free to investigate while I get a good look atop the wall and into the courtyard. If the gate's locked, let me try to get it open from the top. And keep quiet, yeah? Don't need all the goblins awake and pissed."

With that said, she sprinted for the wall, getting a running, jumping start before starting to clamber with alacrity. Her climbing and leaping was planned just well enough to evade the wooden noise traps, jumping back and forth as a monkey would. A hand reached the edge of the walltop. She didn't pull herself up all the way just yet, instead slowly peeking her head over to see if there were any goblins atop the wall, or anything that made noise on the floor.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Renar Hagen

He'd already assumed so, but it was still useful in some way to know that Lizaelea's, and by extension, the princess's, information was limited to the time of the ball. While the girl was distracted with whatever went through her head, Renar let the mask slip for just a moment and shot an irritated glance Rolan's way at his deflection, knowing exactly what the other man was going for here. He damned well wasn't leaving Renar to deal with this himself.

"You can hardly be faulted for not knowing of events that have transpired since your last correspondence." Renar cut in smoothly, having determined that the Hundi had floundered enough. It was getting just a tad annoying, anyway. "A forgiveable mistake, all in all. Worry not."

Her next inquiry brought one very specific face to his mind. And a question, asked only to himself. Was it worth showing any of his hand in this matter? Fleuri knew of Renar's desire to face him, to be certain. But it was almost guaranteed that anything he told this girl would leak. To the First Princess, if nothing else. Was it worth such? Hell, did it even matter? Should Renar be lucky enough to get Fleuri in the draw, the entire damned kingdom would know. Ah, well. Why not let it slip. Better that than feigning humility.

"Sir Fleuri, of course. Also of the Iron Rose. The Flower of the North, as claimed by more avid tourney-goers than you or I. And for that matter," He glanced to Rolan once more. If Renar had to sit thorugh this, he wasn't letting the other knight slip out of it so easily. "Remind me, Sir Rolan. Were you planning to take part in the Valours?"

On the Wings of Dragons

Who would like to go with who?

@Nameless Hero

fill

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Aboard the ship...

"Won't lie to your face, ma'am." The ship's captain replied gruffly to Eliane, his brow furrowed. "Command is more focused on making sure the situation doesn't spread out than actually working on containing it. We don't even know what in all hells even happened in the capital yet, but the Overseer and most of the remaining Seven're focusing on making sure the rest of the realm doesn't either." He sighed, reaching for a pipe and tobacco with a shake of his head.

"Wife and three children all still down there, and there's been no damn move whatsoever to even try to approach after the first few teams went missing. You all had better change that." A near mutinous grumble.

___

Falcon's Nest, Fortress City

Carved into the side of two opposing mountain ranges atop a river, Falcon's Nest was a testament to Skaeler artifice and ingenuity: an entirely manmade chokepoint designed to be a fortress at the very heart of Skael's territory. The great citadel came into view half an hour before the airship even reached city limits, and once it did, the craft made its way straight towards the top of one of the fortress's towers, where a landing pad had already been authorized for their use.

The moment the Kirins left the ship, Kayliss was already waiting for them on the dock, arms folded. She exhaled slowly upon seeing them.

"About time. I hope you're all still mission-capable. We need results. Quickly. The Seven are being...stubborn." Kayliss led the party into the fortress, bidding them follow through meandering halls and several guarded checkpoints before finally reaching what looked to be a meeting room, coffee and pastries steaming on a side table. After the party quickly briefed her on what had occurred since they parted ways, the spymaster took one last sip of hot brew, looking over every Warrior of Light in turn.

"Right. My end of things, then: for one, the Valheimr have made themselves known. Our long range patrols report that they've started to set up forward outposts outside of Solitude proper, though there's been no activity indicating that they've entered the city at all. High Command wants them erased off the map. But." Here, her face scrunched into something resembling frustration. "We've reports that a flock of dragons has come into contact with Blightbeasts to the east." A nod to Galahad.

"The usual migration was late this year. And Blighted dragons on our flank are the last thing we need right now. The remaining Seven won't authorize moving on Solitude until both of these threats are dealt with, and our own forces are...admittedly outstretched putting out fires across the country. I can provide some support to both groups, but you'll need to split into two teams if we want to investigate Solitude any time soon. Ask your questions and divide yourselves as you see fit. We'll deploy as soon as you're prepared."

On the Wings of Dragons

At some point, someone will get the bright idea to think the century-old wizard knows something about leadership and strategy.

To which he'll tell them to fuck off because he's the equivalent of a college professor part-timing this shit, his specialty is in slinging spells and ancient lore

On the Wings of Dragons

Magus Drugram

Name: Drugram Noldgar

Age: 109

Description: Stands at 4’4”, bearing long dark hair and a beard to match, both heavily marred with streaks of gray. Broad of shoulder and as dense in bulk as any other dwarf involved with physical activity.

Race: Dwarf

Nation: Norsinia

Magic type: Mana

Abilities:

• Stormcall: While at least capable of shaping the majority of elemental magic to a basic degree, Drugram’s specialty in the field lies in lightning. The sky’s fury comes easily to his fingertips and focus, manifesting in bolts and beams of electricity at will. While he is no millenia-old sorceress, a localized storm isn’t beyond his abilities should he have enough time to prepare and channel, as well as his entire mana reserve.
• Artifice: While not the primary focus of his magical studies, the sheer amount of dwarven lore in the field of enchanting means that Drugram has no small degree of competence in the art. His garments are altered to provide as much defensive capability as prana-enhanced armor, and he bears no few pieces of enchanted jewelry upon his person to improve his speed, mana efficiency, and raw magical might. While his artifacts may provide him with enough physical enhancements to not be instantly killed in direct melee combat with an Awakened, they aren’t enough for him to match them in close range: only to survive long enough for his spells to save him.
• Thaumaturgy: Tangible, forced change upon the physical. Shapes mana to form effects that temporarily alter natural law, such as flight, telekinesis, and short-distance teleportation. One of Drugram’s favored tricks is to swap the locations of himself and his dragon when they’re forced to be separated. The effects of thaumaturgy are far more difficult when cast upon sapient, unwilling targets, if not outright impossible in the case of teleportation. As such, the art is best used upon the self, the willing, and the inanimate.

Background:

The mountain ranges in the far reaches of Norsinia’s northern region are home to several clans of dwarves living both within and without its peaks, its populace ekeing survival from animal husbandry and trade in precious metals and crafts.

It was to one of these mountain holds that Drugram was born as an otherwise ordinary son, one among many in his clan. His gift in weaving mana was discovered before he even reached adulthood, and with the ability to wield the Art came the implicit understanding that Drugram would be a great boon to the clan should he hone his skills properly.

Over the years, Drugram studied under several different teachers across Norsinia and beyond. When he grew beyond the skills of his clan’s resident mage, he begged leave of the clan in order to further his skills before he could assume his position as a magical advisor. That permission was granted, and he spent some two decades roaming from strongholds both dwarven and human so as to advance his studies in magic. Eventually, he’d learned as much as he could, and returned to Clan Noldgar, becoming a mainstay within the community, a trusted advisor of his people’s patriarch, and a staunch defender of his people against outside threats.

Fifty years passed. At the age of eighty-and-three, Drugram found himself as the foremost among some few mages within his clan, having trained up those youths who had exhibited signs of the gift over the decades. Disaster nearly struck, however, when one of his apprentices concocted a scheme with some of the Awakened trainees within the clan, seeking to test their might and attempt to become riders of a dragon that had made its home among the peaks near Clan Noldgar’s stronghold. However, their efforts all failed to cow the wyrm, resulting in one among their number being savaged by claw and frost breath. Enraged, the silver dragon pursued the fleeing dwarves to the entrance of the hold, where Drugram stood at the gates, having pieced together their scheme from the admission of their peers. A duel commenced: mage against dragon. Frost and storm scoured the mountaintop for nearly an hour before the great beast came to a sudden halt, bowing its head. Without meaning to and with only the defense of his home in mind, Drugram had inadvertently become a dragon rider.

Over the next three decades, Drugram explored what it meant to be bonded to such a creature. His own clan had no experience with riders, and so he had no choice but to fly to Norsinia’s greatest gathering to learn from his newfound peers. To be a student once more was no great hardship to a seeker of knowledge, and he proceeded with his training apace until he and his dragon, now dubbed Granigol after dwarven myth, were as synchronized and skilled as any other rider of Norsinia. While he maintained contact with the order after his training was complete, with occasional visits and cooperation, Drugram returned home nonetheless, his desires ever focused on the defense and cultivation of his family and community.

___

Dragon name: Granigol

Type: Silver

Description:
A great, metallic wyrm bearing four legs, breath of ice, and a stature exceeding the average of his kind. A jagged, blackened scar runs across its underbelly, having been inflicted by Drugram’s lightning during the duel that made the two bonded rider and dragon.

Irritable and territorial, Granigol is snappish towards those the wyrm has little to no experience with. It took years of exposure for him to accept Drugram’s clan as part of its own territory, but he defends them and his rider with fierce, savage loyalty.

On the Wings of Dragons

@Nameless Hero

Have my concept down (dwarf mage), just looking for some clarifications before I really buckle down to work on the sheet:

1. What's the bound (upper, lower, average) on what rider mages, or mages in general, are capable of?

2. Of the amount of awakened/mages, are riders exceedingly rare even among them?