Scribe of Thoth

Court of Nuhl

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This girl really did have a penchant for stating the obvious, didn't she? Obviously they'd adjust their plans based on how they found the prisoners, it didn't need to be said. Chad wasn't sure if that was her way of organizing her thoughts, or if she honestly believed he didn't understand such simple facets of the operation. The Eve and him seemed to be of one mind, given how the other vampire immediately jumped to belittle Dionne's daughter like the child she evidently was. He would've gone with a demeaning pat to the head, personally, but he couldn't fault him; Casper had made the act a bit passé when he did it to the purple boy without a hint of irony.

"I think the only one here with a problem is you, girl. You open the floor to feedback and then raise a fuss when it's given," the vampire mused nonchalantly. Not that he was truly offended, but it really would become an annoyance if she harried him on every point he made. Especially if their suggestions weren't even at odds with each other. Typical woman. "I've lived your life a dozenfold times, remember? You needn't keep reminding me to do things. And lest you worry, were I desperately in need of heads to rip off for my daily quota, I'd have already blundered into the path of that camera over there and waited for the bloodbath." His mouth twisted into a sweet, yet taunting grin, the one that he reserves for people who take themselves too seriously when he knows he can become a thorn in their side.

Fortunately, Casper managed something productive during their little spat, and spared the group from any rash actions Chad might've taken to liven things up a bit. The fate of the prisoners didn't particularly interest him, but a located prisoner was one step closer to vacating this dump so he could focus on more important endeavors. If he wanted to shut up and move along, Chad certainly wasn't going to object. Though he couldn't say he'd willingly participate in a jaunty crawl across the ceiling like some kind of insect. Mortals were so cute; they see a new type of magic and immediately jump to some overcomplicated diversion founded on it.

"Even if we could, that'd be a waste of blood, time, and effort. I believe it more prudent to keep our attentions on our surroundings and not on whether our feet are going to slip right off the roof and into a camera's view or not," Chad stamped out the idea immediately. "Besides, isn't that what mages are for? Are we too heavy or something? It's impolite to call people fat, you know." He turned his gaze down to their resident wall-walking expert, who predictably wilted under it like a delicate flower.

"No, sir. I can handle everyone if necessary," Purple squeaked, timid as he was. Poor thing, he'd been the only one that behaved; Chad really could stand to reward him for his behavior, assuming it came from manners and not fear, anyway.

Turning away, he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But that's a bridge we can cross when we get to it. Casper seems to have this floor covered, let's move on before all this bitching gets us caught."

---

---

Quinn diverted his eyes bashfully as Lyra praised his spellcraft. She must not've understood how his affinity worked, because he'd barely done a thing there. What was there to congratulate? The speculation ended shortly after when she mouthed off to the vampires in their entourage - she was crazy, and he needn't give any thought to her motives or action beyond that. Then the other mage rose from whatever strange spell he'd been focused on to... stars above, what was with these people?!

Heat rushed to his face as the blond mage's hand made its brief journey through Quinn's hair. His own hand came up to quickly fix whatever Caspian had messed up, perceived or real, then joined its partner in tugging awkwardly at the hem of his shirt. He really needed something to do with his hands; embarrassment made him jumpy, but he couldn't afford to act on it when one wrong move could get them discovered. If Count Astorio didn't do it first out of spite, anyway. The tension in the air only mounted with every word, and though he had no part in it, Quinn felt his stomach drop all the same.

Figuring it would be safer to look away rather than be confused for a participant, he followed the blond mage back down to the puddle he'd been so entranced with. To his surprise, it didn't show the slightly-distorted floor beneath, but a whole different room entirely. Was that below them? Could he see through the floor? Quinn hadn't even heard an incantation out of him, maybe he was less attentive than he thought.

"I think whatever you're doing is a lot more impressive than my spell, honestly," the violet-haired boy commented quietly as he leaned over Caspian's shoulder. The picture even moved; though Quinn wasn't entirely sure what it displayed, given the way everything in this building seemed to look the same.

The feeling of hungry eyes on the back of his neck drew Quinn's attention away from the scrying pool and his posture back to rapt attention, only for it to crumple submissively under Count Astorio's scrutiny not even a moment later. Had he been accidentally roped into some kind of rivalry by Lyra's comment? Was that common here? Sure, he'd seen some mages with... radical ideas on vampire-mage relations in the rebellion, but outright hostility like this had to be a rarity for the group to function. Right...? Was he immediately pegged as a disobedient upstart because he'd left a vampire's service? He didn't hate vampires, he just liked living!

"No, sir. I can handle everyone if necessary," he answered the Count, choosing not to comment on the vampire's last jab. If anything, it was probably intended for Caspian anyway. Quinn certainly hadn't implied anything of the sort, but if he was to be grouped in with the rest of the mages...

He needed to find a way to distinguish himself from them, fast. Unfortunately, short of throwing himself to the floor and begging their favor, Quinn didn't see anything he could do immediately to do so. As soon as the Astorio looked away, his hands found each other once again and wrung themselves together in a pitiable attempt to comfort himself. His eyes didn't leave the floor, just in case.

---

The Shattering of Aegis

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Ceolfric couldn't say he found the change in weather comforting. Even if the impending rain didn't bring with it the threat of demons, the thought of trudging along a muddy road while damp and freezing was hardly tantalizing. And if that wasn't bad enough, the horse suddenly decided it wasn't content with its current employment. He nearly dominated the stupid creature into trudging forward regardless, but he was interrupted by a wolf dragging itself onto the path.

His blade was drawn in an instant, unhappy that a mere animal - and a wounded one at that - could surprise him so easily. Of course, where there was a wounded animal, there was also something to wound it. Probably what had spooked the horse to begin with. Unfortunately, no masses of aether stood out nearby, and certainly not one large enough to kill a wolf.

Come to think of it, he didn't feel a wolf either.

Cerric's inane commentary was useless, and the bandit briefly considered that the man had conjured the damn thing himself just to fuck with them. Of course, that begged the question of whether the thing in front of them was a result of an infiltration of their minds, or if it existed as a physical construct. The latter would make for an easy first strike on whoever was bold enough to investigate the wounded canine, should the supposed corpse suddenly spring back to life and attack them, though the former was probably more troubling.

The boy with the strange hair approached soon after, nearly earning him a swift strike to the head from the on-edge bandit, but he purchased his life with information that Ceolfric had missed. He had no guarantee that wasn't also an illusion, designed to draw their attention in one direction while the real threats attacked from the other, but they couldn't afford to ignore it either. However, he didn't quite see the point of the subtlety. If Ermes had spotted an enemy, why was he whispering? Did he not recognize that they'd already been caught in the trap? Or was he merely trying to cower behind the only competent fighter the group had to offer under the guise of being helpful. No, it was probably just the way he'd learned to operate; little urchins like him didn't confront their enemies, they evaded them.

"There's no guarantee it didn't find ours first, on your guard," Ceolfric hissed back to Ermes as his eyes scanned their surroundings for any more movement. Abandoning the cart to search the area would be a poor move, but they couldn't keep moving with a threat lurking so near.

Did these idiots even realize there was a threat?

"That is not a wolf. Someone with a bow, check to see if it's tangible or not," Ceolfric warned loudly, heedless of Ermes' earlier attempt at subtlety. What was their attacker going to do? Attack? "Everyone else, get ready, the creator's here somewhere, and he might have friends."

He turned now past Ermes to address their mystery assailant. "We have no quarrel with you. Allow us passage and live to seek easier prey." He had no idea whether their ambusher was a man or a beast, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to throw the offer out regardless. The scheme seemed a bit advanced for a feral monster, but this forest only grew stranger by the minute and Ceolfric was not a betting man. Perhaps he could lure the conjurer out with promises of a toll for passage, and then rip out its throat for daring to waste his time. At the very least, it might spring its attack once it realizes it'd been seen. Save him the trouble of playing chicken with a fucking bush for hours.

---

@Trainerblue192

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

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Sudden quiet in nature was bad, wasn't it? If everything shut up, it had to stem from wariness. A predator drew near, a natural disaster loomed, a calamity was surely in the making. But Daniel couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what had everything on the island so spooked. The sky was still sunny as ever, so that ruled out hurricanes. The island didn't seem big enough to support any particularly dangerous carnivores. Did they feel an earthquake? Was this pathetic excuse for a sandbar about to be wiped off the map by a sudden tsunami?

It seems Sofia had seen it, judging by her second fainting spell. That woman needed to see a doctor. His concern was short-lived, however, as a resounding thud from the distance stole Danny's attentions from the girl near immediately. Stress clenched its way up his frame as he turned; he really hoped everyone else had a good enough vantage point to see the thing too, because asking Sofia what the hell they were dealing with seemed out of the question. (Un)luckily for him, the steadily-increasing hindrance that was his eyesight made little difference; the threat was still quite visible from a distance. It wasn't quite Jurassic Park, but it was close. Some grotesque monster had shambled its way onto the island, somewhere between a frog and... well, he really didn't know what else to classify it as.

For once, he found himself in agreement with just about every comment his fellow islanders had made. Even Verity. It was a dream after all! This was, of course, the part where he'd start running in slow motion, because that always happened in dreams. Then the frog-thing would be moments from eating him, and he'd wake up. It really would just be simpler to accept his fate and let it happen.

But why did that feel like such a bad idea?

With that primal, instinctive urge driving him, Danny took off without a word. He had no idea how frogs found their prey or if dinosaur frogs even worked the same as real frogs, but he certainly wasn't going to stay there and be trampled, if not eaten. Though, that begged the question, what was he hoping to find? Sure, big reptiles - amphibians too, probably - weren't exactly known for their stamina, but there was only so much island and the thing would recover eventually. It wasn't like they had any way to kill such a massive thing even while it rested.

"Where are- we running- to?! This- island- isn't big- enough!" Danny huffed out toward his fellow runners between exhales, taking care not to exhaust himself prematurely with something as mundane as manic questions.

---

Court of Nuhl

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Chad paid little mind to the conversation at hand, at least outwardly, and instead contented himself by polishing one of his fangs with his tongue. There was still a little blood on it from earlier. A finger came up to wipe at the corner of his mouth and, as suspected, it too came away with a smear of red. He'd been certain to not let even a drop leak out from that guard and onto the floor, but apparently he'd been less meticulous with his own cleanliness. How careless; she didn't even taste that great. Oh well, no harm done.

That small excitement aside, this operation had been far too boring for the vampire's tastes. He'd been promised a grand conflict with the nearby fortress, and instead he'd been relegated to rescuing idiot mages who'd probably already had their minds torn asunder weeks ago. It didn't help that Dionne's progeny droned on like she was in charge of the operation. Was that his purpose here? Protect daughter dearest from the big bad security guards who'd been left behind when they vacated this dump? At least she had the presence of mind to word her thoughts as suggestions rather than orders, though it was almost cute that she thought he'd need to be reminded to listen for footsteps and hadn't been doing just that since the moment they entered.

Once again, his attention waned as the little purple boy steered the conversation to an explanation of his parlor trick. At least, Chad was pretty sure that was a boy - he initially considered it might be a flat-chested lesbian with a bad haircut, but the voice suggested otherwise. Great Anastasia, what were they feeding mages these days? Andrei's mother had looked more masculine while eight months pregnant than Casper and Purple Nurple did under the best of circumstances.

Chad expected the Eve's input to be more valuable, but he only offered a question of limited importance. Judging by the way he eyed the girl, he was either one of Dionne's sycophants or he somehow found the situation to be incredibly amusing. The Astorio sincerely hoped it was the latter, or this reassignment might actually become irritating.

"I guess we either drag the first one we find along or we stuff them somewhere safe and come get them after we've located the rest," Chad answered with indifferent ease, as if they were discussing the logistics of navigating a grocery store rather than a potentially dangerous imperial prison. "I'm not averse to splitting up, but I think our little mages have recently become joined at the hip and I'd hate to leave them without a chaperone."

The larger group definitely posed more of a risk of discovery, but they were bound to notice that the last girl stopped checking in eventually and raise the alarm regardless. Besides, with how deserted the compound was, they'd probably be able to fight their way out if it came to it.

---

Court of Nuhl

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For all their sanctimonious drivel, these rebels were certainly harder taskmasters than either of the vampires he'd had the pleasure or displeasure of serving. Quinn could remember faces, names; all of that was to be expected, but that commander had thrown him in front of a map for barely enough time to even read the first label and then expected him to retain anything about the operation. While he listened to the briefing too, mind. At least his fellow infiltrators seemed to have their bearings. Quinn had resigned himself to simply follow along until they found a wall they needed to scale or they wanted a quick getaway route. Not that he had any clue where the extraction point was aside from a vague direction of 'west'.

His unease only grew worse once they'd paused. It was necessary, he knew, to discuss a course of action rather than blunder in carelessly, but every moment he spent in stillness was another moment he had to truly analyze his surroundings. Skeleton crew or not, he was in enemy territory, just waiting for them to stumble upon him. Worse, the place gave him the creeps. It reeked of death and felt like the setting of a cheesy horror movie, like some horrifying abomination born from the tortured soul of a former inmate would burst forth from a cell any minute now and drag him away.

Wait, someone was talking. He was supposed to focus on that. The girl - Lyra, she was important, probably had authority - suggested they check the execution room first. That was... down? The map was hazy in his mind, but she mentioned 'upward' in specific, which suggested it was below them. Probably to let the blood drain off. Dedicating a whole room just to killing surely meant they employed methods more complicated (and doubtlessly more morbid) than simply putting a celepertien through their temple and calling it a day. That would definitely be the site of the horror movie scene. Or worse, the executioners could still be inside. They needed to hurry up and save those three people, then! Unless they were executed in their cell- Oh, orders!

But she just called him Quintus. Understandable, given she'd probably just been given his name by whoever bothered to keep track of the roster in Caeli, but it put him on edge all the same. His eyes drifted to the camera that swiveled dangerously close to their position. Someone could be listening. He didn't want to be Quintus while he consorted with these upstart terrorists. It wasn't exactly a common name, and it would take more than dyeing his hair a stupid color to erase himself. He couldn't be seen next to enemies of the state looking like her. Preferably, he'd never be seen at all, but if he was, he could be Quinn, not Quintus, and never Contarini. Though arguing about it here of all places just seemed counter-intuitive. He hoped it didn't catch on.

"I can do that. Just know it might affect your gait a little, so if you're still feeling clumsy after the first couple steps, let me know and I'll stop the spell," he warned quietly. The lavender-haired mage broke his gaze away from Lyra and shifted it to the other mage she'd motioned to briefly. He met his eyes for hardly a second, then lowered his gaze to the blond's feet. Right, he wouldn't need to account for the vampires. So, just three. Plus the prisoners, assuming they could even walk. If not, he'd probably be the one carrying them unless the Astorio volunteered. Quinn certainly wasn't going to be the one to ask.

Quinn's hands found each other in front of his waist, fingers intertwining and shifting about each other as he planned his next move. If he made them too light, they'd just bounce away, but if he didn't make them light enough, it would defeat the purpose of the magic. His hands broke apart and moved upward in a lifting motion toward Caspian and Lyra. They'd feel a faint floatiness come over them, as if they were submerged in a pool. Their clothes sat a little bit lighter on their frame and their hair puffed up the tiniest bit as the earth's grasp on them receded at Quinn’s urging.

"There. Try it out. I assume the cameras are all pointed downward too, so we could probably crawl past them on the ceiling if we need to." He assumed the detention level would have the least amount of blind spots, but the execution room was a toss-up.

---

@Hero@Trainerblue192

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

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Daniel still didn't understand how they could possibly be this calm, but their words of encouragement at least gave him something to focus on. Orlando was right, he was still doing better than the blubbering messes back on the beach, and walking back there to mope with them would probably only make him feel worse. He'd hoped to distract himself with whatever task Victor was insistent on them performing, but all they seemed to accomplish was taking note of the bleakness of the situation. At least they had a miniscule amount of food now.

Speaking of food, another coconut flew at him, this time from ground level rather than a lofty perch on high. The cracked fruit splashed a bit as it made contact with his chest as though it were a football before he caught it properly in his hands. Daniel raised a quizzical brow; Verity - who had evidently extricated herself from the tree - somehow made it sound unappealing. Who wanted a hot drink on the beach? Still, they couldn't really afford to waste it, and the boy promptly put the coconut to his lips to slurp from its innards.

"Uh, thanks," he mumbled sheepishly after he'd finished, wiping away any remaining dribble from his chin, "All of you. I'm good now. I think." He wasn't, but they didn't need to know that. And if he kept himself distracted, they wouldn't. Because they'd all be back home soon. Yeah.

"So, what were you saying? We should look around?" Danny focused his attention squarely on Victor now, internally hoping with desperate fervor that the other boy's confidence came from a plan that could get them out of here and not because he was a crazy person like Verity. His rapt interest didn't last very long, as the rustling of foliage nearby immediately drew Daniel's gaze like a startled deer. Sofia had mentioned animals, and while that would solve their woes about food, he had no idea how they'd manage to kill one, especially if it was dangerous. Was this island even big enough to support dangerous predators?

Thankfully, nothing jumped out at him abruptly. His eyes instinctively narrowed as he strained his vision into the not-so-distant distance, only to promptly let out a relieved exhale as he spotted movement from definitively person-shaped figures. They must've come looking for Verity after the trio of boys didn't return swiftly enough.

"Ah, hell, here comes more Sofia orders. Unless somebody already strangled her," he grumbled as he waved away his earlier train of thought. If she didn't have an explanation ready, he really didn't want any part of her hysterics, especially since the swimmer had just calmed himself down. He could feel the beginnings of a headache tingling at the base of his skull already, though he wasn't sure if it was the stress or if he was already dehydrated and really did need to drink that coconut.

---

Court of Nuhl

Your age is past. We are the new gods, born of flesh, and wise and caring of the needs of our people.

________________________________________ Quintus "Quinn" Contarini Male | 21 | Nühl _______________________________________________ "It's up there! Oh, sorry; my up, not yours." ________________________________________ Likes Praise That initial headrush after fangs pierce his neck Stupid fidget toys Tax fraud Dislikes Making important decisions on his own The Revel Dirt Slow people; hurry up People saying he has 80 HD - he's not a TV Habits Sometimes makes small objects float to amuse himself when he gets distracted. Has a tendency to squirm when trying to sit still or stand at attention. He thinks no one notices. Misc. He believes his focus is a stylized metal brooch in the shape of a crescent moon, though, in truth, it's just a trinket that he has no need of to cast. Quinn is quick to offer his blood to rebel vampires, both because he considers it his most important duty as a mage and because he enjoys the afterglow of feeding more than he probably should. He grows noticeably more fidgety when he's overdone it on the blood donations. Theme I know I'll always be less than zero You tried your best with me, I know I couldn't face you with my darkest truth of all Cause I can't get it out of my head No, I can't shake this feeling that crawls in my bed I try to hide it, but I know you know me I try to fight it, but I'd rather be free

"Whether it be vampires or mortals, we are always beholden to those that stand above us." Appearance Years of nocturnal living have given Quinn a delicate pallor, one that would befit a creature of the night more than a living mortal were it not so easy to flush him red in embarrassment. His formerly black locks have been recently re-dyed a soft lavender, a recollection of his tandem debut alongside his cousin years prior, where they were both adorned fully in opposite Marivaldi colors. He has a slim build, tailored in equal parts for physical endurance and effete beauty. Despite the squalid living conditions he now finds himself in, Quinn does his best to maintain the clean and polished appearance previously expected of him as a noble's mage. Personality Quinn maintains the veneer of a well-mannered and eager mage, superficially acting with great formality and poise toward others and his work. A closer examination reveals him for what he really is; a fidgety and impatient boy who throws himself into whatever orders he's given to prevent himself from going stir-crazy for want of an objective. He was never the type to stop and smell the roses, especially when there are still so many roses left to sniff; dwelling on something leaves room for distraction and distraction leads to subpar results. Quinn is constantly chasing praise, a desire to please ingrained in him from a lifetime of vampiric servitude. Despite this, he's easily flustered by the reward he so seeks, and often excuses himself to his next venture promptly after a job well done to spare himself further embarrassment. The one instance where he slows his pace is when he's fed upon, where the induced euphoria overrides his innate drive to go, go, go and he permits himself a moment of blissful indulgence. The rumor that he 'gets off to it' is markedly false, though an onlooker might have a hard time believing it if they caught him in the act. As such, he holds no lofty goals of rebellion or fervent desire to cast off his chains. Quinn is a rebel because the alternative is death, and were a system of equitable service to be reinstated, he would throw himself at the mercy of a new vampire in an instant. He holds a wistful view of the old regime, half-remembered from his childhood, and while Princess Ryner would be worthy of his loyalty in spite of her treachery to the crown, the mage-led farce that has cropped up in her wake is little more than a means to an end for the boy that he can only hope will make the right choice in the end. Bio Quinn was born the second of three children to Bartolomeo Marivaldi's treasured Contarini line of mages. The Count exclusively used the Contarini family to sire new vampires in memory of a mage he'd engaged in a brief (by vampiric standards) love affair with some centuries past and, given no female had been born this generation to either Quinn's mother or his aunt, all of the children were appraised critically for their use as breeding stock, to ensure any daughters that were subsequently born would both resemble Bartolomeo's lost fling and produce mages of excellent pedigree besides. The children quickly became embroiled in an unofficial competition of sorts to impress the Count, though Quinn's standing in the 'race' was tenuous from the first; he was an unruly child, albeit harmlessly inattentive rather than truly difficult, and neglected his studies often. Coupled with his status as a middle child, Quinn was written off by his family and master and more or less ignored comparative to his siblings and cousin, and any attempts to act out for attention were quickly stifled by harsh punishments. He received a lucky break around age thirteen when his previously favored cousin presented a mild case of nearsightedness - such a pesky trait to breed out of a bloodline once introduced - and Quinn, having grown less rambunctious as he aged, received a taste of his family's favor as he was evidently promoted from last place. Now exposed properly to what he was missing, Quinn spent the rest of his teens chasing a spot as an ideal mage of the household, crafting himself as best he can into something that would enter him into his lord's good graces. By the time of his Awakening, he was a strong contender, but Quinn was soon stymied through no fault of his own this time - he presented a weak affinity. Worse, experimentation suggested that his affinity wasn't either of the ones that his family usually harnessed. Once again, he'd been demoted in his family's graces, with all eyes now moving to his little brother in anticipation of his upcoming Awakening. He received a pittance of curiosity when he managed to make objects levitate, sending the household into a brief frenzy as they ruled out earth and metal magic based on the variety of things he could repeat the trick on. They briefly toyed with the idea that he was some kind of unforeseen anomaly that harnessed telekinesis and perhaps even further mental magic naturally, especially since Quinn seemed to function without a focus, though the family eventually settled on the opinion that he was a gravity mage that had simply managed to avoid any dissonant symptoms through sheer luck up until then. And from then on, Quinn was a gravity mage. Bartolomeo found the affinity useful in manual labor and certainly considered the boy to have the requisite physical qualities he valued in a mage, namely resembling Quinn's ancestor, but the weak affinity was troublesome and diluting the magic of his favored line simply would not do. That was until the Count sampled Quinn's blood for the first time. It was exquisite, quite possibly the best he'd ever tasted. From then on, Bartolomeo regarded him as a prized piece of his collection, and sought to hone the boy as best he could, even with his flawed magic - he'd progenate a useful secondary line, perhaps exclusively for feeding. Quinn, surprisingly, took to arcane magic swimmingly despite his earlier difficulties with scholarly activities, and he was shaping up to be quite the show mage in short order. Of course, he mostly served as the dessert course whenever the Count threw his lavish parties, but Quinn found pleasure in the act all the same. He was happy to serve, happy to be recognized. After nearly two years of faithful service, Bartolomeo's interest in Quinn as anything more than a bloodbag had waned and, as an act of good faith, passed the boy over to his son, Alfonso, who had recently come of age. Where Bartolomeo had considered Quinn a rich and luxurious delicacy, meant to be savored only on special occasions so as to make said rare indulgences all the better, Alfonso, a careless hedonist at heart, had yet to develop the patience born of centuries of unlife, and satiated himself on Quinn almost exclusively and in far greater quantities than necessary for sustenance. The boy was still happy to be of service, though every further repeal of prior mage treatment laws seemed only to embolden his new master to reach new heights of indulgence, and mitigating anemic symptoms quickly became part of his daily life. The issue came to a head during the Revel of 530, where Quinn was the object of enough 'revelry' to wake up in the hospital days later, recovering from near-exsanguination and the mental scars of half-remembered indignities inflicted upon him during the event. To his master's consternation and Quinn's guilty relief, the life-saving blood transfusion he'd been given had soured his precious blood for the time being, leaving his liege to subsist on lower-quality meals while he recovered. Alfonso was not pleased, taking out his frustration on the boy as if the incident had been his fault. It seemed the vampire had learned nothing from the experience either, and once Quinn's blood had returned to its natural flavor, he resumed his excessive feeding regimen. When Alfonso began making plans to freeze Quinn's sperm 'just in case', the boy realized there was a distinct possibility he may be drained entirely. Before, his master had to at least keep him alive to retain access to his cherished blood, but now it seemed he wanted to supplement his prized bottle of wine with an extra six pack before it ran dry. Alfonso, careless as he was, parked Quinn in the front seat of an expensive car and sent him off to the storage facility alone one morning. Somewhere between leaving the estate and arriving at his destination, something snapped in his head. His neck hadn't been free of bruises in months. He spent most of his time after his master's dinner fighting off lightheadedness. His body felt like it would vibrate out of his skin every time he paused at a stop light but he was still so, so tired. So Quinn simply pulled over, stepped out of the car, and walked away. The vehicle accelerated off the road and into a tree at 9.8 meters per second2 and a quick color-changing spell had a vaguely Quinn-looking boy innocently boarding a bus. He was an idiot, not thinking straight from blood loss, clearly. He had no destination and only one option - treasonous upstarts who would try to thrust freedom on him when he only desired safety. The regret was immediate, but the die had been cast all the same.

Red bloometh the rose of conquest

________________________________________ Chadwick Astorio Male | 253 | Astorio _______________________________________________ "A thrust is elegant, a cut is powerful, but sometimes the best move is a headbutt." ________________________________________ Likes Owlry The lamentations of a defeated opponent Contests of wit, surprisingly Crafting mages into warriors Dislikes People with that prey look in their eyes Cowards Anyone who makes threats of a non-physical variety Habits Puts his hand to his chin when someone gets in his face, as if in thought. He's waiting for a punch. Comments wrongly on the flavor profile of any blood he samples, purely to get a rise out of any nearby enthusiasts. Misc. Chad is always up for a spar, even against opponents that vastly outclass him, as he sees refusal of such an invitation without an acceptable excuse to be a sign of weakness. He's formally trained in most weapons used in conventional warfare, as expected of an Astorio, though he's partial to the longsword. He keeps a pet owl, mostly delegated to the care of one of his still-loyal mages, though he occasionally sends it out to hunt when he can spare the time. Theme I don’t know the season or what is the reason I’m standing here holding my blade A desolate place without any trace It’s only the cold wind I feel It’s me that I spite as I stand up and fight The only thing I know for real There will be bloodshed The man in the mirror nods his head The only one left Will ride upon the dragon’s back

"The Sinnenodels believe that physical training and discipline are unnecessary. With mages, media, and the mental resources to direct them, muscular strength and agility are thought to be merely conceits. They are wrong." Appearance Chadwick is a 6'2" column of sinewy muscle that clings tightly to his frame, with a broad torso and long limbs whose lankiness belies their supernatural dexterity. Though he lacks the sheer burliness of many among his bloodline, he is no less imposing. Observers often note - with a tinge of wariness in their voice - that he looks much bigger in person than he does on television. His hair is a dull gray, having lost its pigment early into his unlife, and he refuses to dye it in pursuit of vanity. In contrast, his eyes are far more vibrant, a brilliant cyan that doesn't quite suit the icy gaze they often hold. Personality Ruthlessly charismatic and charismatically ruthless, Count Chadwick Astorio is the last person one would believe had defected to the rebellion. A true Astorio at heart, he believes a vampire's status should rest solely on their personal combat prowess and cares little for the petty politicking of his peers. A vampire is a hunter, the apex predator of the night; coddled weaklings who hide behind blackmail and backroom deals are an embarrassment to their kind, and those that entrust their own defense solely to mages are masters of nothing - naive fools that would find themselves woefully unprepared should their prized pets ever call their bluff. After all, the only thing an immortal stands to truly lose is their life. Chad carries himself with a cocky nonchalance outside the realm of combat, unconcerned as he is with mundane matters beyond the battlefield. However, one should be careful not to underestimate him as an inelegant brute like many among his bloodline; despite this seeming indifference, he possesses an antagonistic cunning, using it to goad and unsettle his foes rather than charm the cameras or his peers. Every witty remark, every cutting jab, all are merely invitations to cross blades with him, where status and resources melt away and only one warrior remains in the end. That isn't to say he isn't resourceful; Chad prefers to keep a number of mages on hand of a more subtle variety, solely for digging into his potential opponents and uncovering their weaknesses. If he had his way, every duel he fought would be won before he ever drew his sword. In the midst of conflict, he's a marginally different beast; an edge of intensity and aggression comes out, though the graceful confidence remains. A victory isn't as sweet if one doesn't look good while achieving it, of course. Beyond this simple utility and their status as a superior food source, Chadwick sees mages little differently than the rest of their mortal ilk. They are certainly the most powerful warriors of humanity, a feat worthy of respect, but a foe who can be bested simply by waiting a few decades is hardly what Chad considers capable of rivaling a vampire. Nevertheless, he considers his own mages an interesting diversion to pass the time. None in his house would suffer a weak-willed mage, but short-lived as their physical prime is, they present a sort of challenge to see what heights he can cultivate in them. And of course, a challenge to inspire new heights in his own skills, as Chad takes them as healthy competition to keep his skills honed. Bio The first century or so of Chadwick's life was fairly typical of an Astorio fledgeling, and thus, unremarkable. He trained, he fought, he conquered. His older brother held much of his sire's attention and subsequently familial responsibilities, and thus Chad was left much to his own devices outside of his family's training regimen. Free from the imposition of courtly politics and territorial management, he whiled away the first century of his life in idle leisure - or what passes for it in an Astorio household, violent as they are - taking up sport dueling as a means to entertain himself. He grew tired of sparring with the same few opponents, and rather than wait the agonizing years it would take to raise a new generation of mages to vary the selection a little, Chad opted to throw himself to the wider world in search of a challenge. Though Chad did not seek it, the act earned instant approval from his sire. Raising a strong contender in the arenas would doubtlessly improve his own standing, and thus he excused Chadwick from most of his remaining household duties so long as his career continued, to allow the young vampire time to solely focus on honing himself. And hone himself he did; Chad gained public renown in his twelfth decade when he achieved an upset victory against Count Damien Eve, a vampire over a century his senior with skills to match, in a risky maneuver that cost Chad an arm and Damien his heart. Now thrust into a spotlight, it was then that he first began to play the game. The fame didn't particularly interest him, nor did the machinations of his peers that he was now privy to with his newfound connections, but he didn't ignore the whispers in his ears as he pretended to. There was no point in souring a business deal for someone he marginally disliked, no reason to sabotage his rivals if he only stood to gain things he never wanted in the first place. Petty fun, perhaps, but there were easier ways to achieve that. Still, information was a weapon, and it always paid to be armed. So Chadwick flitted about the edges of high society, occupying his time at classy events by incensing some limp-dick count or chickenshit duke in hopes they'd come to blows, all the while keeping an ear out for anything of use. His competitors had weaknesses and all it took was someone to slip one of their pesky little habits - a minor tidbit of information compared to the grandiosity of Count So-And-So's big move on Count What's-His-Name's holdings in the metallurgy industry, and thus easily thrown out by the rubes who didn't understand Chad's game. Dismantling an opponent before they ever stepped into the ring became his pastime, riling them up beforehand until their frustration led them to make the mistakes he expected. The act was almost more fun than the duel itself, and Chad expanded his brand into the TCL just to get more of it. As expected of an Astorio household, Chad expected nothing less than ruthless combat efficiency in his mages, and providing them an outlet to show it off was met with minimal protest. There he coached his little pets for three whole generations, dissecting the opposition and passing his conclusions to his mages for them to exploit at their leisure. Unfortunately, the onset of the war put an end to his fun, as his brother requested Chad's presence in a grander game. His territory had become a key engagement zone against Dawn Rising early on, and the count found the strategems devised centuries ago in some doddering Astorio's theorizing that he had based his initial defense on didn't hold up to the reality of modern mage-on-mage warfare, and so he called on Chadwick for reinforcements. As he took to the field, the flaws in his brother's command quickly became apparent. Outdated tactics were a flaw that could be easily corrected, major information leaks and saboteurs were not. Chad's brother had never been one to be lax on his mages, but he'd cracked down especially hard after one of them had expressed some minor interest in Ryner's revolutionary drivel. And as beaten dogs often do, his pets grew vicious. Fear kept them in line for now, but defections were not uncommon and as much fun as it was to gorge himself on the first few traitors, Chad felt his time was better spent attacking the enemy ship rather than plugging holes in his own. So, when one of his brother's especially bold mages plotted an assassination, Chad pretended to be none the wiser. After his brother had been reduced to ash and the offending mage found herself suddenly missing a good chunk of her ribcage, Chad tossed her body aside and assumed fealty over his brother's holdings. There was a short period of cleaning house - he considered himself much better at maintaining morale than his late brother, but one can't make an omelet without cracking a few skulls, or whatever the mortal idiom was - but afterward Chad found himself in command of an effective piece of the Council's war machine. Naturally, it was all a farce to remain in the midst of the action, but Chad would have his fun while the combat lasted. It was for this reason that the foundation of the Dreaming Court in 524 gave him pause. In the Sinnenodels he saw the death of warfare, that the conflict and all future conflicts would be reduced to the petty scheming of mind mages to undermine each other and end the opposition without a single sword ever being swung. Lord Pieron's departure from the conflict after Ryner's defeat seemed only to confirm Chad's misgivings - if his progenitor had lost his interest in the war, it would only be a matter of time until his lesser children followed. Chad wouldn't suffer the death of his newfound hobby just so Sybil could throw a few mages more firmly under the yoke and, in a spectacularly unprecedented move, Count Chadwick Astorio emancipated his mages and defected to Dawn Rising. The next few years were spent in violent revelry, with Chad sating his bloodlust while he could as the war wound down. After the loss of Benjamin Eve, he flirted with the idea of returning to the fold, but with things miraculously looking up for the rebels despite their leadership falling to a girl barely half a century old, he's content to wait and observe for now.

Chad's Retinue

In Service
Andrei Zharkov - Ice Mage | 32

Chad's most senior remaining mage, the TCL's former "Boreal Tempest" now fights on behalf of Dawn Rising. He is stern and aloof, never as much of a crowd pleaser as his sister during their mage fighting career, though such cold focus lends itself well to the realities of warfare. Chad trusts him implicitly to command his remaining mages in his stead and sees him as a sort of "second-in-command".

Yuri Petrovic - Combustion Mage | 25

Reckless, skilled, and prone to creating funny soundbites in press conferences, Yuri is everything Chad finds entertaining in a mage. He wouldn't give the boy responsibilities unless it was an absolute last resort, but one needn't employ a sledgehammer for tasks better suited to a scalpel. Yuri exists to make things explode; nothing more, nothing less, and both master and mage seem to be in agreement on this point, even if it does grate upon rebellion higher-ups that find less glamorous tasks assigned to him carelessly shirked.

Matthew Revay - Cloud Mage | 23

The son of one of Chad's successful water mages, who he had high hopes for. Instead, he got a quiet, bookish boy with little tenacity and an affinity that failed to catch the vampire's interest. He had intended to sell him off after his mother died in the war, though the vampire's defection soon after left the point rather moot. To Chad's surprise, the boy remained loyal to the turncoat vampire and begged to be taken along wheresoever his master found himself next. Matt now handles whatever menial day-to-day tasks Chad requests of him or cannot be bothered to do himself, including the care of his prized hunting owl.

Emancipated
David Hinrichson - Earth Mage | 35

A squat, solidly-built man, who looks as though he were carved of the same stone he commands. Nearing the end of his prime, he refused to defect from the Dreaming Court alongside his master and now serves a different vampire.

Darya Zharkova - Ice Mage | 29

Refined and welcoming in contrast to her brother's cold demeanor, Andrei's younger sister originally followed Chadwick upon his defection to the rebellion, though caring for her infant child has taken her off the battlefield in search of a quieter life.

Roy Hadley - Plant Mage | 27

A promising TCL prospect from a young age, the "Prince of Thorns" remained behind and presented himself to Chad's sire to continue his career rather than throw his life away on the battlefield. A shame, too; Chad really enjoyed his showboating.

James Brackenmoor - Shadow Mage | 50

Chad's former chief of staff and one of the few mages in his service not engaged in combat for sport, James was Chad's leading spy in his younger years. Whenever Chad found that he must play the game of vampiric politics, he sent James in his stead and the man delivered. After Chad's defection, the man faked his death with his master's blessing and now presumably intends to live out the rest of his life incognito.

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

---

Thankfully, nobody acquiesced to Verity's weird request, though Victor did suggest something with vines that made Daniel the slightest bit wary. What the hell was she going to do with vines that she needed pants for? Actually, that was pretty solid dream logic, so maybe that meant he'd be waking up soon.

His question - which he really didn't need answered, honestly - was answered regardless moments later, when the girl threw herself at the tree in an attempt to climb it. He almost yelled at her to get down, but to his surprise, she was actually decent at it. Danny watched in perplexed awe as she hopped her way up the palm one weird movement at a time. Not that he was a physicist or anything, but it didn't even seem possible. All he needed her to do was outright start walking up the tree to confirm his dream theory, but unfortunately she remained just inside the realm of plausibility just to spite him. This dream sucked.

As the coconuts began to rain down, Danny immediately raced backward, leaving the fruit-catching to the other two - one head injury was enough for today. Possibly two, depending on whether or not he really did take a rock to the head and die back at the dockhouse. To his chagrin, he couldn't even get mad at the tree-climbing psychopath either; that was food and water they could use right there.

Oh, god, they'd have to find food out here. If a boat didn't pass by quickly, they were fucked; this island probably didn't have enough resources to sustain two people, let alone nine kids who didn't know the first thing about survivalism. They'd probably end up eating Mav first. Or Sofia if she cracked one too many bad jokes.

He needed to get the fuck out of here.

That feeling of his stomach twisting itself in three different directions at once sunk in with a vengeance. The one he gets when he has to tell people he doesn't like girls. God, what a pathetic comparison; imminent death weighed against getting called a fag by a teenager. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the thin sheen of sweat on his skin - was that already there from the tropical heat or had it just formed? He hadn't noticed.

"Don't suppose you can see where we are from up there," he called up, not even believing the hope in his own voice. He doubted her vantage point provided anything they couldn't see from the shore, but Danny didn't exactly trust his less-than-stellar vision to take in a comprehensive account of their surroundings. Yeah, yeah; he could've completely missed something. No one pointed it out because it seemed obvious. Even broken glasses girl still had one functional eye over him. Ugh, this sounded like a cope even before the thought had finished. Turning back to the other two boys, Daniel barely restrained himself from pleading, "You guys didn't see anything back on the beach either, right? There's no, like, weird little cabanas on a nearby island we can call for help at?"

His voice had quivered a little. Idiot.

"I think," Danny abruptly muttered as he turned his gaze downward in thinly veiled horror, "I- I think I'm freaking out. Sorry, sorry. We should... get back to the others."

---

Court of Nuhl

Your age is past. We are the new gods, born of flesh, and wise and caring of the needs of our people.

________________________________________ Quintus "Quinn" Contarini Male | 21 | Nühl _______________________________________________ "It's up there! Oh, sorry; my up, not yours." ________________________________________ Likes Praise That initial headrush after fangs pierce his neck Stupid fidget toys Tax fraud Dislikes Making important decisions on his own The Revel Dirt Slow people; hurry up People saying he has 80 HD - he's not a TV Habits Sometimes makes small objects float to amuse himself when he gets distracted. Has a tendency to squirm when trying to sit still or stand at attention. He thinks no one notices. Misc. He believes his focus is a stylized metal brooch in the shape of a crescent moon, though, in truth, it's just a trinket that he has no need of to cast. Quinn is quick to offer his blood to rebel vampires, both because he considers it his most important duty as a mage and because he enjoys the afterglow of feeding more than he probably should. He grows noticeably more fidgety when he's overdone it on the blood donations. Theme I know I'll always be less than zero You tried your best with me, I know I couldn't face you with my darkest truth of all Cause I can't get it out of my head No, I can't shake this feeling that crawls in my bed I try to hide it, but I know you know me I try to fight it, but I'd rather be free

"Whether it be vampires or mortals, we are always beholden to those that stand above us." Appearance Years of nocturnal living have given Quinn a delicate pallor, one that would befit a creature of the night more than a living mortal were it not so easy to flush him red in embarrassment. His formerly black locks have been recently re-dyed a soft lavender, a recollection of his tandem debut alongside his cousin years prior, where they were both adorned fully in opposite Marivaldi colors. He has a slim build, tailored in equal parts for physical endurance and effete beauty. Despite the squalid living conditions he now finds himself in, Quinn does his best to maintain the clean and polished appearance previously expected of him as a noble's mage. Personality Quinn maintains the veneer of a well-mannered and eager mage, superficially acting with great formality and poise toward others and his work. A closer examination reveals him for what he really is; a fidgety and impatient boy who throws himself into whatever orders he's given to prevent himself from going stir-crazy for want of an objective. He was never the type to stop and smell the roses, especially when there are still so many roses left to sniff; dwelling on something leaves room for distraction and distraction leads to subpar results. Quinn is constantly chasing praise, a desire to please ingrained in him from a lifetime of vampiric servitude. Despite this, he's easily flustered by the reward he so seeks, and often excuses himself to his next venture promptly after a job well done to spare himself further embarrassment. The one instance where he slows his pace is when he's fed upon, where the induced euphoria overrides his innate drive to go, go, go and he permits himself a moment of blissful indulgence. The rumor that he 'gets off to it' is markedly false, though an onlooker might have a hard time believing it if they caught him in the act. As such, he holds no lofty goals of rebellion or fervent desire to cast off his chains. Quinn is a rebel because the alternative is death, and were a system of equitable service to be reinstated, he would throw himself at the mercy of a new vampire in an instant. He holds a wistful view of the old regime, half-remembered from his childhood, and while Princess Ryner would be worthy of his loyalty in spite of her treachery to the crown, the mage-led farce that has cropped up in her wake is little more than a means to an end for the boy that he can only hope will make the right choice in the end. Bio Quinn was born the second of three children to Bartolomeo Marivaldi's treasured Contarini line of mages. The Count exclusively used the Contarini family to sire new vampires in memory of a mage he'd engaged in a brief (by vampiric standards) love affair with some centuries past and, given no female had been born this generation to either Quinn's mother or his aunt, all of the children were appraised critically for their use as breeding stock, to ensure any daughters that were subsequently born would both resemble Bartolomeo's lost fling and produce mages of excellent pedigree besides. The children quickly became embroiled in an unofficial competition of sorts to impress the Count, though Quinn's standing in the 'race' was tenuous from the first; he was an unruly child, albeit harmlessly inattentive rather than truly difficult, and neglected his studies often. Coupled with his status as a middle child, Quinn was written off by his family and master and more or less ignored comparative to his siblings and cousin, and any attempts to act out for attention were quickly stifled by harsh punishments. He received a lucky break around age thirteen when his previously favored cousin presented a mild case of nearsightedness - such a pesky trait to breed out of a bloodline once introduced - and Quinn, having grown less rambunctious as he aged, received a taste of his family's favor as he was evidently promoted from last place. Now exposed properly to what he was missing, Quinn spent the rest of his teens chasing a spot as an ideal mage of the household, crafting himself as best he can into something that would enter him into his lord's good graces. By the time of his Awakening, he was a strong contender, but Quinn was soon stymied through no fault of his own this time - he presented a weak affinity. Worse, experimentation suggested that his affinity wasn't either of the ones that his family usually harnessed. Once again, he'd been demoted in his family's graces, with all eyes now moving to his little brother in anticipation of his upcoming Awakening. He received a pittance of curiosity when he managed to make objects levitate, sending the household into a brief frenzy as they ruled out earth and metal magic based on the variety of things he could repeat the trick on. They briefly toyed with the idea that he was some kind of unforeseen anomaly that harnessed telekinesis and perhaps even further mental magic naturally, especially since Quinn seemed to function without a focus, though the family eventually settled on the opinion that he was a gravity mage that had simply managed to avoid any dissonant symptoms through sheer luck up until then. And from then on, Quinn was a gravity mage. Bartolomeo found the affinity useful in manual labor and certainly considered the boy to have the requisite physical qualities he valued in a mage, namely resembling Quinn's ancestor, but the weak affinity was troublesome and diluting the magic of his favored line simply would not do. That was until the Count sampled Quinn's blood for the first time. It was exquisite, quite possibly the best he'd ever tasted. From then on, Bartolomeo regarded him as a prized piece of his collection, and sought to hone the boy as best he could, even with his flawed magic - he'd progenate a useful secondary line, perhaps exclusively for feeding. Quinn, surprisingly, took to arcane magic swimmingly despite his earlier difficulties with scholarly activities, and he was shaping up to be quite the show mage in short order. Of course, he mostly served as the dessert course whenever the Count threw his lavish parties, but Quinn found pleasure in the act all the same. He was happy to serve, happy to be recognized. After nearly two years of faithful service, Bartolomeo's interest in Quinn as anything more than a bloodbag had waned and, as an act of good faith, passed the boy over to his son, Alfonso, who had recently come of age. Where Bartolomeo had considered Quinn a rich and luxurious delicacy, meant to be savored only on special occasions so as to make said rare indulgences all the better, Alfonso, a careless hedonist at heart, had yet to develop the patience born of centuries of unlife, and satiated himself on Quinn almost exclusively and in far greater quantities than necessary for sustenance. The boy was still happy to be of service, though every further repeal of prior mage treatment laws seemed only to embolden his new master to reach new heights of indulgence, and mitigating anemic symptoms quickly became part of his daily life. The issue came to a head during the Revel of 530, where Quinn was the object of enough 'revelry' to wake up in the hospital days later, recovering from near-exsanguination and the mental scars of half-remembered indignities inflicted upon him during the event. To his master's consternation and Quinn's guilty relief, the life-saving blood transfusion he'd been given had soured his precious blood for the time being, leaving his liege to subsist on lower-quality meals while he recovered. Alfonso was not pleased, taking out his frustration on the boy as if the incident had been his fault. It seemed the vampire had learned nothing from the experience either, and once Quinn's blood had returned to its natural flavor, he resumed his excessive feeding regimen. When Alfonso began making plans to freeze Quinn's sperm 'just in case', the boy realized there was a distinct possibility he may be drained entirely. Before, his master had to at least keep him alive to retain access to his cherished blood, but now it seemed he wanted to supplement his prized bottle of wine with an extra six pack before it ran dry. Alfonso, careless as he was, parked Quinn in the front seat of an expensive car and sent him off to the storage facility alone one morning. Somewhere between leaving the estate and arriving at his destination, something snapped in his head. His neck hadn't been free of bruises in months. He spent most of his time after his master's dinner fighting off lightheadedness. His body felt like it would vibrate out of his skin every time he paused at a stop light but he was still so, so tired. So Quinn simply pulled over, stepped out of the car, and walked away. The vehicle accelerated off the road and into a tree at 9.8 meters per second2 and a quick color-changing spell had a vaguely Quinn-looking boy innocently boarding a bus. He was an idiot, not thinking straight from blood loss, clearly. He had no destination and only one option - treasonous upstarts who would try to thrust freedom on him when he only desired safety. The regret was immediate, but the die had been cast all the same.

Red bloometh the rose of conquest

________________________________________ Chadwick Astorio Male | 253 | Astorio _______________________________________________ "A thrust is elegant, a cut is powerful, but sometimes the best move is a headbutt." ________________________________________ Likes Owlry The lamentations of a defeated opponent Contests of wit, surprisingly Crafting mages into warriors Dislikes People with that prey look in their eyes Cowards Anyone who makes threats of a non-physical variety Habits Puts his hand to his chin when someone gets in his face, as if in thought. He's waiting for a punch. Comments wrongly on the flavor profile of any blood he samples, purely to get a rise out of any nearby enthusiasts. Misc. Chad is always up for a spar, even against opponents that vastly outclass him, as he sees refusal of such an invitation without an acceptable excuse to be a sign of weakness. He's formally trained in most weapons used in conventional warfare, as expected of an Astorio, though he's partial to the longsword. He keeps a pet owl, mostly delegated to the care of one of his still-loyal mages, though he occasionally sends it out to hunt when he can spare the time. Theme I don’t know the season or what is the reason I’m standing here holding my blade A desolate place without any trace It’s only the cold wind I feel It’s me that I spite as I stand up and fight The only thing I know for real There will be bloodshed The man in the mirror nods his head The only one left Will ride upon the dragon’s back

"The Sinnenodels believe that physical training and discipline are unnecessary. With mages, media, and the mental resources to direct them, muscular strength and agility are thought to be merely conceits. They are wrong." Appearance Chadwick is a 6'2" column of sinewy muscle that clings tightly to his frame, with a broad torso and long limbs whose lankiness belies their supernatural dexterity. Though he lacks the sheer burliness of many among his bloodline, he is no less imposing. Observers often note - with a tinge of wariness in their voice - that he looks much bigger in person than he does on television. His hair is a dull gray, having lost its pigment early into his unlife, and he refuses to dye it in pursuit of vanity. In contrast, his eyes are far more vibrant, a brilliant cyan that doesn't quite suit the icy gaze they often hold. Personality Ruthlessly charismatic and charismatically ruthless, Count Chadwick Astorio is the last person one would believe had defected to the rebellion. A true Astorio at heart, he believes a vampire's status should rest solely on their personal combat prowess and cares little for the petty politicking of his peers. A vampire is a hunter, the apex predator of the night; coddled weaklings who hide behind blackmail and backroom deals are an embarrassment to their kind, and those that entrust their own defense solely to mages are masters of nothing - naive fools that would find themselves woefully unprepared should their prized pets ever call their bluff. After all, the only thing an immortal stands to truly lose is their life. Chad carries himself with a cocky nonchalance outside the realm of combat, unconcerned as he is with mundane matters beyond the battlefield. However, one should be careful not to underestimate him as an inelegant brute like many among his bloodline; despite this seeming indifference, he possesses an antagonistic cunning, using it to goad and unsettle his foes rather than charm the cameras or his peers. Every witty remark, every cutting jab, all are merely invitations to cross blades with him, where status and resources melt away and only one warrior remains in the end. That isn't to say he isn't resourceful; Chad prefers to keep a number of mages on hand of a more subtle variety, solely for digging into his potential opponents and uncovering their weaknesses. If he had his way, every duel he fought would be won before he ever drew his sword. In the midst of conflict, he's a marginally different beast; an edge of intensity and aggression comes out, though the graceful confidence remains. A victory isn't as sweet if one doesn't look good while achieving it, of course. Beyond this simple utility and their status as a superior food source, Chadwick sees mages little differently than the rest of their mortal ilk. They are certainly the most powerful warriors of humanity, a feat worthy of respect, but a foe who can be bested simply by waiting a few decades is hardly what Chad considers capable of rivaling a vampire. Nevertheless, he considers his own mages an interesting diversion to pass the time. None in his house would suffer a weak-willed mage, but short-lived as their physical prime is, they present a sort of challenge to see what heights he can cultivate in them. And of course, a challenge to inspire new heights in his own skills, as Chad takes them as healthy competition to keep his skills honed. Bio The first century or so of Chadwick's life was fairly typical of an Astorio fledgeling, and thus, unremarkable. He trained, he fought, he conquered. His older brother held much of his sire's attention and subsequently familial responsibilities, and thus Chad was left much to his own devices outside of his family's training regimen. Free from the imposition of courtly politics and territorial management, he whiled away the first century of his life in idle leisure - or what passes for it in an Astorio household, violent as they are - taking up sport dueling as a means to entertain himself. He grew tired of sparring with the same few opponents, and rather than wait the agonizing years it would take to raise a new generation of mages to vary the selection a little, Chad opted to throw himself to the wider world in search of a challenge. Though Chad did not seek it, the act earned instant approval from his sire. Raising a strong contender in the arenas would doubtlessly improve his own standing, and thus he excused Chadwick from most of his remaining household duties so long as his career continued, to allow the young vampire time to solely focus on honing himself. And hone himself he did; Chad gained public renown in his twelfth decade when he achieved an upset victory against Count Damien Eve, a vampire over a century his senior with skills to match, in a risky maneuver that cost Chad an arm and Damien his heart. Now thrust into a spotlight, it was then that he first began to play the game. The fame didn't particularly interest him, nor did the machinations of his peers that he was now privy to with his newfound connections, but he didn't ignore the whispers in his ears as he pretended to. There was no point in souring a business deal for someone he marginally disliked, no reason to sabotage his rivals if he only stood to gain things he never wanted in the first place. Petty fun, perhaps, but there were easier ways to achieve that. Still, information was a weapon, and it always paid to be armed. So Chadwick flitted about the edges of high society, occupying his time at classy events by incensing some limp-dick count or chickenshit duke in hopes they'd come to blows, all the while keeping an ear out for anything of use. His competitors had weaknesses and all it took was someone to slip one of their pesky little habits - a minor tidbit of information compared to the grandiosity of Count So-And-So's big move on Count What's-His-Name's holdings in the metallurgy industry, and thus easily thrown out by the rubes who didn't understand Chad's game. Dismantling an opponent before they ever stepped into the ring became his pastime, riling them up beforehand until their frustration led them to make the mistakes he expected. The act was almost more fun than the duel itself, and Chad expanded his brand into the TCL just to get more of it. As expected of an Astorio household, Chad expected nothing less than ruthless combat efficiency in his mages, and providing them an outlet to show it off was met with minimal protest. There he coached his little pets for three whole generations, dissecting the opposition and passing his conclusions to his mages for them to exploit at their leisure. Unfortunately, the onset of the war put an end to his fun, as his brother requested Chad's presence in a grander game. His territory had become a key engagement zone against Dawn Rising early on, and the count found the strategems devised centuries ago in some doddering Astorio's theorizing that he had based his initial defense on didn't hold up to the reality of modern mage-on-mage warfare, and so he called on Chadwick for reinforcements. As he took to the field, the flaws in his brother's command quickly became apparent. Outdated tactics were a flaw that could be easily corrected, major information leaks and saboteurs were not. Chad's brother had never been one to be lax on his mages, but he'd cracked down especially hard after one of them had expressed some minor interest in Ryner's revolutionary drivel. And as beaten dogs often do, his pets grew vicious. Fear kept them in line for now, but defections were not uncommon and as much fun as it was to gorge himself on the first few traitors, Chad felt his time was better spent attacking the enemy ship rather than plugging holes in his own. So, when one of his brother's especially bold mages plotted an assassination, Chad pretended to be none the wiser. After his brother had been reduced to ash and the offending mage found herself suddenly missing a good chunk of her ribcage, Chad tossed her body aside and assumed fealty over his brother's holdings. There was a short period of cleaning house - he considered himself much better at maintaining morale than his late brother, but one can't make an omelet without cracking a few skulls, or whatever the mortal idiom was - but afterward Chad found himself in command of an effective piece of the Council's war machine. Naturally, it was all a farce to remain in the midst of the action, but Chad would have his fun while the combat lasted. It was for this reason that the foundation of the Dreaming Court in 524 gave him pause. In the Sinnenodels he saw the death of warfare, that the conflict and all future conflicts would be reduced to the petty scheming of mind mages to undermine each other and end the opposition without a single sword ever being swung. Lord Pieron's departure from the conflict after Ryner's defeat seemed only to confirm Chad's misgivings - if his progenitor had lost his interest in the war, it would only be a matter of time until his lesser children followed. Chad wouldn't suffer the death of his newfound hobby just so Sybil could throw a few mages more firmly under the yoke and, in a spectacularly unprecedented move, Count Chadwick Astorio emancipated his mages and defected to Dawn Rising. The next few years were spent in violent revelry, with Chad sating his bloodlust while he could as the war wound down. After the loss of Benjamin Eve, he flirted with the idea of returning to the fold, but with things miraculously looking up for the rebels despite their leadership falling to a girl barely half a century old, he's content to wait and observe for now.

I'm a stud, I'm ballsy, I don't wait for dms that will make me rewrite my entire character, like you

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

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This was definitely a dream; the situation was too absurd to be real. Putting aside the obvious implausibility of washing up completely dry on the shores of the Bahamas or wherever the hell they'd ended up, half the crew exploded into hysterics and the other half seemed about as bothered as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Honestly, Daniel just wanted confirmation that they weren't all dead right now, even if the only other explanation was that the dockhouse was haunted or something.

France and Brazil had a point, as ridiculous as their supposed nonchalance was, but he couldn't help but find himself in agreement with the angry girl and the last boy in their entourage. Somebody was at fault here, though Danny was more inclined to rest the blame on the girl whose ankles he currently held over Maven or whatever her name was. At least until he noticed the crack running down one of the lenses of the angry one's glasses. A sympathetic wince escaped him - yeah, that was all Meeve's clumsiness right there; he'd be pissed too. Though, just as he was about to add his own fuel to the fire, the unconscious Sofia suddenly rose from the dead and slammed right into him, sending him recoiling backward with a whine.

To his absolute incredulity, now Sofia had tried to join the pragmatist camp, as if she hadn't just been psychically assaulted by the Ghost of Harbour Academy just moments prior. Was this just the norm around here?! Haha, prank the new kids by sending them careening through a portal to Tahiti, classic HAGAY hazing! Daniel gave up trying to rationalize any of it and just dumbly stared as Sofia barked out orders.

"You- but- I thought- I thought you were dead," he stammered out as Sofia turned foolishly into the path of Imogen's ire, quietly at first, then rising in panicked intensity, "How are you so calm about this?! Did you know this would happen? You can't seriously just-" He abruptly cut himself off with a frustrated groan. If it was her fault, then it would probably be prudent to listen to her, at least until they were back to somewhere he recognized - if she thought there was danger out there, there might well be; to say nothing of what would happen if Sofia were deliberately holding them hostage. Everyone else could chew her ass in the meantime, apparently he had a girl to save from a tiger or something.

"Fine," he huffed after a moment of internal turmoil, "But I'm expecting an explanation when we get back." Danny stormed off in search of Verity - he assumed that was the girl from the roof; she was the only one that had the gall to wander off alone - though his pace slowed from aggressive and determined to a cautious hopping as he crossed the threshold from silky sand to jungled dirt. If he'd've known he was about to be ripped into a survival movie, he would have brought shoes.

When he reached Verity at last, he saw no tiger nor monkey nor even particularly aggressive seagull; just a teenage girl asking him to whip his dick out in broad daylight. A bit early to be thinking about repopulating the human race, wasn't it? This had to be a very realistic dream. Or he had died and this was divine punishment for leading that girl on.

Whatever flirty response a more lucid Daniel would've concocted outside of a life-or-death emergency died on his tongue. "You really did hit your head on that jump, holy shit."

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