Saber

Wing Saga [Interest Check]

Awesome. Welcome aboard, Rex. ^^

Now, I'm going to start working on the races relatively soon; so there'll be a template provided for that, sometime tomorrow. Tonight, unfortunately, I'm busy cleaning my apartment. Information on Magitech, Aegides and some other things will also be presented tomorrow.

As a note, before I put up a CS skeleton; I'd like to request that no real-life face claims be used. It's a personal preference of mine and one I feel strongly enough about to state directly.

Other than that...

Everyone have a pleasant evening. I'm reachable via PM and will probably check once or twice in the next few hours, just in case. If anyone has any questions, comments, conerns or ideas...don't hesitate to shoot me a private message.

Later!

Wing Saga [Interest Check]

Hi, Ashgan! Good to see you, again. I got your PM, but, unfortunately, I don't have time to respond at the moment. Welcome, welcome and thanks for your interest!

^^ Also, thanks Oni, for coverin' for me while I was asleep. And Sic, too!

However, I did have some time to post a bit of information about the Church Sects and give everyone a little bit of a feel for what they're gonna be like. I'll get to races, later, but since people are highly interested in the mecha-aspect of this RP; I'm probably going to provide information about the Aegides, sometime soon.

If anyone sees any grammatical or otherwise glaring errors, somewhere in the Church Sect section; please shoot me a PM about it and I'll fix it very soon.

I'm glad this has gathered a fair amount of interest in such a short amount of time and that everyone seems pumped for it. So, yeah, m'gonna do everything I can to get the information out as quickly as possible. If there are any more questions, just lemme know and I'll answer you as soon as I notice you've said something. After I get out of class, of course.

QUICK EDIT: Also gonna try to explain a little bit more about Armor Types, the Magitech Corps and some other stuff later. Races will be worked on, soon, as I only have a few in mind; at the moment.

Wing Saga [Interest Check]

Alright, cool. Welcome! ^_^

An android is fine. We can talk more about it, if you wanna; through PM or via Skype.

EDIT: Info on the Church and some of the races coming tomorrow.

Wing Saga [Interest Check]

Onigumo said
I will allow myself to be interested in your interest check.

Hahaha, very well. ^_^ Glad to have you. Both of you.

Wing Saga [Interest Check]

This is an idea that came to me just on a spur-of-the-moment type deal. What I have now is kinda rough, but I thought I'd post up what I have so far and see if anyone is interested. I've got a lot more to add, and m'taking suggestions for anything that folk would like to see, so, please, bear with me for a bit. ^_^

In the far future [Year 31XX] mankind has spread themselves across the galaxy, expanding beyond their dead homeworld. The Empire of Man, under the guidance of the Golden Halo Council [Representatives from the military forces and the Imperial Church, deciding the fate of the Coalition], have established themselves as a dominant spacefaring force. The Coalition, formed of several sapient races that have allied under the banner of humanity's might, now fight for control of the Known Sectors [Sectors One through Nine being the Known Sectors, with Ten through Twelve being the Unknown] against a ragged array of rebellious souls. Countless worlds have been left desolate in the wake of this hundred-year war and countless more have become nothing but smoldering embers amidst the stars.

Humans, the only race capable of harnessing true magic [though it is limited to the 'white spectrum', ranging from healing to creating shields] have quickly made themselves a power to be reckoned with. The alien races of the Coalition have either joined them willingly, or, through the trial of combat, become servants of the Empire. From this union was born a powerful tool; Magitech, the mysteries of the arcane entwined with the cold steel of science. From this were born the Aegides; powerful machines that embody the pinnacle of the Coalition's advancement. With these machines of war, the Coalition presses onward; crushing those who dare to oppose their will.

It is here, in this harsh future, that a tale of ancient fate and doomed futures begins.

Quick Rundown of Terms/Ideas:

The Empire of Man/The Coalition: Officially only referred to as the 'Coalition of Known Sectors', this is the dominant force in the galaxy. Highly advanced machinery, magic and a variety of races lend their strength to this fearsome alliance. The Council [composed of ten members] make a large majority of decisions for the Coalition.

Church of the Golden Halo: A church that has its roots in the far past of humanity's history, beginning, supposedly, shortly after the re-discovery of magic by humans. The Church possesses a Magitech weapon unlike any other military force; The Divine Engine. While the Church preaches a message of benign interaction with so-called 'lesser' races, they are truly advocates of war. Possessing roughly one third of the Coalition's combined military might, the Church is widely influential.

Church Sects

Church of the Golden Halo: Combat Sects

Inquisitors: Sometimes referred to as Hierophants, the Inquisitors serve as the spiritual and militaristic leaders of the Church. Garbed in the lavish robes of their station, they are usually the ones giving the orders and citing scriptures; when the time comes. However, despite their nearly universal power...there exists a wide gap between types of Inquisitors.

Inquisitor: Placed above the common rank-and-file, the Inquisitors without a title or position of extreme power serve simply as relays for the words of those who reside above them. However, that is not to say that they are mere messengers or that they exist without responsibility. Every Inquisitor must be a master of the Church's dogma, able to recite their scripture in any situation; they must be possessed of a sharp mind and the capability to command respect from those who have fallen into their care. Most Inquisitors are skilled healers and shieldcrafters and are often given large groups of Acolytes to direct. Those who are given ranks of Templar to command are often on their way to becoming Grand Inquisitors.

Grand Inquisitor: Given a higher station than their Inquisitor brothers, Grand Inquisitors must have shown tremendous potential in the realms of politics and a deep familiarity with the Church's ways; including a mastery of 'white magic'. While they serve a similar function, there are far fewer Grand Inquisitors than Inquisitors; for the responsibility of managing the more advanced militaristic sects falls into their hands. More often than not, Grand Inquisitors will spend most of their time scheming and plotting against one another for the favor of the True Inquisitor.

The True Inquisitor/The High Inquisitor: There are few within the Church who know of this being's existence, shrouded in mystery and silence as they have been. While it is commonly accepted that the Council decides the fate of the coalition, this is rumored to be untrue; placing all of the Coalition's power solely into this Inquisitor's hands. This man or woman sits atop a throne of faith and power, casting down judgement onto the Sectors. None exist who have seen their face, nor know their true voice. That is not to say, however, that the True Inquisitor does not speak to their underlings...but, simply that it is done through a Spatial Alteration Overlay. The Grand Inquisitors are the only ones able to confirm the True Inquisitor's existence, but are forbidden to speak of it.

Paladins: Responsible for the maintenance of Aegides and the training of new pilots; the Paladins [more specifically, Paladin Squads] serve directly under an Inquisitor. Each Paladin Aegis is unique and built by a team of Paladins; in conjunction with the Church's Magitech Corps. Generally, they are highly proficient in mecha-based combat and an adequate ground force; specializing highly in the blending of their arts to create a balanced and versatile style. The Paladins generally utilize Mirror Frame Armor, intended to magnify their magical capabilities; at the cost of defending themselves properly. The Paladin Sect is headed by Sir Roland Redsword, who answers directly to the Grand Inquisitors.

Templar: Perhaps the most feared of the Church's war-dogs, the Templar are a divided and elitist sect that are possessed of a long history of violence, against their enemies and their own. However, this is due to the aforementioned rift that exists within their ranks.

The most easily recognized Templar are the Black Knights, headed by Black Knight Lombard. This is a fierce and elite squad that rarely utilizes anything but their own swords and strength in combat. Despite their seeming disadvantage, it would seem that the Black Knights, zealots and sycophants, one and all, are all possessed of an increased Divine Engine Resonance; making them, as a group, capable of opposing entire armies on the ground. They are the foil to Paladins, in almost all regards; eschewing magic almost entirely and relying solely on their feral wit and Divine Engine. They favor Stone Carapace Armor, heavy and resilient; but a dagger-riddled gift, in its self. While the Stone Carapace can protect them from even Aegis fire, it drains away at the magic within the body to sustain its personalized shields. The Black Knights answer directly to the Grand Inquisitors.

The Templar, themselves, are a group of devout warriors who serve under an Inquisitor. They are above Acolytes, in station and serve as the largest portion of the Church's military force. They generally are outfitted with combat-mecha, to support the other, more specialized forces. Templar have no specific leader, but are divided into squads that are assigned a leader; who reports to their designated Inquisitor. Templar serve as the most versatile of the Church's forces, capable of changing armor and tactics more quickly than their counterparts. Generally, they are given the Metamorphosis Glyph armor; allowing their combat abilities to be quickly altered by the Magitech Corps Technicians.

Assassins: There is no name attributed to this group, though there have been several rumors spreading through the Known Sectors of a band of assassins that serves to enforce the will of the Grand Inquisitors. The Assassins are picked at a young age, during their Acolyte training, and removed from the common rabble. The exact selection process is unknown, as is the training; though it has been put forth that, perhaps, the Assassins are among the strongest of those capable of using the Divine Engine.

Divine Engine: Though the form varies from person to person, those who can access the Divine Engine are capable of unleashing immense amounts of energy. While it is usually only utilized by Humans in the Church...there are abberants that can tap into this source of power. Beyond this, the Divine Engine is an enigma. Most of those who can use the Divine Engine can only utilize 5% of its true power.

Equipment

Equipment: Magi Miscellanea

Aegides: Referred to simply as 'mecha' before the integration of Magitech Cores, the Aegides are machines of war; constructed by various sources. Despite there existing some uniform manufacturing lines, most Aegides are unique in their abilities and specifications. Custom Aegides are tailored specifically to the intended pilots' tastes, battle style, inherent abilities and wealth; becoming substantially more expensive to manufacture once certain thresh-holds of pilot integration, Magitech output/sustainability and weapons outfitting.

Several Frames exist for the Core of an Aegis, composed of varying materials and generally suited to withstand, contain and release the Kairo Miasma [Magitech radiation] produced by this Core. These Frames serve as the 'skeleton' of Aegides and upon them are attached the armor that will give true form to the Aegis. More often than not, pilots opt to have a direct link to their Aegides; utilizing the N.I.W.A.S [Neural Inhibition Wavelength Adjustment System], the body of the pilot is placed into a sleep-like state, while leaving the conscious mind in complete control of the Aegis; more or less letting their perspective become that of their Aegis. The largest drawback of the N.I.W.A.S is that, if improperly disconnected [or with sustained damage caused to the Aegis], the pilot can begin to experience severe hallucinations or develop several issues with cognitive skills; becoming disconnected from reality or becoming outright deranged.

However, some still choose to use the 'antiquated' manual systems; either involving a series of appendage-controlled devices, with the assistance of an on-board A.I [particularly daring pilots, using manual systems, utilize the A.I only to assist with particularly difficult long-range attacks] or involve a bodysuit and a stationary platform that emulates and produces the pilot's movements through the Aegides. These methods exist without the mental-health risks posed by the N.I.W.A.S, but also provide a lower overall performance rate for average pilots.

While the Magitech Cores are well protected, it is possible for them to be pierced, crushed or otherwise compromised. Usually, a damaged core will continue to function; though with a dramatic increase in Free Kairo Miasma levels and a huge reduction in the Aegides' capability. Kairo Miasma is deadly to most organisms, with a short exposure period; leading to pilots being quarantined, after returning with a damaged Core. Most of these quarantined pilots die after two or three days of agonizing misery.

Magitech: Created by Dr. Emyra Delto, in conjunction with her husband [Dr. Luchan Delto], Magitech sparked something of a social revolution within the Coalition. Originally a project for military [and Church] use, Magitech was presented to the public just short of ten years after its initial runs. Where, before, humans were the only race capable of producing what is considered True Magic; now, with relatively simple devices, there existed the possibility of any race utilizing the supposed gifts of humanity.

Since its induction [ten years prior 31XX] Magitech has evolved greatly, becoming commonplace among the races of the Coalition and a favored tool of the Church of the Golden Halo. While 'True Magic' [or, at least Human Magic] can only sustain output of the 'white' variety [again, with healing or shielding and other minor beneficial magics], Magitech is capable of accessing the entirety of Magic; capable of producing varying effects, depending on the intention and make of the device.

Several large corportations have taken up producing Magitech for public and military use; as well as fabricating the Magitech Cores for use in Aegides.

Human Companies:

Innana Medical and Munitions- Generally produces heavy-use, high reliability, high cost Magitech that can access Red [fire element/exchange] and Green [earth element/growth] Magic.

Blackthorne Industries- Produces Magitech for the public, meaning that they are designed to be reliable...to a point. Require Magitech Cells [amuples or pods containing gathered White energy; to be converted] to be recharged an re-used. Blackthorne Industries manufactures Magitech that can be acquired in each type of Magic.

Non-human Companies:

[To be added when race submissions get underway.]

Races

Non-human Races:

Kraxian: A bipedal reptilian race from the planet Kraxi [on the edge of Sector Nine]. General height around 6'5 [roughly 2.01 m, same for male and female variants] and weighing roughly 195 lbs [88.4 kg]. Possessed of a tough, scaled hide [hues vary between a sandy beige to a lustrous green], prehensile tail [usually around half the length of their body] and a high resistance [some would say 'love'] to [of] heat.

They migrated from their home, long ago, due to unknown circumstances; meandering their way, slowly, into Coalition space. While they have been a part of the Coalition for nearly fifty years, the Kraxians are viewed as little more than a bother to most of the other races of the Coalition. This is believed to be due to, in part, by their inability to communicate in any way but their own [which consists of a series of guttural grunts and hisses produced from their nasal cavities], though they are capable of understanding other races' languages...it is simply impossible for them to speak them; due to the arrangement of their vocal cords.

Kraxians, while given the same rights as the rest of the Coalition's races, are often found in conditions that most would find to mirror slavery. They work for long hours in excrutiating conditions, asking for little more than food and time to bask in the sunlight [or, if that's an impossibility, simply a 'lamp' strong enough to produce adequate warmth for them]. More often than not, they serve on salvage or junker ships; scraping out a living.

The Kraxians have no representative on the Coalition Council and no true cohesive culture; making them something of a pariah race

[More to be added, soonish.]

As I said, there's a lot more info to come. There will be a variety of races [I'll also be allowing player submissions] and other such interestin' things. For now, I suppose it will be sufficient to say "this roleplay is intended to be a seamless hybrid of high fantasy and science fiction, wherein players will embark on a galaxy spanning adventure to uncover the mysteries behind magic, the Divine Engine and unravel the secrets of their fates." That's all, for now. Thanks for your time!

Forged in Gold

There was too much truth to his cousin's words. Ruarc nodded by way of affirmation and briefly turned his head, casting a half-lidded glance to each end of the long, stone hallways; eyes catching on the distant, quivering lights cast by wall-mounted torches near the other royal chambers. He lowered himself to a crouch, running his fingers along the surprisingly warm edges of his tankard, brow arched in consternation.

"It is true," the Hinn allowed, "my father is a stubborn man. That does not make him a feeble ruler, as you well know, and he is well loved by his subjects. I have attempted to speak with him before about this 'union', this..." he pressed his teeth together and sucked air through them, begrudgingly as he continued, "selling of Sera and, in time, our lands and pride to the northern horde." Ruarc lowered himself further, pressing his back against the cool stone, silently thankful for the chill that slowly made its way up his spine and into his neck. Some of the tension left him and he lowered the tankard to the ground, looking up at Grey; his eyes sliding slowly to their fullest.

"But...if we are to do this, we must be cautious."

Good Gods, came the nagging, worrisome thought, I am plotting against mine own father! He who sired me...is that not a sin in its self? If I slay him, I will be a monster in the eyes of the divine; a creature unworthy of peace after a life of hardship! He shifted, slowly standing, making certain to retrieve the tankard as he once again cast glances about. No. He is not my father, not even in name. Not once during my childhood did he appear before me. Not once has he spoken a word of love to me. Norrin Hinn is my father. Would he approve of this madness? This treason?

His instinct told him that his father, his adoptive father, would find the very thought disgusting; but Ruarc was not his father...he was not a craven king, nor a heavy-handed farer. He was Ruarc Hinn, bastard of the royal court and protector of Seralle Loroughe. Too long had he lived under the whims of royalty. Too long had he held his tongue in the presence of the vile northern barbarians and too long had he feared for his kingdom's safety. Change was in the air, thick and potent as freshly shed blood; some part of him relished the thought of change, of revolution. He nodded, again, at his cousin and steeled his heart for the days to come. He was no schemer nor was he possessed of a particularly potent tongue. However, there was one thing the Hinn had that Grey did not. A strong sword arm.

What use is there in this world for a king who fears war, or a bastard that fears to change?

"He will come to see reason, dear cousin. Or so I hope. Time is drawing short. Sera's wedding will be soon. We can only hope he opens his eyes, before this tragedy comes to pass."
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Do you know, the secret of crows?
Black feathers falling, where the wind of war blows!
Do you know the song of death?
The haggard hymn of a man's last breath!
Do you know the ways of love?
Smiling and blushing beneath the eyes above!"

Pyrra sang in a whisper, her quiet, sweet tones drifting through the breeze of the open courtyard. She had left her brother moments before, a message from her father left safely in his hands. Now, she simply sat, her eyes cast to the sky above. Countless stars lingered over the world, she had been told long ago, each an omen in its own right. She was no sage, or master of the stars' arcane portents; yet they were still beautiful to gaze upon. The world was full of mysteries, of the heart and mind, of gods and monsters, of words and wiles. Some she knew well and others she knew as she would know a passing stranger. What she knew best were songs and it was what she was known most for.

All around her, things were changing. Seralle sat in the company of her new husband, in the Warrhon's hall, while her king celebrated the union of two long embittered families. Soon, it seemed, that things would be changing further still. Pyrra remembered the assemblage, the mingling of two kingdoms in one hall. She thought of Brogan and Brom and their oafish companion; then of the Quinns. Each face she had committed to memory, not at the king's behest; but because each was a threat in their own right. That was what had brought her here, sitting among the countless flowers and scattered petals...bathed in the fragrance of change and an uncertain future. While her mood was not darkened by the arrival of the northmen, an uneasiness had rolled in with them like a winter storm.

Slowly, she stood, her mind focused on the young prince; a handsome, intelligent man that had come trailing behind his brother. Her steps were silent, but alacrity demanded she move quickly; her presence would be expected, soon, in the feasting hall; where she would be asked, almost certainly, by her lord Piervue to sing a song about the wedding

There was a sadness to his eyes, like a man bereaved.

Her fingers trailed to her side, slowly unlatching the lute. She cradled it in her arms, idly tracing her fingers over the frets and strings; a timid melody dancing into the night air before fading into silence. Pyrra Salt lifted her gaze, once more, to the distant moon. Clouds lingered before it, hiding its fullness. It, too, had a melancholy cast to it; lonely as it seemed, surrounded by smaller, less potent stars.

Soon, she found herself back amidst the din of revelry; the sounds of three different songs drifting through the room. Piervue motioned for her as she entered and she obeyed him, smiling broadly as she approached; dancing around dancers and sliding through small pockets of those who had abandoned their tables.

"Pyrra," the king exclaimed, throwing his hands up, "you have been absent for too long!"

"I am sorry, m'lord, my father-"

"It is no worry, girl! Come, come! Sing for my daughter and her betrothed! Lift their spirits and unite them in love!"

Redness was apparent on his cheeks and nose, but the king was still very much articulate; though his mood was obviously lifted by the wine. She could not turn away such a command. Pyrra smiled, bowed and turned to those who had gathered. The other singers, knowing well that this was a song meant to be heard by all, were suddenly of sour countenances; envy plain on their faces as the wispy Salt girl lifted her lute and began to sing.

The Dead Cairn

Sure, I'll do that momentarily.

Forged in Gold

Will get a post up later tonight.

The Dead Cairn

The Dreamweave was alight with silver and dancing darkness. An expanse of shifting dreams, crumbling and rearranging its self in complete silence. Cibest, mistress of dreams and secrets, wore a small, satisfied smile. Her hair was a loose tumble that would make the rolling waves of the mortal seas envious and her body was wrapped in a gossamer gown of moonlight that would have brought the other Gods to their knees...if any of them had remained but her lover. Her Slumber Wraiths approached entering her palace through the broken gate, bearing on their backs her scrying portal; a massive basin filled with water bled from her own body. They danced, despite the terrible weight of their burden; easily gliding amidst the lingering fog of unformed thoughts and desires.

Where they stepped, that mist parted and drifted away. What remained behind was the scattered visions of a tumultuous and bleeding realm. Her palace, once pristine and cast in silver, had suffered greatly when the mortals had roused their ire against the Gods. Pillars that had once supported a high, domed ceiling were scattered across pale marble; parts of that same ceiling littered her throneroom. Through the holes above, she could spy pieces of the Dreamweave drifting above the rest. Isolated spheres that rotated to their own rhythm and clashed at random, producing sparks against a backdrop of pure umbrage. They were the irretrievable pieces of her domain that had drifted beyond her weakened control.

With a sigh, she turned her eyes away from it all and through the broken gate of her abode; out into the wilds of the Dreamweave.

All throughout her realm, there were dispersed souls; roiling in the ectasy of their unconscious desires. Some of them, she knew, still held some measure of connection to their despised Gods; and all of them were closest to herself and Nycyd.

"Vysold," she whispered into a massive silver basin, lowering herself to her knees to peer more easily into it, "you won't suffer much longer, I promise."

Within the basin water moved and twitched, the sound of her voice setting it on edge. Ebbs and flows coincided and broke, forming an acceptably clear image of the mortal tapestry. The Dead Cairn, as it was called by mortals, was thrumming with energies; surrounded by shadows dancing in wild abandon. The crystalline formation was cracked throughout and oozing with an acidic green; crackling and sparking with each labored breath of the Entity of Magic.

Behind them gathered the Vyiren, their yellow eyes slicing through the darkness. The mortals seemed unaware, she noted, of their presence; so silent were the wolves of shadow. She had commanded them, there, into the Godwastes, to assist these afflicted mortals in their liberation; though it truly only served her own ends.

The water shifted again.

Far in the east, with the rising of the sun, men and women scurried about in their city of death. Varos-morche, was bright with magelight and torches. Luminous moths fluttered overhead and there were already ships being set onto the water...sails lifted and seas begrudgingly battled. These dark skinned folk were her favored amongst mortals as they were those who seemed to love her most. She smiled down on them fondly, turning her gaze away.

Again, the water shifted.

This time, it was a city in mourning. A distant, sad song drifted through the sloshing water. The sorrow of it was purely delicious to Cibest. The mortals had always saved their best songs for Immortals or those who had entered Nycyd's domain. They had not given her such a beautiful dirge, nor any of the others. In a way, she was envious of the slain mortals; not particularly these slain mortals, but those that recieved such music.

Merrifort was splayed beneath her, a pulsing city cast in an oily light...and she watched with interest as more pieces fell into place.

Not long ago, he had been pulled from a tavern. A tug at his sleeve and a few simple words had brought one journey to an end...and promised the start of another. A harder trek into harder lands. The Godwastes. Thinking of it sent a chill down Morben Risaac's spine, but also drove a lance of pure hatred through his heart. It was that hatred that had driven him here, half drunk and already possessed by a foul mood, where he sat amongst those who dared to dream of success. From his perch, atop a worn crate left behind by the merchants of the day, Morben watched.

Far off in the distance, there was a malignancy in the sky. A bright green laceration across the umbrage of the night. The light danced and licked at the air, sending forth serpentine tendrils that squirmed upward before breaking into wisps of toxic energies. Morben could see it, even from within the massive walls of Merrifort; an omen of rot that promised a slow and painful death to those who would follow its beguiling light.

Morben spat at the cobbled stones to his left, where none had deigned to sit.

The summer air was thick and oppressive, a lingering kiss of the day that sought to steal Morben's breath away. Above the twisting pillar of vile magic the moon lingered; a jagged smile cast down from a veil of carrion stars, framed in the light of The Dead Cairn. It made him uncomfortable to gaze upon, so strong was the feeling that it stared back at and into him.

Without thought his left hand dipped down to clutch the hilt of his dagger. The other brought an ornate flask to his lips. All around the city was alive with bitter mourning, lanterns lit and incense burning with such power that he could smell it from the abandoned merchant's square. There were others gathered here, sellswords and Mage Slayers, priests and pipers; all summoned by a clarion of gold and blood.

"Your attention!"

A man he didn't recognize stood in the center of the square, raising his voice above the low roar of the mercenaries, wrapped in the vaunted garb of his station. The last time he had been in Merrifort, their commander had been Radulf SIein. Radulf had died, or so Morben had heard, by a fall from the high walls. It pained him, briefly, to think that he had never paid respects to the man who had lifted him in station...who had used his authority to lift a green boy from the streets and make a legitimate soldier out of him. Yet, begrudgingly, Morben turned his attention to the wiry lad; as was expected of him.

"I am Orin Norath, commander of the Euphian Guard Corps of Merrifort, and I have been appointed to lead you," though few protested outright, Morben could have sworn that there were a few groans from the crowd. Orin seemed to have caught that, as well, and narrowed his eyes at the crowd. He looked not disimilar to a wolf, Morben realized, with the longness of his face, the wild rise of his hair and the way he gnashed his teeth before speaking. "It is an order from Vigil, those of you who have an issue with my command can drag your sorry asses back to whatever hole you crawled from," his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed in the lantern-light, "We have no need of cowards on this journey."

That seemed to quiet them, well enough; though some still whispered in their small groups. It was then that Morben heard the slow sound of a mourning song, drifting from a temple two streets down. Though it was quiet, it was enough of a distraction to warrant Orin to raise his voice again.

"As you know," he belted out, booming through the near-silence, "we are to track the beasts that attacked Merrifort. The same beasts that slew our beloved council members! Vigil has placed it upon all of you to bring justice to these monstrosities," he folded an arm across his chest and cast his gaze over the crowd. "and myself as well."

The burned man shook his head, slightly. It was always the same with the Euphian Guard Corps; ceremony, ceremony, ceremony. The speech had already become a buzzing noise in his ears, a fly picking at his brain.

"Atayr Quinn and Solen Bree are dead," Morben whispered to nobody, working the leathery ruin of his mouth in near silence as he lowered his eyes to the assemblage, "they don't need justice." Bitterness was best met with bitterness, he knew, so, again, he tipped back the flask and took a long, vigorous drink of the Hattavori Mirth. It was pungent and acidic, somewhere between a wine and hard liquor and left a lingering sourness on his tongue. Thoughts of the immediate future did much of the same.

"Yet, I have been given orders from the council," Orin Norath continued in his mad, regal manner, "I am not to lead this expedition," there were some stifled laughs from the crowd, "but I have been appointed to deliver these writs of temporary leadership to two senior members of the Mage Slayers, they will be leading you." Morben felt his stomach buck, though he could not immediately discern if it was the Mirth or Orin's words. He felt it coming his way, being one of the oldest members present, but wished the responsibility were passed to another. He forced himself to swallow the thin, bilious film that had started to coat his mouth.

The commander of the Euphian Guard Corps of Merrifort made his way through the crowd, his long cloak flowing behind him as people parted for his passage. Morben looked up from the unending maw of his flask in time to lock eyes with the man and accept an outstretched piece of parchment. It was a quick motion that he snatched the paper with, unfolding it briefly.

To Morben Risaac, Mage Slayer Veteran and Member of Squad Thirty,

Due to your previous experiences with vile mages and their aberrant ilk, it has fallen upon the council to deign you as a leader of the second team of this expedition. Your mission parameters have already been detailed, but it falls upon myself to instruct you as to the specifics of your duties.

You are to ensure that losses are minimal and to support the first team by providing combat support and coordinating reconnaissance. With your knowledge of the Godwastes and exemplary performance in battle, we have high expectations in this regard.

Yildeane bless you,
Esswar Ranpust.

A list of names was scrawled at the bottom, those who would be under his command.

He gave a rueful snort and folded the paper closed, stuffing it into his pocket. Orin lingered over him, tracing the lines of his burned face with fervent eyes and a look that bordered perilously close to pity. Morben briefly considered lashing out at the man, taking his feet from under him with a kick just to satiate his unjust rage. Yet, he did not and the look continued to bore into him.

After a moment, Orin spoke.

"I expect you won't be drinking on the road, Morben Risaac," Orin turned away before the burned man had a chance to spit even a syllable at him and made his way to another.

"Of course I'll be fucking drinking," he mumbled beneath his acrid breath, watching Norath's progress toward the other 'senior member'. Atheri was as beautiful as always, he noted absently, though she held a stern expression. Morben didn't bother watching the exchange, he knew how it would go; favoring, instead, turning his eyes to the sky and draining the last of his flask. He felt a few eyes on him, from the crowd, unknowns weighing his worth against the word of Vigil and the promise of glory if their mission should succeed. He expected most of those ambitious folk would be dead before long, so he let the itching and prying sensation that their stares produced dig into him.

An uncertain haze seemed to have settled over him, as Morben opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like an eternity. In truth only an hour or more had passed, he had refilled his flask somewhere and had taken up in the guts of a creaking ship. There were others there, pressed tightly together, awaiting their departure before the dawn. Orin Norath had not seen fit to join them on their expedition, he recalled, insisting, instead, on offering them his 'best wishes' and giving them one of his 'finest' ships. Morben folded his arms, finally accustomed to the slight rocking of the ship. The steps that had brought him here seemed like a distant dream, though he knew he had yet to slip into sleep.

Pale yellow light filled the cabin, casting an eerie glow on the gathered and huddled forms. Morben looked throughout the room, taking note of those who would follow him.

"We set out within the hour," came a rough shout from above, accompanied by a few heavy stomps on the deck above, "I hope the lot of you are ready for the Godwastes!"

Morben Risaac contained his disgust with a grunt and took another long drink of Hattavori Mirth.

The Dead Cairn

Accepted, Zeropathic. Looks great. Sorry for the delay.

Sorry to everyone else for not being around regularly, but it seems things are finally starting to actually slow down for me IRL. Working on the IC right now. It's about half done and should be up later in the day.

EDIT: The deed is done. I need a couple of folk to volunteer to be on Morben's team. The rest of you will be following Atheri. If there are any questions as to what is going on, or any questions in general; don't hesitate to ask. Again, sorry it took so damn long.