The tension was high on the shop and Rōnin did not like it one bit. People began flooding the shop and with more people, more potential hostiles. He gripped his gūnto tighter now, one hand on his revolver ready to gun everyone down. Years of loneliness didn't make him the most trusting of people and he's actually the direct opposite. Staring intently at the nervous girl with hollow eyes, he waited for his answer. Though the man looked incredibly calm in the outside, he was straining for control. Inner, with every whiff of dead body, gained strength to try and take him over.
'This would all be very simple if you let me out and slaughter all these people.' Alphonsé rolled his eyes before stomping on the little insect and kicking him into a cage. He felt calmer now but if this tension wasn't cut soon, parts of him would be tempted to let Inner do his thing. "You will have to talk to someone with some more power, I suggest you wait outside. I don't have any business here for you." He almost flipped table, slightly angered at the inefficiency of the Forgotten.
Rōnin placed his hands on the table, eyes staring intently at the girl, and rumbled in a deep voice "Well. I shall wait outside but I will not wait there for long." He smiled and turned to walk towards the door. He knew how intimidating his smile, the inner horrors that it hid and how it creeped the majority of people out. It was the smile of a crazy man living a crazy life. It was enough to make most people shudder or cry. He walked towards the entrance before pausing to look at the situation in front of him.
'It's even more fucking tense out here than it is there!' He watched as the man, presumably a part of the Forgotten, drew a gun and aimed it at the girl. Alphonsé wasn't called the "Wandering Priest" for no reason and was deeply religious and had a chivalry second to none. No matter how long he stayed in those damn gangs, no one can change his upbringing. He opened the door and stepped in between the gun and the girl.
"Boy." He said in a deep Japanese accent, looking down at the younger man with disappointed eyes. "You know what they do in the Yakuza when you don't treat a woman with respect?" He raised his left hand, showing him the famous four fingered hand. "You put that gun away and let the girl into the shop. I don't mean no harm but if you don't let this Lady in, I will find service elsewhere." He indicated to the door to let the redhead in.
Do you want me to post about the Krogan twins approaching the portal and Banha's scientists scurrying around the place? Or is there going to be a time skip soon, I know that we're going to do one but I don't know when.
Would you like a CS for the two Krogans? I really don't know if I can lift a finger to even type anymore XD, but if you want me to... I'll probably do it.
Also, @Pirouette I just looked over Devimon's CS.... We're fucked.
Finished CS of Jannilius Zephry the Third. Hope it's sufficient. I'll also catch up on the IC.
Jannilius Zephry the Third
"The species that inhabit these parts are.... intriguing. How do they balance on two legs?"
Name: Jannilius Zephry the Third
Alias/Titles: Dragoon of the Dorn Republic, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second
Age: 57
Gender: Male
The Republic of Dorn
The Dorn are a race quadrupeds originating north of the main continent. They are mammalian race, blood an oozing red and warm. The blood however, has an incredibly potent poison that is deadly for other races if entered into their bloodstream. The Dorn are known for their natural curiousness and martial prowess. They come in all shapes, every one of these beings have a certain uniqueness to them be that their skin colour, eyes, size, tail, etc. They speak through a mouth hidden under their tentacles, usually unseen until thoroughly looked for. Their strong legs makes them able to run incredibly fast and flexible tail can pierce any who anger them. The Dorn have thick hides that act like armour. They are a very tall race, averaging at about 6 feet.
Their point of origination is unconfirmed but their current home resides in the plains above the western point. No one knows how far they travelled to reach here or why they even bothered to come into contact with the other races. They seem to have a hate of water and the arcane magics is rare amongst the Dorn. One thing that truly sets them apart is their link to one another. Every one of them is connected in a network of minds, emotions are all shared amongst the Dorn. They do not even have a word for it, it just is. If one of them gets hurt, the rest of them know that they got hurt but not how or why. Weirdly, this connection is severed when they come in contact with the people of the Dark.
The Republic has stood for many ages, bringing peace and prosperity in the Dorn race. But their founding was bloody and brutal. The period only known as the "Long War" was the longest conflict in their history. The various kingdoms and tribes all started killing each other in strange frenzy, seemingly with no reason. No one knows for certain what started the war but many speculate it was a war between Dark and Light Dorn. The Long War resulted in severe loss of life and the destruction of their civilisations. Since then, the quadrupeds have been in a strange grey area. They were neither Light nor Dark but both of them at the same time. They are strange this way and when the Demons rose from the pits of hell, the Dorn were stuck right in the middle.
Side: Affiliated with Dorn Republic
Weapons(s):
Light Standard Issue Dragoon Sword This sword is 41 inches long with a 35 by 1 inch blade and weighs approximately 1.2 kilograms. It is the standard light sword used by the Dragoons, the elite fighting force of the Dorn and personal bodyguards of the Lords. It has a brass guard, leather wrapped grip and a steel scabbard. It is like the cavalry sword of the other races but instead of the clumsy, unintelligent horses, the Dorn have themselves. Jannilius wields it like a artist does a pen, with precision. During charges, the sweeping strikes and stabs are all calculated beforehand, getting the perfect angle and the perfect hit.
The sword was made by the finest forgers in the whole of the Dorn Republic, not a simple blade by any means. It is layered steel made from different compositions, the forger then layers this steel, making the sword incredibly light but very strong. With enough precision, it can cut through steel and slice men in half. Jannilius' sword has been made in the High Forges of Dernium, made of the highest quality steel. It took a year to forge the weapon, folding it over and over again to make it stronger and sharper. It is his favourite weapon in his arsenal, hanging on his hip ready to be drawn.
Two Standard Issue Kampilan Short Swords The Kampilan is approximately 27 inches long with a backward facing blade that is 25 by 1 inch and weighs approximately 0.8 kilograms. It is a far simpler blade, common within normal infantry ranks as well. But it serves it's purpose for being a close combat weapon. When the Dorn charge into battle, they try to sweep the enemy in a effortless rush. If the plan does not work however, they will need to fight with shorter blades, such as this one. This single bladed sword is very sharp but not very durable, most soldiers carry two-three into battle if they break. Some even dual-wield them but these are a select few. There is nothing strange about them, with a wooden hilt and a wooden scabbard, it is actually quite cheap to make.
Abilities/Powers: The Dorn enchantments for soldiers rely on tattoos that are marked across their body. The more body art they have, the more experienced and protected you are. You gain these tattoos as you climb through the ranks as a soldier, whether lowly infantryman to the highest Dragoon. They are hidden until the enchantment is used. The bigger and more intense the tattoo is, the more powerful the enchantment. The following are the marks Jannilius possesses:
The Mark of the Demon enables the user to go into a bloodthirsty frenzy, seemingly unaffected by any pain or suffering when they activate the Mark. It's power is drawn from the energies of Dark, rage overcoming the user's senses. It also temporarily blinds those who are of Light for a few seconds, the anger that festers within is too much for those who follow the path of righteousness. The Mark of the Demon was enchanted on Jannilius' back after fighting in the Guild Wars, a brief but bloody revolution of Light forces who wanted to overtake the Dorn. After the Mark is done with its intended use, it drains the energy from the user and fatigues them. The Dragoon has never used it before.
The Mark of Flight enables the user the power of flight, sprouting feathered wings on the user's back. The process of growing the wings is quite quick and can be folded to hide it easily behind the user's back. Before use however, the user will need to clean themselves physically and have peace in mind. The Mark is pure Light and therefore rejects those who have Dark energy within them. This is why most forgers hide every mark under a spell until they are used, to fool the marks that they are the only one on the user's body. If you do Dark energy and unclean, the Mark will drain your life energy and kill you in a torturous manner. The wings will fold back into the mark after the user deems it unnecessary. Jannilius uses the Mark of Flight almost constantly and gained it when he accepted to be one of the envoys to the other races.
The Mark of Mutation enables the user to grow another limb, organ or otherwise but with the cost of fatigue and possible death. This mark cannot regrow limbs and organs nor fix them, they merely give you another. The effect is permanent and entirely irreversible. The Mark of Mutation makes the user's body evolve and adapt quickly, so the newly added limb or organ is not rejected by the body. But sometimes this safety mechanism does not function and the user dies within seconds, turning into some sort of mutated ghoul. The process is long and laborious, very painful to the user. Jannilius has used this Mark to grow another heart and was given to him after saving the High Lord Tarvitus. It appears on his chest.
Talent(s): Strategist Jannilius, noble born and Dragoon, has a natural sense of leadership. He has no problem leading a group of men and women he has never met before. Though he does liken towards cavalry than footmen as they are more similar to the Dorn he used to lead into battle. He prefers pincer movements, fast rushes and battles where the action ends quickly.
Master Swordsman A natural swordsman trained from birth to fight and protect the Lords, Jannilius was trained by the High Dragoonate himself. In battle, he can cleave enemies in one sweep, giving them quick deaths.
Personality: Jannilius is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. It is unfit for a Dragoon to be so modest but many say that it is due to PTSD more than anything. In the past, his youthfulness bought made him boisterous and confident. Now, drained from fighting for years in the name of the Lords, the Dorn has become wise and withdrawn. In the battlefield however, it is a different story. He is renewed, charging into the mass of enemies with no fear. He shouts, howls, screams at them, using his unusual appearance to make them fear him. In battle, he is a Dragoon again, using fear as his weapon.
Biography:
Jannilius was born into the noble family of Zephry, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second. Keeping with tradition, as the Thirdson of a noble family, he was immediately sent to the High Dragoonate for training to become a Dragoon. The parting between parent and child was brief, as they were prepared beforehand and expected the departure. When the two Dragoons took their baby away, there were no tears shed nor goodbyes. Lord Jannilius merely turned and walked back into the infirmary. The little baby grew quickly, (Dorn infancy only lasts for around three months) and started to go to the school.
There he was educated like he would've been when he was still a noble, mathematics, science and language being the main subjects. He was taught how to fight and handle a sword, command men and learn strategies of war. That is where Jannilius excelled at, destroying straw dummies with brute strength and remembering strategies step by step. He was alone most days, only seeing his private tutors and guards. He was stuck in his room when he wasn't in class or the training yard and spent his days drawing or reading. It was a lonely life but it was the only life he knew.
One night, on his fourth birthday, Jannilius was woken by the sudden crashing of a door being broken into. He was quickly muffled, blinded and carried out of his rooms with army-like efficiency. The boy was scared, frightened of what was to come. He was thrown into a wagon and there he waited. It felt like days of just travelling, no food was given to him and water was scarcely given only because his kidnappers wanted him alive.
The wagon stopped one night and he was dropped off on the edge of a forest, blindfolded, muffled and bound. His kidnappers took them all off and left him there. Jannilius, now knowing what true loneliness felt, slept at the edge of the road. Fatigued by the endless travelling and lack of sleep, the boy closed his eyes and fell unconscious. He awoke to a new day and a new world, awoken in the middle of the forest. The first few days of survive was harsh and brutal. With only the basics of survival training covered, the 4 year old struggled with each step. The first night was the hardest as the calfling had to build his shelter and make fire. He had to fend off the creatures of the night, dark bipedal creatures with limited intelligence and sharp claws.
After a week in the forest, Jannilius quickly adapted to his situation and carved a section of the forest as a safe zone. His territory was marked with burning faeces and urine, observing how the creatures, "Nightlings" as he called them, marked territory. His shelter was a wooden hut with stone foundation, large leaves bound together with flax for the peaked roof. He learned very quickly that it rained here frequently and collected water using flax jars and filtered them using bits of cloth. Food was no longer a problem as he grew crops in a clearing found in his territory. Nightling attacks became rarer when several of them were killed using traps and the quadruped's carved spear and club. He had become the Bear Grylls and Tom Hanks hybrid survivalist.
It was unknown for how long Jannilius stayed in the forest, months or even years spent surviving on his own. He made several attempts on his life due to the sheer loneliness and fatigue but stopped just before stabbing his heart, slicing his wrists, jumping from the top of the highest tree. The forest seemed infinite and no matter how long the Dorn explored, he couldn't see the edge. The sheer loneliness was enough to kill but he stayed alive, but only just.
One night, Jannilius was woken by the sound of scurrying feet and he immediately leapt on his hooves, grabbing his wooden spear and club. The sight he saw made his heart sink. The forest was burning, Nightlings scurrying around with torches and burning everything in sight. Anger grew in him and his patience finally cracked. He roared, kicking up and going on his hind legs. He came down with a crash before charging at an unsuspecting Nightling, burning a field of crops next to his shelter. He trampled the creature under him, head bursting with a satisfying squelching sound. He continued his charge, mowing down Nightlings as they set fire to years of hard work. He clubbed, stabbed and trampled them to death until there were none left. He stood there, broken club in hand, breathing heavily over the corpse of the last enemy. He heard the sound of a trumpet and turned to see a sight for sore eyes. A battalion of Dragoons, led by the High Dragoonate himself, came out from the forest. With his dark baritone voice, the tall Dorn rumbled with a smile on his face “Good. You have passed.” He felt a slight prick on his neck and fell into unconsciousness, darkness enveloping him.
Jannilius awoke in the his room at the tower, clean and clothed, door sing and new. It was almost as if he wasn't captured at all. This revelation lasted only a few seconds before he denied it, looking down at the scars and bruises on his hands. They were cleaned and covered neatly but no one can hide what he gained in the days of the forest. Worry soon overcame him, searching for any clues as to why he was here. The young Dragoon then had flashBacks to the night before and anger soon replaced worry. “How dare they!?” He shouted, hooves cracking the stone slabs beneath him as he stomped in anger. The door soon opened, revealing a timid looking servant holding a scroll. Seeing his aggressive stance, she yelped, quickly dropping the scroll on the ground and ran from his sight, politely closing the door behind her.
Pausing in his bout of anger, Jannilius stared amused at the closed door and went to pick the scroll up. The message read as follows:
“Dear Jannilius Zephry the Third
You have been chosen by the I and the Lords themselves to become a loyal Dragoon. To be a Dragoon is one of the highest honours and it is to be the best of the best in the battlefield. Your initiation was unique, your batch was chosen for a harder test due to their natural talents. You have succeeded and have become a part of the Brotherhood. However, the other initiates were not so fortunate. Only you and four others have survived and have the title of Dragoon.
You are now Brother. Kind Regards, High Dragoonate Tarquinius Zayrabar”
The quadruped stared at the paper in silence, before crushing it in his large hands. ‘A Dragoon?!’ He thought furiously, throwing the parchment in the bin. ‘All that death and misery all to become a bloody Dragoon!’ He knew of course that being a Dragoon was a high point of honour and respect in Dorn society but the pissy, tired and angered Jannilius didn't care about that right now. He broke the door down and stepped into the hallway, looking for answers. The High Dragoonate, standing at the great height of 9 feet tall stared bemusedly at him, arms crossed over his burly chest. “You know, when I learned that all those years stuck in the deserts of Az’Kar was all because I was a Thirdson of some noble, I was angered. Hell, I smashed through a whole bloody table before they calmed me down.”
The 7 foot tall Jannilius looked almost silly standing next to the giant, he heaved heavily in anger but seemed to calm down. The Dragoonate sighed, hand placed on the shorter Dorn’s shoulder. “We had to put down an Initiate, you know? There were six of you, the first one that woke up was the one we had to kill. He was angrier than you, we found him lying in the corpses of those creatures. The messenger tried to explain but he couldn't take it. He pulled out a hidden knife from his arm, pulling it out. He stabbed the servant right in the gut and was about to stab the Dragoon next to him if I didn't intervene.” The Thirdson looked at the man with hateful eyes, the latter looking back with understanding. “Look, you need to calm down and prepare for the ceremony this afternoon. You can't miss your big day.” The man turned and walked away.
This marked the beginning of Jannilius’ life as a Dragoon. After the ceremony, this was the last encounter he had with the giant before he died a few days afterwards, dying from an intense heart attack. He was quickly replaced, the efficiency of the Republic governing body never to be held in doubt. Anyways, the Thirdson was quickly deployed to defend the dominion of House Zayrabar from the several Dark cults sprouting from seemingly nowhere within their territory. Throughout his years of being a Dragoon, he learned life lessons only taught on the battlefield and gained experience second to none. From the infamous Guild Wars to the bloody kidnapping of Princess Elisa, Jannilius soon became famous within the Dragoons.
It was then, one day, just after the Battle of Jarbarra against the rebels, he was given the message to leave his attachment and report immediately to the High Dragoonate. Swiftly, he silently galloped through the days, travelling straight to the Capital. Arriving at the front of the High Dragoonate’s quarters, he entered politely. The burly Dorn was nowhere near the size of the previous Dragoonate but still towered over him. He coughed, looking at Jannilius with curious eyes.
“I need you, Jannilius Zephry the Third, to escort the envoy we will be sending to the land Far Beyond. You will protect them in those strange lands and as a Dragoon, you shall be leading the warriors into battle. You will leave at dusk. I trust that you will not fail, honoured warrior. You will gain the Mark of Flight for your efforts.” When the Thirdson looked back at the golden city at dusk, shining in all it’s glory, it will be the last time he would see his homeland. He failed his orders.
Extras: Theme
EDIT: So uh, catch up paragraph? XD My laziness knows no bounds. Really, I'm just really tired
@SgtEasy Other two fleets? I assumed only the Coalition and Democracies were present.
I mean the Democracies fleet was split into three. One circle around the planet, the other stayed hidden away from the Arcadia-2 while the one you saw was meeting with the BoP fleet. I know, it's confusing XD.
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