Sleepy Tani

Descendants

^{#375a87 ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

Her threads were unraveling, like a canvas worn by time, colors bleeding into shades of exhaustion. Juniper was surprised by how quickly the sensation arose, it was fast and sharp like the sting from a wasp, but she’d expected it to creep across the floor like a beam of sunlight until it had reached her unmoving frame. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to watch a stranger's face drain of color, to see fear bloom across their features in ways that were intimately familiar.

She didn’t want to know it was all a result of something her friend had said, callous and cool. Grief could twist people, this she knew, but it revealed them too. Had Jim always been so uncaring when it came to others feelings? First Imogen, and now perfect strangers. June didn’t look at Jim again, she couldn’t bring herself to. Everything else slipped away from her, the new man and woman who had joined them were noted, a small part of her brain categorizing several ways to incapacitate them before moving on.

"No wonder you’re desperate for allies," The woman was admirable for keeping it together as well as she was, if it had been June…she may have hit Jim. "I can’t imagine an invasive, judgemental prick like you has many friends."

Juniper closed her eyes, let the sound of an ally they could have had walking away wash over her, and tried to untangle the sudden mess her emotions had become. This meeting had been a handle on hope for June, she’d clung to it once the option had been given. Her mind wandered for a moment, to the days before she’d known, where she’d spent dark nights in damp alleyways trying to beat information out of men who had no information to give. She’d rather be there now, if only to have an outlet for it all.

"What the fuck happened to me doing the talking?" June used Imogen’s anger to ground herself, the tempo of her heart slowing into a more steady beat. Why did she feel so angry? The way Jim had targeted them, innocent, unaware of whatever inner turmoil they faced, it reminded her too much of other people. The kinds of people who never could be considered heroes. "Diplomacy and trust is how you make allies, Jim. Not this," Imogen wasn’t done with him, and she wasn’t surprised. She took a steadying breath before allowing her eyes to flutter open, taking in the angry set to the other woman’s jaw. "Just because we don’t get the luxury of anonymity does not give you the right to strip that away from others,"

That was it, she realized, feeling stupid for how long it took her to pinpoint her deeper source of anger and betrayal by his actions. June took another step away from Jim, because it was betrayal she felt sinking into her bones like cancer. June was tired, and she missed her dad and brother more than she missed sleep. All she wanted was to hear their voices again, to feel their hug, to know she was safe to live her life because they were there.

She felt like Atlas now, the weight of Gotham laid across her shoulders like a hot brand searing into her skin. Did these strangers feel it, too? Did they struggle with staying to fight for New York? She knew she wasn’t the only one feeling the pain of this loss, but did Jim know how it felt to have something so crushing placed into your hands and told it was your job to stand against everything that longed to destroy it? Did he know how it felt to stand alone in a fight that you knew you couldn’t win, but to still choose to fight anyways? Even if he didn’t, could he not put himself in any of their shoes for even five minutes? They’d all taken up mantles that felt too large to lift, but he was the only one lashing out.

"I told you I was handed the responsibility of planning my father and brothers funeral, and I know you understood why. Having a secret identity isn’t just about anonymity, Jim. It’s about keeping the people you love safe from the people who would use our identities to hurt them." Her words rang through the lobby like trumpets at Jericho, voice cool and surprisingly empty. It was the tone Juniper typically used when she was Nightingale, when she was wearing a mask. "Those two have their own city to protect, have a place they call home that is in utter disarray. They’ve been in those streets every night trying to keep it all from falling apart, I’ve seen the news and I know you have too."

Juniper turned away from him, she felt feverish and exhausted and there was nothing she could do about it. She had too many things to do to allow herself to get wrapped up in personal feelings right now. "Will you be sharing my secret identity with everyone too? Would you take away something as intimately personal, something I’d only give in trust, from me, too? We’ve all only just met each other, you didn’t even give them a chance. This is our only hope, why are you trying to—"

She bit her tongue, stopping the words that wanted to spill out before they could, and June went to the man who had been left on the couch, not looking back at Jim.

^{interactions ....|.... jim ............... mentions ....|.... imogen, theodore, myla ............... collabs ....|.... none}

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^{#feffb5 ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

"Phil, why don't you get Ms. Murdock and Mr. Parker here some water before we start discussing family matters. They had a long trip down from Manhattan, and I wouldn't want them to feel like strangers."

The man's words were bouncing around in Theo’s skull like a pinball in an old arcade machine. The squeeze of Myla’s hand ought to have hurt any normal man, but it only brought him back to his senses before he slipped too far into his own mind. He wasn’t surprised by how she was reacting, by the anger he could practically feel rolling off of her. He understood, and he’d been working with Hell’s Angel for long enough to know she wasn’t always sweet as sunshine.

"Up from Manhattan," a drop of cold rolled down Theo's spine at her voice, and his hand squeezed her own back gently. He supported her, no matter what. "Bridgeport, Connecticut is Northeast of Manhattan. I figured a Stark would know how to read a map." Myla's words were biting, calculating, and he felt a small thrill at the realization that she was smart. Way smarter than Theo was, he would have never caught that mistake in his own rage.

Her anger always reminded Theodore of winter, all relentless chill. He was glad it had never been directed at him, glad that it wasn’t explosive in nature. He felt a flare of amused pride at her sass toward the other man, at how she stood up for herself even though he could see how sweat beaded on her forehead, the flush he’d been admiring on her cheeks fading. He resented Jim for taking that from him, from stealing the little bit of peace Myla had in this unfamiliar place.

He was angry too, but not so much about his identity being dragged but hers. Theo knew he was different from Myla, he had powers she didn’t and with that power came the knowledge he could protect his loved ones more efficiently. He knew what was most important, and it wasn’t standing by while someone else suffered, and he couldn’t stand to see her suffer.

Her hand slipped from his own like a dream fading at dawn, and he watched her walk away for a moment, mouth falling open but no words coming. Should he go after her? Did she want him to? The aftermath was quiet, even with the other women speaking up in their defense, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of it all. This hadn’t been a trap, but it was challenging in ways neither of them had expected. He knew that Myla would rather take a fist to the face any day than having to be vulnerable in front of people she did not trust, and that choice had been stolen from her.

Theo pushed up from the couch resolutely, turning away from the room to go and follow her, but the woman that had seemed so intimidating earlier approached him before he could even get a foot across the lobby, her hands raised in a gesture of peace, the knives from earlier having vanished once more. "I’m sorry," her voice was soft and repentant enough that it gave him a reason to pause, pushing aside the distress rising in his chest at the fact that Myla wasn’t there in the room with him right now. She was outside, alone, upset, and anything could happen to her. "I can’t make it any better or take it back, but I can try to help. I understand, kind of. Do you think I could go with you?"

Theo floundered for a moment, feeling like a fish out of water. He glanced toward the others, toward the blonde who had welcomed them and her chosen beverage, toward the man and woman who had come in and collapsed on one of the other couches, toward the older men who were watching on in a silent, judging sort of manner. He looked back to her, running a hand over his face and trying to keep his nerves from fraying any further. He’d traveled for days, slept on the fucking forest floor, all so he could watch his best friend get bullied? It was bullshit, all of it was.

"Why do you care?" Theo’s voice came out harsher than he’d meant it to, his anger wasn’t at this woman, it was at the man she’d been standing with earlier. He didn’t back down though, because it was Myla they were talking about and he wasn’t sure if anyone deserved to see how upset she actually was.

"Because, I was taught to have compassion for everyone. Sometimes, I forget why it matters. It’s easy to, when I’m angry, when I’m tired, but compassion is what separates us from them." The woman took a deep breath, as if saying those words aloud cost her a great deal. "My dad taught me that, I’ll tell you, and her, all about him…if you’ll let me."

That was something Theodore could understand, and it was almost funny. She knew exactly what to say to disarm him, unintentionally or not, everything he knew about compassion and responsibility came from his own father. He hastily turned back, picking up Myla’s purse, letting the silence stretch.

"Fine, but if she wants to leave we’re leaving." His eyes cut toward Jim, and he clenched his teeth to keep in the more cutting things he wanted to say to the man. Instead, Theo swallowed his anger and headed toward the door. "We have enough shit to deal with back home, without being harassed by some dick with an ego. We both gave up a lot to be here, not everyone has the same resources as a fucking Stark."

The woman followed, as silent as the wind, no comment to his words. He nodded to the older man trying to clean up the glass, stepping through what remained of the doors and going toward where he could hear Myla’s heart thundering in her chest. Any thoughts about the other people fell away, all he could focus on was her and making sure she was okay.

The woman behind him fell back some as Theo crossed to Myla, pausing right in front of her with an air of uncertainty about him. He reached out, slowly, so that she could hear his movements and react if she wanted to, but all he did was tuck a curl behind one of her ears. The tips of his fingers brushed along Myla’s jaw, a tender gesture that telegraphed more than words ever could.

"I’m here, Myla. Whatever you want to do, I’ll follow you." His voice was soft, and he let his arm drop back to his side. Theo didn’t want to leave, not until he got some answers, until he knew why they were there, but he would if it meant staying with her. The fear of having almost lost her still echoed in his head like the bang of a gun firing, Theo didn’t think he could survive it twice. "One of them wants to talk to you first, before you decide. That’s all I’m asking, just listen to her, okay? This one and the other lady gave that asshole hell, and if by the time she’s done you want me to go back in there and punch him I will. If you want to leave we will, but if you want to stay, I’ll be there too."

He wanted to hug her, to wrap her up in his arms again and let her know she wasn’t alone, but he didn’t want to cross boundaries, didn’t want to make her feel more vulnerable around someone neither of them really knew. So, Theo didn’t, but he gave her the choice because it didn’t matter to him. He’d be fighting the good fight either way, as long as Myla was beside him it didn’t matter where.

^{interactions ....|.... juniper, myla ............... mentions ....|.... jim, imogen............... collabs ....|.... none}

Post Deletion Request

Hi! Could I have the following post removed, please? It was placed on accident. :( Thank you for your time!!

roleplayerguild.com/posts/5618187

Descendants

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Juniper Wayne

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Juniper Wayne...

.................................................... __________________________________________ D A U G H T E R . O F . B A T M A N ________________________________________________________ 25 | female | bisexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | black ..................▹ eye color | brown ..................▹ height | 5' 6" ..................▹ build | lean/ muscular ..................▹ alias | nightingale ..................▹ origin | gotham

. A B I L I T I E S peak human condition .|. peak human strength .|. peak human durability .|. peak human...just, like, everything. S T R E N G T H S master martial artist .|. master spy .|. expert marksman .|. master acrobat .|. master escapologist .|. master hacker .|. genius-level intellect .|. weapon mastery .|. indomitable will.|. expert driver & pilot. W E A K N E S S E S human limitations.|. cannot cook, like seriously. .|. emotionally constipated .|. her anger .|. her family .|. highly susceptible to emotional despair E Q U I P M E N T nightingale's suit - June's suit is inspired by her dad's, like his it is composed of kevlar and a small percentage of titanium; it is bulletproof and resistant to most forms of attack (explosions, blunt trauma, falls, etc.). It is also flame-retardant and insulated. The gloves and boots are reinforced to nullify the impact of punches and kicks. She has gauntlets that have retractable metallic blades on their sides. Her cape is extremely light and can be used to glide long distances. The cowl is composed, in a small part, of lead, which shields Juniper's face from identification via X-rays. It also has an infrared viewer and auditory sensors. The cowl is outfitted with security systems (irritating gas, electric blasts, etc.), like the utility belt. The mask is also a transmitter-receiver. utility belt - Designed by her dad, it's meant to be utilized in the same way as his, to keep most of her personal field equipment in and handy. It has equipment such as grappling ropes, nerve toxins, batarangs, smoke bombs, minor explosives, investigative equipment, cutting tools, gas masks, and rebreathers. P E R S P E C T I V E Juniper was never meant to inherit her dad's legacy, he'd wanted more for her than a life of a false public persona and nighttime vigilante delights. He'd trained her just as seriously as he would anyone else, he wanted her to have the means of survival no matter what, but Bruce Wayne had wanted to give his daughter more. She'd attended her dream college chasing her dream job, the harsher truth of the Wayne family had been set to fall upon her elder brother's shoulders. Then, Batman went missing. Everything fell apart from there, her brother went chasing after the shadow of their father and when he vanished too it all fell on June. By day, Juniper Wayne is the grieving, lazy daughter of missing billionaire Bruce Wayne, the new face of Wayne Industries. By night, she is trying desperately to keep Gotham from falling apart at it's seams. June isn't like her father or brother though, she was never meant to take to the streets as she has, so she's renounced her name in the only way she can. She'll never be Batwoman, but she can be Nightingale. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y solitary .... | .... brave.... | .... loyal .... | .... ruthless .... | .... compassionate H I S T O R Y Bruce Wayne actively maintained the persona of a wealthy playboy even after he met Detective Ellen Yin. The two of them had a complex relationship. While initially adversaries, with Yin determined to unmask and capture Batman, they eventually become steadfast allies. Their relationship bloomed like a field of flowers from there, until they became close enough for Bruce to reveal his secret identity to the woman who had become the new Police Commissioner. That was, as Juniper liked the think of it, the point of no return for her parents. Bruce Wayne changed in the public eye, gone were the days of a wild, rich man whore. He became the spitting image of a dedicated husband, and eventually a proud father. Thomas Wayne was born two years before Juniper, named after their late grandfather, he was everything their parents had hoped of their first born. Thomas was kind, smart, and fiercely protective of his baby sister when she eventually joined the fray of the Wayne family. Their childhood was spent in a flurry of martial art classes, home schooling, social gatherings, and only when they were both 10 and 8 respectively were they let in on the condemning family secret. Bruce Wayne, their doting father, was the fearsome Batman. It was a strange time in Juniper's life, trying to connect the father she knew with the short clips of the terrifying man she'd seen on the news. She knew that Gotham was a place of intense strife, that the city had needed someone like Bruce who was willing to step up and do what no other was prepared to. Her dad had reassured them both that it was never a life he expected either of them to follow, that he was happy so long as they were. It came as no surprise to any of them when Thomas, selfless and brave, decided to dedicate his life to following in Batman's footsteps. Thing's changed from there, both of the Wayne children were still trained in all the skills their father personally utilized, but with Thomas willing to take up the mantle June was allowed to dabble in things she found more enjoyable than weight lifting or kick box classes. Her first art class had been the thing that truly set ablaze in her young soul, she'd decided that the rest of her family could dedicate themselves to the justice system. She wanted to brighten peoples days in other ways, she wanted to be an artist. It all felt so silly nowadays, because she'd attended Pratt Institute for nothing. The day Bruce Wayne went missing she was flown home to be with her family. Thomas Wayne had become Sparrow, a strong and reliable companion of Batman. He was more than enough to protect his city and his family in his fathers absence, but instead he went after Batman and left it all to Juniper. With Batman and Sparrow missing, Nightingale had to step up to protect Gotham. More importantly though, with Bruce and Thomas Wayne missing, June had been left to stew in her anger and helplessness, she had to give up the life she'd left back in New York, all of her friends, her boyfriend. Everything had to be abandoned in order to protect the last of her loved ones, even if it meant distancing herself from most of them. She'll do anything to find her dad and brother and set things right, even if that entails forging the safety of being a vigilante to work with a team. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #375A87 ........ faceclaim . | . Karen Fukuhara ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Theodore Parker

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Theodore Parker...

.................................................... __________________________________________ S O N . O F . S P I D E R - M A N ________________________________________________________ 29 | male | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | blond ..................▹ eye color | green ..................▹ height | 6' 1" ..................▹ build | fit/ muscular ..................▹ alias | redback ..................▹ origin | Manhattan, New York

. A B I L I T I E S spider physiology .|. superhuman physiology .|. regenerative healing factor .|. foreign chemical resistance .|. spider-sense S T R E N G T H S genius level intellect .|. master acrobat .|. master combatant .|. biophysics .|. biochemistry .|. scientific research .|. genius-level intellect .|. snarky attitude W E A K N E S S E S spider-sense disruption.|. ethyl chloride .|. cold temperatures .|. enters diapause if he gets too cold .|. sensory overload E Q U I P M E N T redback's suit - When Theodore decided to join his dad on the streets they designed his suit together, inspired by the Redback Spider, Theo's suit is darker in color than his dad's. Made from a skin-tight spandex fabric, the mask has plastic lenses with a chrome covering that allow Theo to see out, without letting others see in. The lenses also protect his eyes and help with visual sensory overload. He also wears a twin set of web shooters on his wrists under the gloves. The suit also contains special earpieces designed by his dad that protects him from the sensory overload's and a thermal thread to the fabric to help Theo in cooler climates. web-shooters - web fluid - utility belt - A copy-cat of Spider-Man's gear; web-shooters that allow him to shoot web-balls and web swing through New York City. Web Fluid, it's strong enough to hold an entire person up by a single string, stick someone onto a wall, stick something together, etc. The fluid melt in an hour, two hours in cold temperatures. Utility Belt, holding web cartridges spider-tracers which are small spider shaped trackers that he can throw and stick to people. These tracers are linked to Theo's Spider-Sense, which can help him attempting to track down individuals. They only have a 10 hour battery life. P E R S P E C T I V E Theodore has had an easy life, popular due to his charming personality throughout school, riding a scholarship through college, landing his dream job in a research lab, none of it amounts to the time he spent learning how to be a web slinging hero alongside his dad. If there is one thing Theo is truly passionate about, it's saving people. He always felt the call to be a hero, to help those who needed helping. He's fortunate that he father has long since retired, anonymous to the world as ever having been Spider-Man. Redback can't justify resting through when other heroes are vanishing, after all... with great power comes great responsibility. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y optimistic .... | .... reliable .... | .... loyal .... | .... brave .... | .... determined H I S T O R Y The son of Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy was destined for great things, even if it inherited his father's abilities. Theodore was raised in a loving and energetic home, pushed to excel in his studies he ended up graduating high school at fifteen, getting a jump on his college curriculum and only hindered by the sensory overloads he had to endure as a result of his enhanced Spidey senses. He started training with his dad at sixteen, eager to help his father protect New York in whatever ways he could. To say Theo had an easy life would be an understatement. They lived comfortably, his mom a scientist while his dad juggled being a photographer for the Daily Bugle and the web slinging vigilante. Theodore never wanted for anything, though he grew up a modest and kind boy. He was just as happy to go thrifting than to buy name brand clothes. He found second hand technology more fun because it gave him the chance to tinker with it if issues arose. Theo became Spider-Man's effective side-kick, taking on more and more responsibility over the years as he finished college, internships, and eventually landed his dream job in a research lab. Now that Peter Parker has retired from the hero life, using his free time to volunteer in soup kitchens instead, Redback has fully replaced Spider-Man in terms of the friendly neighborhood spider friend. It doesn't matter if he's simply rescuing cats from trees, carrying old ladies groceries, or stopping bank robberies. Theodore is just happy to help however he can, he understands what having the power to help people means he should no matter what. His dad wasn't spared from the disappearance's despite being retired though, and he went missing not long ago. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #FEFFB5........ faceclaim . | . Sam Claflin ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Rune Helasdottir

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Rune Helasdottir...

.................................................... __________________________________________ D A U G H T E R . O F . H E L A ________________________________________________________ 28 | female | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | brown ..................▹ eye color | green ..................▹ height | 5' 5" ..................▹ build | fit/ slender ..................▹ alias | soulstice ..................▹ origin | Hel

. A B I L I T I E S asguardian physiolog .|. regenerative healing factor .|. magic manipulation - astral projection - energy blasts - levitation .|. allspeak - rune can communicate in all of the languages of the Nine Realms, Earth's dialects, and various alien languages. .|. life and death - while she isn't at her mother's level yet, rune can communicate with some spirits and help someone on the verge of death pass painlessly, leading them passage to hel via her touch. S T R E N G T H S physical combat .|. swordsmanship .|. armor manifestation .|. acrobatics W E A K N E S S E S dependence on her armor .|. her mother .|. opponents with strong shielding capabilities .|. her power is intrinsically linked to asgard .|. trusts easily E Q U I P M E N T her armor - A gift from her mother in a replication of Hela's own armor, her armor enhances her already tremendous durability and allows her to block strikes from weaker weapons. her sword - Forged and inspired by her mothers Nightsword, Rune can channel energy through her own weapon to hit harder. It's also sharp on both ends, which is good for when she wants to be extra stabby. P E R S P E C T I V E Hel is the realm of trials, and so in trials Rune grew up. Even her name was meant to be a trial, Rune, meaning secret for her very existence was kept a secret from her family in Asgard. She grew up loved and cherished by her mother, around spirits who filled her days with stories, training and learning and always, always going through some sort of trial. All Rune wants, all she has ever wanted, is to exist and see the world outside of Hel. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y curious .... | .... eloquent .... | .... forthright .... | .... compassionate .... | .... adventurous H I S T O R Y "Even death has a heart." Her mother had cooed, slender fingers running through her long hair. Rune was but a small child, nestled in the warmth of a bed her mother had made just for her. "I love you, my precious Rune." It was truth she knew bone deep, her mother loved her irrevocably. That love formed Rune more than even hate could have, for everyday she strived to be the perfect daughter her mother longed for. Hela had never truly wanted a child, but once she'd held her daughter in her arms for the first time there was no going back for either of them. It was a shame her father was so inconsequential, a single night of needless passion shared with a man whom seemed a little too passionate about death but not for life. Hela had offered to spare his life if he was willing to slaughter their unborn child, and when he'd agreed she knew where he belonged. His spirit resided in a pit in Hel, whist Rune slept soundly in the palace her mother had created for them, utterly unaware of the suffering her father's soul endured. "The worst punishment of all is not death, but banishment." Rune is ten the day she learned the truth of their banishment, about Asgard, about the family who did not want her. It often sat like a heavy rock in her stomach once she'd learnt she was also banished for the simple sin of being Hela's daughter. Of course, she had no way of knowing these were simply twisted truths. If Odin, or even Thor, had learned of Rune's existence she very likely would have been taken from Hel. "Death can be gentle, it can be warm, but banishment? One's sovereignty over the land is expressed most powerfully in the act of banishment, Asgard is ruled by a cruel beast." Rune never quite learned why it was that her mother was actually banished for, but she knew her mother as she knew no other. Hela had never been cruel in front of her, she'd never said so much as a harsh word to her daughter. She trained her relentlessly, yes, but she was tender in her affection toward the young girl. Rune grew up with only Hela, the the spirits that filled Hel. Of course, she was never allowed to go to the areas of punishment. Hel was a world bound to the mind of its mistress and queen. The realm shifted by her will. Its laws are ancient, and her whims can twist those laws as she sees fit. As Valhalla is a realm of honor, Hel is the realm of trials. For the wicked, it is punishment. For the righteous, it is reward. For Rune, it was simply the place she called home. She'd never expected to be able to venture out of Hel, but one day her mother came to her and explained the woes of Midgard, about Hela's siblings Thor and Loki vanishing, about the throne sitting unattended in Asgard. Hela saw it as a chance at freedom for them at long last, but she would not make a move for that freedom until she was certain of it's success for Rune. So, to Midgard Rune went. Her mission was simple, answer the call to aid, learn what was happening, and in time help her mother take the throne. And maybe, just maybe, she'd get to know her cousins too. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #544ABA........ faceclaim . | . Lily Collins ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Zaria von Doom

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Zaria von Doom...

.................................................... __________________________________________ D A U G H T E R . O F . D O C T O R D O O M ________________________________________________________ 25 | female | bisexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | blonde ..................▹ eye color | hazel ..................▹ height | 5' 7" ..................▹ build | fit/ slender ..................▹ alias | sentinel ..................▹ origin | Latveria

. A B I L I T I E S electrokinesis .|. enhanced regeneration .|. energy manipulation - ergokinetic combat .|. energy manipulation - force fields S T R E N G T H S physical combat .|. genius intelligence .|. multilingual .|. pianist .|. charismatic W E A K N E S S E S can be obsessive .|. materials that don't conduct electricity .|. water when using electric based powers .|. credit card fruad :) .|. her brother E Q U I P M E N T her suit - A gift from Logan who said he knew a guy who knew a guy. There's nothing especially special about it, but it doesn't char when she uses her powers so Zaria figures he lied about that. dog tags - There is actually nothing special about these, they belonged to Logan and she found them after he went missing. Zaria never takes them off. P E R S P E C T I V E She wants to remove herself as much as possible when it comes to being Victor von Doom's daughter, going as far to insist everyone call her Aria and never giving her actual name. It was Wolverine who really shaped her into the ruthless woman she's become, who taught her how to survive when no one else did. Zaria doesn't want to live up to her father's legacy, but if she can live up to Wolverine's that's good enough for her. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y analytical .... | .... tenacious.... | .... ruthless .... | .... rebellious .... | .... protective H I S T O R Y It wasn't the goodbye that had hurt, her brothers calloused hands cradling her face, the brush of his lips to her forehead, the whispered promises that he would find her, that they'd be together again. No, it hadn't been the goodbye that had hurt, it was that Zaria had to mourn someone who was still alive but outside of her reach, while she also mourned herself, and who she had been, who she could have been. It wasn't just the goodbye, but the silence that filled spaces that never should have been silent, the laughter that still echoed in her ears sometimes, the bittersweet look he'd had on his face as he'd pushed her away, when he'd ordered her to run not with a scream but a whisper. She was getting ahead of herself, though, because that was what had happened toward the end of it all, not the start. The start was something like this; Viktor von Doom fell in love with not a woman, but the concept of one. He was a monster of a man, obsessed with perfection in every sense of the word. He ruled his empire justly, not fairly. He gave the people a reason to stay, and that reason was fear. He knew what he wanted, and how to get it, and he was unafraid of taking what he wanted. Zaria doesn't remember much of her mother, she was there for the twins first half of life, a presence of soft safety and understanding where's their father demanded more, more, more. The twins were trained in how to wield their powers from the day they were able to stand, different forms of physical combat beat into them until they weren't helpless babes anymore. The day their mother vanished was the day everything got a thousand times worse. "The woman is a coward." Their father had spat the words, anger in every inch of his tense frame. She'd run away, he'd told them, left them behind to save herself. It was the only time their father admitted that he was something any of them needed saving from. His expectations for them became harsher after that day, and while her elder brother was perfect at always meeting those expectations, Zaria wasn't. No matter how hard she tried, she simply wasn't good enough to be the perfect daughter. She became a constant source of disappointment for her father, and he sought to correct it in the only way he could think of. An arranged marriage was formed with an ally, several years her elder, set for her twenty second birthday. Zaria would have sooner died, and it was amid wedding preparations that she'd decided that she wasn't going to sit there and agree to something like this, no matter what her father expected of her. She gave up on being the perfect daughter, and instead took a page out of her mothers book. Her brother and her were going to run away together, escape from beneath Doom's oppressive thumb, but when the time came their father was onto them. Her brother stayed behind, and Zaria got away. Everyday since her grand escape, she's lived the life of a runaway. She ran into a man with a foul mouth and strong temper not long after she'd left, in the middle of a vicious bar fight, and he'd helped her in ways she could never fully thank him for, even now. He taught her how to survive in a world she was unfamiliar with, taught Zaria not just how to fight but how to kill, how to ride motorcycles, and most importantly, credit card fraud. She'd spent two years with Logan, and then one day he vanished without a trace. She waited around for a month, hoping he'd come back to the motel they'd been living out of, but when he didn't she left a note with the man who owned the place, and took Logan's bag with her when she skipped town. Zaria spent the last year looking not just for her lost mother, but for the man who she felt was more like her father than her father ever had been. Zaria has a long list of regrets and the stain of being her fathers daughter haunting her, all she wants now is to find the people she cares for, and maybe do some good while she's at it. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #00674F........ faceclaim . | . Florence Pugh ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Lucian Rogers

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Lucian Rogers...

.................................................... __________________________________________ S O N . O F . C A P T A I N A M E R I C A ________________________________________________________ 31 | male | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | blond ..................▹ eye color | blue ..................▹ height | 6' 5" ..................▹ build | muscular ..................▹ alias | brutus ..................▹ origin | brooklyn

. A B I L I T I E S super-soldier physiology .|. peak human physiology .|. superhuman endurance .|. peak human mental processing S T R E N G T H S master tactician & strategist .|. master martial artist .|. master acrobat .|. master marksman .|. indomitable will .|. master hacker .|. expert infiltrator .|. weapon mastery .|. multilingual.|. master shield & knife fighter. W E A K N E S S E S human limitations.|. single-target focus .|. loyal to a fault .|. idealism over pragmatism .|. pride .|. doesn't take orders E Q U I P M E N T brutus's suit - "Steel micromesh for the sleeves. Titanium panels for your more vulnerable parts. Chest plates... and such. Carbon polymer. It's flexible, insulated, fire-resistant, and ought to hold its own against your average military-grade trench knife. But not against a bullet or anything Hydra's got." ―Howard Stark to Steve Rogers His suit is inspired by his dads in more than one way, the only difference is that his mask has been upgraded to repel bullets. Luke doesn't want to get shot in the head. shield - The shield, inspired by his fathers, is composed of four concentric sections, with fittings on the inner surface for two electromagnet straps that allow the shield to easily be held and worn on Luke's arm. The straps connect to another electromagnet worn at the hand and forearm, making recall of the shield easier. P E R S P E C T I V E Heroes are selfless people who perform extraordinary acts. The mark of heroes is not necessarily the result of their action, but what they are willing to do for others and for their chosen cause. Even if they fail, their determination lives on for others to follow. The glory lies not in the achievement, but in the sacrifice. Luke learned this from his father, and he tries to allow these ideal to shape him. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y loyal .... | .... allocentric.... | .... charismatic.... | .... confident .... | .... enduring H I S T O R Y “The nature of our histories are always secondary to what we choose to do with them.” It took a long time for Lucian to understand what his dad meant when he'd told him this, and attempting to live in the shadow of a hero as amazing and renowned at Captain America can take it's toll on a kid. He grew up in a way his father hadn't, constantly training to fill his shoes, to make up for his weaknesses, to become better than Captain America ever was meant to be. When he was younger, Luke was obsessed with the story of Icarus. He wanted to make his own wings and fly away from it all, even if his wings were simply made of wax. So long as he got close enough to touch the sun, he knew he would throw his head back and laugh with joy before the inevitable crash. His father was like the sun to him, always out of reach, never quite close enough for him to touch but he was always reaching out, hoping to get just a glimpse of the man. He never did, and as he grew older the childish hope for freedom from the things that trapped him that Icarus embodied drowned as if Luke himself had crashed into the ocean. Entering the academy had been an escape that he was looking for, and there Lucian made friends and allies, he learned what kind of hero he wanted to be instead of what sort of hero he was expected to be. The thing was though, no matter how far away he went he could never escape the shadows the sun cast. His success in the academy reached his fathers ears, and Luke was pulled to work alongside the man. He was happy, in a way, because the closeness he'd always wanted with his dad was finally attainable, but if you get too close to the sun burning is inevitable. His friendships and relationships began to struggle, and Luke had to decide between becoming the type of man who would make his father proud, or becoming the man he wanted. In the end, his bonds from the academy were amicably severed and Lucian threw himself into his work with the I.H.A. only looking back when the loneliness caught up to him at night. He considers himself lucky, Captain America hasn't gone missing and remains a steadfast member of the I.H.A. but those responsibilities hold him back from old ideals. So, Luke was sent in his place. He can't help but hope that he'll find a way to keep making his father proud whilst being more true to himself. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #995749 ........ faceclaim . | . Alexander Skarsgård ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Bellamy Drake

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Bellamy Drake...

.................................................... __________________________________________ D A U G H T E R . O F . I C E M A N ________________________________________________________ 27 | female | bisexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | black ..................▹ eye color | blue ..................▹ height | 5' 4 ..................▹ build | slim / fit ..................▹ alias | polar ..................▹ origin | new york

. A B I L I T I E S cold generation .|. ice generation and manipulation .|. organic ice form .|. cryo-atmokinesis .|. water manipulation .|. water healing .|. augmented strength and durability in ice form S T R E N G T H S self defense and hand to hand combat training .|. extensive first aid knowledge .|. ice skater .|. multilingual in english, spanish, french W E A K N E S S E S can use powers for about 4-5 hours before she becomes exhausted.|. fear of losing control .|. not out spoken .|. extreme heat .|. physical and mental exhaustion .|. her cat E Q U I P M E N T organic ice form - Not equipment in the traditional sense, Bellamy doesn't have a fancy suit. If she transforms to her ice form, she's still technically wearing whatever she had one. She'd like a suit of her own someday, but until very recently she wasn't planning to ever need one. power bracelet - Designed by her dad, inspired by the power belt he once used to maintain control over his powers, the bracelet she wears helps her not lose control of her powers. Despite her father's reassurance she doesn't need it, she insists on wearing it P E R S P E C T I V E Bellamay is not a hero, she's an athlete. An ice skater with a masters degree in English literature. She would have been content to spend the rest of her days ice skating and reading, but one trip home changed her entire life. Bell isn't sure of what comes next, she wants to follow her fathers instructions, go to the tower in his place, and help the remaining heroes. More than anything though, she wants to find her dad, and find the man responsible for killing her mom. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y shy .... | .... soft spoken .... | .... evasive .... | .... depressed .... | .... compassionate H I S T O R Y There isn't much to note about Bellamy's life up to this point, she was given the most normal childhood that could be afford to her as a mutant, she had a loving mother and father who made enough money to allow her to attend private schools and pursue her hobbies, she'd obtained a scholarship to study whatever she desired in college. All in all, Bella had a happy, normal life. She met a few X-Men because of her dad's connections, even convinced Cyclops to come to her show and tell in the 5th grade, but she'd never had any dreams of grander when it came to being a hero. She wanted to be a figure skater, and once she'd finished with college she'd gotten the chance to chase that dream. It all fell apart the week of her twenty-seventh birthday, she'd returned to her childhood home to spend the week with her parents. The first few days had been perfect, family breakfast and dinners, going out together, hiking, ice skating, it was almost like when she was growing up again. All the stress her fathers was faced with seemed to melt away as they spent time together, but Bobby was a hero and the same people who had came for his friends and pseudo-family finally came for him. Bobby and Bellamy had been talking at the top of the stairs, he'd had a bag over his shoulder an she'd been confused about why he was leaving when her birthday was the next day, when the first shot rang out. It was punctured by shattering glass, and the choked sound of her moms scream. Her dad had shoved his bag into her arms, and told her to run. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #BDDDFF........ faceclaim . | . Alexandra Daddario ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Dragon Age: Dark Scion

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It took twelve breathes a minute, for one hundred and eighty minutes, before Nicolosia was gifted the embrace of unconsciousness. She tries not to think about the darker things her mind always wandered to when she attempted to sleep, like how it felt to lay her bare hands over a boys throat, how pressing her thumbs down until the cartilage of his trachea collapsed, how his skin had shifted from pale ivory, to screaming red, to dull and bruised purple. It hadn't worked, of course it hadn't, because once the thought started her memory filled in the blanks, and instead of falling asleep she'd spent thirty minutes with her own hands pressed to her throat. Her fingers laid delicately over her pulse, counting the beat of her heart until the panic that had made the edges of her vision grow dark and fuzzy faded away.

When she eventually fell asleep, she dreamed. It is not any sort of peaceful dream, it never is, rather the dream is filled with blood, and pain, and tears. There is a sickness in her dream that drains the life from the land, that makes each breath from someone's lungs wet and putrid. In her dream, she can hear an ancient song, hymns she cannot understand reverberating within her very bones and drawing her in. It feels as if the trees are calling out to her, like the ground is trying to swallow her where she lies, and she knows it is the ghosts of those she's killed haunting her even now. In this dream, the day bleeds into a night that oozes with those ghosts, an air of nostalgia dripping down her lungs like liquid sorrow, and the birds sing that song, the one she can’t understand, and it urges her to let go. The dream twists further; blood blooming across pristine snow, the death rattle of her brothers last breath, the way her father's tongue curled around the word exile.

She wakes up too hot, sweaty and gasping, feeling like her fingers were slick and sticky from blood. It's the boom of thunder overhead that reassures her it was just another bad nightmare. Nicolosia didn't bother to try again, some nights just weren't meant for resting. Instead, she dragged herself from the warmth of her bedroll and decided to use the harsh downpour in a more productive manner than most might. The woman stripped down to her undergarments, and stepped out of her tent with a bar of soap in hand. It felt a luxury to have chosen a spot so far on the edges of the camp, her tent opening was faced toward the surrounding wilderness and her comrades in arms were spared a free show as she used the relentless rain to clean herself from days worth of sweat and grime.

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Her hair was still wet where it was braided back as Nico sat in the canteen hall, breathing in the smell of heady jasmine, red sandalwood, sweet carnations, and warm leather that was a unique mix of her soap and armor. It had been so refreshing to cleanse herself in the chilled rain, her mood raised so much so that she wasn't even irritated by her current predicament.

"Is there something you needed? She'd finally asked of the man who had been standing in front of her table for no less than six minutes. She hadn't meant to be intentionally rude in her lack of acknowledgement, rather she'd just hoped he would go away before she needed to address him. The subtility of her silence seemed to be lost to him though, so here they were.

"You're one of the new recruits, right?" His voice was gruff and sort of gargled, like he was in great pain and speaking only caused him further suffering. It was this that finally made her look up at the man instead of her nearly empty bowl. Nicolosia's eyebrows rose slowly as she took in his battered form.

"What happened to your face?" She asked, a touch more politely than he had spoken, and yet the man still sputtered indigently. She felt it was a very fair question though, because both his eyes were black, and he looked like his cheekbone was perhaps fractured.

"That's not any of your business."

"You look as if you fell and caught yourself with your face." It was very interesting to watch how spots of his face, unblemished with darkening bruises, turned red and splotchy in his budding anger. Someone at a nearby table snorted, though she didn't bother to look at who it was.

"I said," he ground out the words through clenched teeth, leaning over where she sat some as if his intent was to loom imposingly over her. "Are you one of the new recruits."

Something primal prickled at the back of her neck, and Nico allowed her eyes to slide away from him. His appearance was one part of an equation she'd yet to solve, the other half was near, otherwise he wouldn't be posturing quite so much. She spotted it quickly enough, another table not far from her own where a group of significantly less battered men sat watching their exchange. A soft breath escaped her, and she readjusted how she was holding her spoon.

"What do you want?" Her voice was as cold as snow now, hazel eyes sliding back up slowly to the mans face. She categorized how he seemed to be favoring his left foot, how his right arm hung limp at his side, how he had no scars blemishing his bare arms. The fear that howled at the back of her mind constantly grew softer, and there was a spark of feral resignation in the air around her.

"Your axe," his voice was ragged and strained, she could see how sweat streaked down his temple. He was nervous now, but angry still. "It looks sturdy, someone like me would be more capable of wielding it efficiently than... you."

The unsaid than a woman hung in the air between them for a moment, and Nicolosia tilted her head ever so slightly in a manner that was birdlike in nature. Her free hand curled delicately around the edge of her table, arm loose and unimposing as she weighed her options. This was going in an...undesirable direction.

"You've recently had your ego bruised," she hazard a lazy guess, taking no enjoyment from how his eyes bulged and his hands curled into fists. "I can only assume that you're attempting to pick a fight with someone who you believe you can win against in order to save face with your peers, but I feel it's pertinent to make you aware of how this will escalate if you attempt to use violence against me."

He looked flabbergasted for a moment, before tensing as Nico dropped her spoon in order to draw her dagger from it's sheath at her waist. Her movements were slow and careful, trying to telegraph that the gesture wasn't inherently threatening in nature. The blade was bone white, polished meticulously, with what appeared to be runes carved into the surface, though they were none the man likely could have placed. She weighed it in her palm, humming softly but never taking her eyes off of him.

"I had a friend when I was younger, his name was Ejvind." Her voice was very brittle, but her hand was steady as she kindly raised the dagger up for him to get a better look at. "We learned the stars together, he was very dear to me. One day though, it came down to me or him. It broke my heart to slit his throat."

She didn't break eye contact as the words spilled from her lips, sticky and sweet like honey. It wasn't the full story, not even close, but someone like this sniveling rot didn't deserve to really know anything about Ejvind and their history. It didn't matter if he looked at her as if she were a monster plucked straight from his nightmares, so long as he stopped looking at her.

"I don't like killing like that, it's too messy. Someone else tried to steal from me not long ago, before I came here. He didn't like that I fought back, he tried to kill me, so I gouged his eyes out with my thumbs. That's messy too, the eyes are so soft and tender though, all it takes is a little force and dedication. I usually prefer cleaner kills, I don't like to prolong the process, it's better for it to end all at once." Nicolosia sighed, soft and theatrical. The canteen around them grew a little quieter as her words carried. It was better to nip this in the bud now, if anyone assumed she was an easy target they'd end up in a casket. "This dagger was gifted to me from Ejvind's mother, it was crafted from his femur bone and presented to me as a reward for having bested him in battle. I do not know where you hail from, nor do I care, but you ought to care where I am from."

Nico stood then, her chair scrapping loudly across the cobblestone underfoot. The man took a reflexive step back, he looked as if he was going to be ill. That was good, she didn't care to scare the fool if it would save his life because if he attacked her here, in a place she'd slowly began to feel safe, she would kill him. It wasn't in her nature to let such a transgression go.

"Because," she slid the dagger back into it's sheath, leaving her arms loose at her sides. "Where I am from has made me cruel. If you attack me, I will not be as kind as the last person whom you challenged and lost to. Do you understand what I am saying?"

There was a distinct pause, and she could feel the vein in her throat jumping from the beat of her heart. Fear coiled like a rock at the bottom of her stomach, and she hid the fine tremble of her hands by clenching them into fists so tight that the scars across her knuckles drained of color. If he attacked her, she would have to fight him, and she wouldn't be able to sleep at night until she was certain his threat was extinguished. Nico's good mood from the rain slipped away like smoke between her fingers.

He didn't speak again, simply giving her a jerky shake of his head before he pivoted sharply on his heel and stalked back to his table. Nicolosia watched him go, pulling her emotions in from the whirlwind they'd become until they were a tight knot in her chest. It was only when he'd sat once more, his back to her, that she turned on her own heel and swiftly left the canteen.

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Nicolosia walked until the panic subsided, her dinner no longer threatening to crawl up her throat. She had to remind herself that she'd chose this, she hadn't been asked to join by some mysterious hooded figure in a tavern - which was a good thing, she might have gutted him - or something ridiculous like that. She'd heard about The Rethari Blades and went to join up on her own, she'd gone looking to fight the good fight because there was nothing else for her to do. She'd chosen this and she refused to let her fear, the all consuming and rageful beast that it was, make her turn away from it now.

"Lovely. A suicide march dressed in noble intent. We should embroider that on our banner." A woman's voice echoed down the corridor, startling Nico. She hadn't realized how far she'd gone to come so close to the Main Hall. "Perhaps with a little skull holding a bouquet."

Well, that didn't exactly make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She pressed one of her hands over her mouth, attempting to stifle how her breath hitched and quickened. Her other hand rose, curled around her wrist until her fingers pressed into the raised and jagged skin of a scar. The action caused her no pain, it was old and faded by now, but it did help ground her some.

"Enough. This isn’t a jest,” Another voice cut through her panic further, and Nicolosia swallowed a few deeper breathes. “We don’t know what’s ahead, and guessing won’t make it prettier.”

The next voice was a familiar one, she'd heard her speak before but never directly spoken to her. Her voice commanded attention, quieting everything like a crack of thunder bellowing over the sky. Nico allowed the strength in the woman's voice to steady herself, her eyes slipping shut as she focused on the words she heard rather than the emotions she felt. "Then we stop guessing. We move. This is where we lose contact with the last of the Warden outriders. Dean, you're leading the team."

So it was a mission then, one that some of her peers would be embarking on. Nico bit the inside of her cheek hard, until blood filled her mouth and trickled down her throat. The flavor of rust and cooper bloomed across the back of her tongue, and she resisted the urge to gag on her fear. It sounded like a suicide mission, the other woman had been right, and yet...

"You’ll take Vae’nra, Rasaad, Fleur, Raeretha, and whomever else you deem necessary. You get in, observe, and get back. I want eyes on Weisshaupt. Signs, tracks, survivors if the Maker has left us any. But if you meet something you can’t fight... you don’t."

There was a long pause, the names spoken meant nothing to Nicolosia, but she could feel the conviction in the woman's voice even from where she stood outside the room. What she wouldn't give to not be here in this moment, to not have heard their plans. It would have been amazing to continue living in ignorance, or at least as ignorant as someone who joined a group who strived to damn well save the world could be. She just wanted to be another face in the crowd, another fool tumbling toward death but at least one that wasn't marching toward it. Fuck, she just wanted to go home.

"We’re not dying for ghosts and guesses. Not yet. You retreat. You bring word. We bring war only when we know what we’re swinging at." Her voice became softer, so much so that Nico's ears strained to pick up the murmured words. "We’ll hold here and prepare for the worst. That’s all we’ve ever had to plan around anyway."

The silence stretched, and she allowed herself to lean against the wall for a moment. Her forehead was hot and clammy, the damp stone felt nice on her flushed skin. Outside, the storm raged on without grace. She could hear her fathers voice overlapped with the woman's for a moment, so much conviction, so much unbridled but contained fear. Go forward slowly, it's not a race to the end. Be steady, my heart. You will live. She swallowed around the bile that crawled up her throat.

"When the sky clears, we move. I want blades sharpened, packs light, and your minds ready. No stragglers. No hesitation." The sharp crack of thunder split the air like a thrown axe, and Nico pulled away from the wall. She rolled her shoulders back, let her arms fall, and fought to remain calm. I don't want to die. It was the thought that was loudest in her mind, it always had been, but then a new thought surfaced with all the force of a strike of lightening. I don't want to hide. And really, her mind had been made up since she'd heard the first woman speak. "Dismissed. And may the Creators, the Maker, or whatever gods you still believe in, walk with us when we step into that dark."

Nicolosia waited for the occupants of the meeting to exit the room, spilling out into the hall she'd been lingering in, and then before she could change her mind- "Dean?" She approached the man who had turned at the call of his name, shoulders squared and face set. "I would like to accompany you on the expedition, if you will have me."

Dragon Age: Dark Scion

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Nicolosia

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.................................................... __________________________________________ T H E . E X I L E D . C H A M P I O N ________________________________________________________ 28 | female | human __________________________________________ ................▹ hair color | red ................▹ eye color | hazel ................▹ height | 5' 5" ................▹ build | athletic muscular ................▹ origin | sunless lands, thedas __________________________________________ ...........H E A V Y . + 10 ................▹ defender | 10 / 20 ................▹ perseverance | 10 / 20 ................▹ hard hitter | 15 / 20 ................▹ combat sense | 15 / 20 ...........P H Y S I C A L . + 9 ................▹ reflexes | 20 / 20 ................▹ stealth | 0 / 20 ................▹ rapid blows | 10 / 20 ................▹ perception | 15 / 20 ...........M A G I C . + 1 ................▹ power | 0 / 20 ................▹ pattern weaving | 0 / 20 ................▹ mana pool | 0 / 20 ................▹ fortitude | 5 / 20 __________________________________________ ...........E Q U I P M E N T . . . ................▹ human crafted battle axe ................▹ dagger crafted from bone ................▹ hide & fur lined armor ................▹ wood & steel shield ................▹ leisure clothes ................▹ leather bound journal ................▹ a femur bone ................▹ pouch of gold (20) ................▹ 1 lb of dried jerky ................▹ water skin ................▹ bandages ................▹ wolf pelt bedroll

. ____________________________________________________________________________________________ C U S T O M . T R A I T S . . . Reckless Desperation - Fear can be all consuming, but when your will is indomitable it can serve to strengthen you. In the heat of battle, Nicolosia can throw aside all concern for defense to attack with fierce desperation. This allows her to move faster and hit harder than she usually would for a short period of time. Concussive Force - Utilizing her shield and her strength alone, Nicolosia can slam her shield upon any solid surface to not only temporarily stun a target, but also briefly stagger nearby enemies from the sheer force. Immovable Wall - When bracing with a shield, Nicolosia becomes greatly resistant to being knocked down or aside for a short time, making her akin to a sturdy wall whilst she's bracing. The Protector's Oath - Fear and adrenaline keep a steady, rapid tempo in her chest but her focus is able to narrow down to a single point. A chosen comrade will become hers to protect for the duration of a fight, they will not fall so long as she is their wall of defense. In failing to protect them, Nicolosia enters a rage for a short period of time which turns her determination to protect her comrade in arms into unwavering strength. Feral Fighter - Watching her fight, even without her usual axe and shield, it's very clear that Nicolosia has a sort of wildness to her. She is creative, brutal, and resilient, nothing is below her when it comes to a battle. If she has to smear dirt in her opponents eyes or rip out their throat with her teeth to get leverage in order to win, she will. She does not fight for the glory of victory, she fights to live another day and thus hesitation is not a luxury she allows herself in battle. If she see's the chance to end a conflict she will do so in an instant, no matter how much blood is shed. Champion passive - As a champion, she is made to protect those near her from a fatal blow, just as she can make a last stand for herself and withstand a signal fatal blow. If she is still alive, and her comrades are as well, she has done her job well. S T O R Y . T R A I T S . . . Nothing... yet. S T R E N G T H S . . . will to live - As absurd as it sounds, Nicolosia's will to live is unparalleled. An injury that would make another fighter ready to lay down and die will push her onward, even if she is unseeing and simply dragging herself along. She does not want to die, and nothing but the cold grasp of death itself ripping her soul from her body will make her stop. survival - She was raised in a place where sane men cannot comprehend survival, where the climate meant each meal could be your last, where wanting to live meant you had to work for it. She knows how to make a meal out of bark on a tree, how to sooth stomach cramps when you are literally starving, how to find water and ensure it's safe for consumption, how to stem bleeding or curb infection. Nicolosia knows how to stay alive, even when you would rather be dead. multilingual - She is fluent in common and the Chasind's unique language. W E A K N E S S E S . . . fear - Furtive unrest, struggling at length to blind unreasoning panic. Nicolosia is afraid to die. She is terrified of battle, of wounds that will fester until you rot from the inside out. She does not want to fight, she does not want to pick up her blade and have to decide if it will be her or them today, but she is more scared of what will happen if she does not. If she is not strong enough, she will die all the same. Death comes for everyone, but she is determined for it to only come to her on her terms. Fear, though? It is the beast that does not rest. It haunts her every waking moment, twists her sleep into a jumble of incomprehensible nightmares. Outside of battle, fear weighs her down like soaked armor. She hesitates, she is uncertain and wavering, she is simply afraid. stealth - Outside of battle, when her head is clear of the primal instinct to simply survive and she is once again weighed down by simple fear, Nicolosia has all of the grace of a bull in a antique shop. She simply couldn't be sneaky if you paid her to be. fatigue - She hasn't gotten a good nights rest since she developed a consciousness and learned what fear meant. She's lucky if she gets four hours of sleep at night, and Nicolosia is not known for her good luck. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y . . . anxious.... | .... protective.... | .... self-critical.... | .... restrained.... | .... kind M O T I V A T I O N . . . Nicolosia wants to find the man responsible for tribe's downfall. She also wants to return home, so she may see what is left of those whom she loved, but only once she has answers. H I S T O R Y . . . The Sunless Lands is the place of cold death, and yet this is where Nicolosia's tribe called home. They are known by many names, Chasind, Agadi, Exiled. She does not know what the sins of her ancestors were to be cast away to such a desolate place, but their exile changed them fundamentally. By the time she was born the tribe was well established, large enough to qualify as a fair sized town which was an accomplishment in of itself. The cold makes man cruel though, and so despite how the tribe flourished it did so in a way that was reminiscent of a snake eating it's own tail. In this scenario though, it was the tribes elders eating their young. Not in the literal sense, which ought to have been a relief to the children of the exiled, but to Nicolosia, who was handed her first axe at the tender age of six, she felt only trepidation. She can vividly recall the stiffness of her mothers hug that day, how she'd held so tightly to Nico bruises had later formed, and then she was being dragged away with four other children her age and tossed into a pin like they were rabid dogs. There was a crowd surrounding them, the cheers of the bored and the cruel drowning out the cries of their mothers. On a raised platform sat the three elders, impassive to it all. "The last of you standing," one of the old men had called out over the crowd, riveting Nicolosia's attention. "Will get to live to see another day. Let the game begin." This is her first memory, not of the tender and soft love her mother exuded, not of her younger brother's adorably chubby cheeks, not of warm meals and song singing. It was looking into the terrified eyes of four children whom she knew, and knowing that only one of them would come out of this alive. I don't want to die. That single thought had rang through her mind as she reacted purely on instinct, clumsily swinging the axe until she was left standing alone in a blood soaked pin, reduced to little more than a scared animal backed into a corner. That was the thought that stuck with her over the next eleven years. The tribe had been practicing their cruel game for at least five generations now, they had it down to a meticulous science with their excuses lined up for any who may have found blatant murder of children too much to stomach. They knew they could choose an exact amount of children ranging from ages six to ten, that they could have then fight each other to the death once a year every year, the winners each year never knew peace, they were always thrown back in. They knew this method would not handicap their tribe with too many unnecessary deaths. They swore it was simply to keep the tribes minds from slipping during the coldest months, to give them something to look forward to. They made promises too, telling the children who fought each year that if they won they could become the villages champion. It wasn't like they had any choice, it was do or die and the pretty little lies they tacked on just served to make Nico more restless. As she grew older her father trained her harder and harder, determined that it would always be his child who made it back alive. Late at night, when she woke from the sticky grasp of one nightmare only to fall into another, Nicolosia wondered if these were the sins they were exiled for. Had her ancestors had always been so uncaring for human life, or had banishing them to such a place simply stolen what was left of their humanity. She learned how to live and breathe death, has the scars to prove no battle is easily won, and below each victory a seed of hatred for the elders and their ways festered within her. It took years of her playing their cruel games before she realized the elders and the culture they'd created for her tribe was not destined to remain as it always had. It started as all rebellions do, with a whisper. The whispers grew as the tribes discontent did, parents were less willing to have children knowing they were likely to be sent to their slaughter only six years after their birth. The whispers grew louder, until the fools who had once advocated for the games became disillusioned. Nico was at the head of it all, she had no other choice but to be. She'd become the tribes unofficial champion, and when she shed her coat in the height of their winter to bare her scars to all who could see, it all fell apart for the elders. She had become cherished by even the cruel, and the evidence of their sin's written across her body, still that of a child's, seemed to awaken them for the first time in decades. Nicolosia's last game ended much as the first had began, with her staring into the terrified eyes of someone who was helpless to do anything before she cut them down. She did not show any of the remorse she had with the other children of her tribe when she killed the elders. It had been their punishment and her payment for years of suffering, and when it was all done, when the tribe had successfully been reformed a year later, she finally got a glimpse at what peace could be. She never put down her axe, the fear that had awakened in her as a child could not be tempered by something as simple as justice, but blood no longer sat beneath her nail beds. She was able to watch her younger brother live the sort of life that had been stolen from her and so many others, she'd made friends and picked up silly hobbies her new free time afforded her. All was well, and in a perfect world it would have stayed as such. In this world though, a strange man came making promises of trades and access to new resources. The tribe had been impressed by what appeared to be a noble man and his determination to cross the Sunless Lands simply to offer them a new start. It was the start of the end though, because once their deals had been made and the man had left sickness came for her people. She watched day after day as friends and family slowly succumbed to the sickness, her hands trembling as she helped care for the ill. It was her father who had sent her away, her mother and brother laying on their death beds between the two of them. "You cannot remain here, you haven't fallen ill yet. You can live on." His voice had been so somber, devoid of the desperation and anguish that had been laced in everyone else for the last week. He sounded as close to death as her family looked laying before her. She had refused, argued, screamed, and raged at him, but in the end her father had remained resolute in his decision in a way that she could not easily refute. "If you won't leave willingly, then I will exile you. I won't watch another one of my children die, not when you've barely gotten to live. For the first time in her life, Nicolosia left the Sunless Lands. She wondered often what it meant to be exiled twice over, it often felt as if she was fleeing something, though she was not certain what it was. It had only been three months of her traveling, living in the wilds, mourning those she'd lost, when she heard of The Rethari Blades. For the first time since she'd been exiled, it felt as if purpose was being breathed into her. She did not want to fight, did not want to participate in some act for the greater good while her tribe succumbed their their sickness elsewhere, but she knew it was the only chance she'd get at doing something other than simply living in fear and guilt. And perhaps, if she is lucky, she will catch wind of a mysterious noble man offering poisonous resources to the innocent. Justice didn't cure the fear, but it felt nice all the same. R E L A T I O N S . . . Anything beyond familial love and close friendships is lost on Nicolosia, though she would not be opposed to romance she does feel as if she is not deserving of something so soft. She doesn't entertain the idea often, for the thought of being so unworthy of something as simple as love makes her feel ill, but perhaps someday she will find someone to be vulnerable enough to share those thoughts with. As far as she knows, everyone from her tribe is dead from the sickness. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #BB502A ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani ........ signature . | . Sleepy

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Dragon Age: Dark Scion

@Expllo Thank you very much, I'm so excited to be part of the story! :)

As for The Protectors Oath, it would be more akin to a bad hit. More so a hit that she feels she should have been able to stop or take in their place. Not something as simple as a punch to the face, more like if she watched them get stabbed or, as you mentioned, fall unconscious.

Dragon Age: Dark Scion

Hiya! Here's mine :)

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Nicolosia

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.................................................... __________________________________________ T H E . E X I L E D . C H A M P I O N ________________________________________________________ 28 | female | human __________________________________________ ................▹ hair color | red ................▹ eye color | hazel ................▹ height | 5' 5" ................▹ build | athletic muscular ................▹ origin | sunless lands, thedas __________________________________________ ...........H E A V Y . + 10 ................▹ defender | 10 / 20 ................▹ perseverance | 10 / 20 ................▹ hard hitter | 15 / 20 ................▹ combat sense | 15 / 20 ...........P H Y S I C A L . + 9 ................▹ reflexes | 20 / 20 ................▹ stealth | 0 / 20 ................▹ rapid blows | 10 / 20 ................▹ perception | 15 / 20 ...........M A G I C . + 1 ................▹ power | 0 / 20 ................▹ pattern weaving | 0 / 20 ................▹ mana pool | 0 / 20 ................▹ fortitude | 5 / 20 __________________________________________ ...........E Q U I P M E N T . . . ................▹ human crafted battle axe ................▹ dagger crafted from bone ................▹ hide & fur lined armor ................▹ wood & steel shield ................▹ leisure clothes ................▹ leather bound journal ................▹ a femur bone ................▹ pouch of gold (20) ................▹ 1 lb of dried jerky ................▹ water skin ................▹ bandages ................▹ wolf pelt bedroll

. ____________________________________________________________________________________________ C U S T O M . T R A I T S . . . Reckless Desperation - Fear can be all consuming, but when your will is indomitable it can serve to strengthen you. In the heat of battle, Nicolosia can throw aside all concern for defense to attack with fierce desperation. This allows her to move faster and hit harder than she usually would for a short period of time. Concussive Force - Utilizing her shield and her strength alone, Nicolosia can slam her shield upon any solid surface to not only temporarily stun a target, but also briefly stagger nearby enemies from the sheer force. Immovable Wall - When bracing with a shield, Nicolosia becomes greatly resistant to being knocked down or aside for a short time, making her akin to a sturdy wall whilst she's bracing. The Protector's Oath - Fear and adrenaline keep a steady, rapid tempo in her chest but her focus is able to narrow down to a single point. A chosen comrade will become hers to protect for the duration of a fight, they will not fall so long as she is their wall of defense. In failing to protect them, Nicolosia enters a rage for a short period of time which turns her determination to protect her comrade in arms into unwavering strength. Feral Fighter - Watching her fight, even without her usual axe and shield, it's very clear that Nicolosia has a sort of wildness to her. She is creative, brutal, and resilient, nothing is below her when it comes to a battle. If she has to smear dirt in her opponents eyes or rip out their throat with her teeth to get leverage in order to win, she will. She does not fight for the glory of victory, she fights to live another day and thus hesitation is not a luxury she allows herself in battle. If she see's the chance to end a conflict she will do so in an instant, no matter how much blood is shed. Champion passive - As a champion, she is made to protect those near her from a fatal blow, just as she can make a last stand for herself and withstand a signal fatal blow. If she is still alive, and her comrades are as well, she has done her job well. S T O R Y . T R A I T S . . . Nothing... yet. S T R E N G T H S . . . will to live - As absurd as it sounds, Nicolosia's will to live is unparalleled. An injury that would make another fighter ready to lay down and die will push her onward, even if she is unseeing and simply dragging herself along. She does not want to die, and nothing but the cold grasp of death itself ripping her soul from her body will make her stop. survival - She was raised in a place where sane men cannot comprehend survival, where the climate meant each meal could be your last, where wanting to live meant you had to work for it. She knows how to make a meal out of bark on a tree, how to sooth stomach cramps when you are literally starving, how to find water and ensure it's safe for consumption, how to stem bleeding or curb infection. Nicolosia knows how to stay alive, even when you would rather be dead. multilingual - She is fluent in common and the Chasind's unique language. W E A K N E S S E S . . . fear - Furtive unrest, struggling at length to blind unreasoning panic. Nicolosia is afraid to die. She is terrified of battle, of wounds that will fester until you rot from the inside out. She does not want to fight, she does not want to pick up her blade and have to decide if it will be her or them today, but she is more scared of what will happen if she does not. If she is not strong enough, she will die all the same. Death comes for everyone, but she is determined for it to only come to her on her terms. Fear, though? It is the beast that does not rest. It haunts her every waking moment, twists her sleep into a jumble of incomprehensible nightmares. Outside of battle, fear weighs her down like soaked armor. She hesitates, she is uncertain and wavering, she is simply afraid. stealth - Outside of battle, when her head is clear of the primal instinct to simply survive and she is once again weighed down by simple fear, Nicolosia has all of the grace of a bull in a antique shop. She simply couldn't be sneaky if you paid her to be. fatigue - She hasn't gotten a good nights rest since she developed a consciousness and learned what fear meant. She's lucky if she gets four hours of sleep at night, and Nicolosia is not known for her good luck. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y . . . anxious.... | .... protective.... | .... self-critical.... | .... restrained.... | .... kind M O T I V A T I O N . . . Nicolosia wants to find the man responsible for tribe's downfall. She also wants to return home, so she may see what is left of those whom she loved, but only once she has answers. H I S T O R Y . . . The Sunless Lands is the place of cold death, and yet this is where Nicolosia's tribe called home. They are known by many names, Chasind, Agadi, Exiled. She does not know what the sins of her ancestors were to be cast away to such a desolate place, but their exile changed them fundamentally. By the time she was born the tribe was well established, large enough to qualify as a fair sized town which was an accomplishment in of itself. The cold makes man cruel though, and so despite how the tribe flourished it did so in a way that was reminiscent of a snake eating it's own tail. In this scenario though, it was the tribes elders eating their young. Not in the literal sense, which ought to have been a relief to the children of the exiled, but to Nicolosia, who was handed her first axe at the tender age of six, she felt only trepidation. She can vividly recall the stiffness of her mothers hug that day, how she'd held so tightly to Nico bruises had later formed, and then she was being dragged away with four other children her age and tossed into a pin like they were rabid dogs. There was a crowd surrounding them, the cheers of the bored and the cruel drowning out the cries of their mothers. On a raised platform sat the three elders, impassive to it all. "The last of you standing," one of the old men had called out over the crowd, riveting Nicolosia's attention. "Will get to live to see another day. Let the game begin." This is her first memory, not of the tender and soft love her mother exuded, not of her younger brother's adorably chubby cheeks, not of warm meals and song singing. It was looking into the terrified eyes of four children whom she knew, and knowing that only one of them would come out of this alive. I don't want to die. That single thought had rang through her mind as she reacted purely on instinct, clumsily swinging the axe until she was left standing alone in a blood soaked pin, reduced to little more than a scared animal backed into a corner. That was the thought that stuck with her over the next eleven years. The tribe had been practicing their cruel game for at least five generations now, they had it down to a meticulous science with their excuses lined up for any who may have found blatant murder of children too much to stomach. They knew they could choose an exact amount of children ranging from ages six to ten, that they could have then fight each other to the death once a year every year, the winners each year never knew peace, they were always thrown back in. They knew this method would not handicap their tribe with too many unnecessary deaths. They swore it was simply to keep the tribes minds from slipping during the coldest months, to give them something to look forward to. They made promises too, telling the children who fought each year that if they won they could become the villages champion. It wasn't like they had any choice, it was do or die and the pretty little lies they tacked on just served to make Nico more restless. As she grew older her father trained her harder and harder, determined that it would always be his child who made it back alive. Late at night, when she woke from the sticky grasp of one nightmare only to fall into another, Nicolosia wondered if these were the sins they were exiled for. Had her ancestors had always been so uncaring for human life, or had banishing them to such a place simply stolen what was left of their humanity. She learned how to live and breathe death, has the scars to prove no battle is easily won, and below each victory a seed of hatred for the elders and their ways festered within her. It took years of her playing their cruel games before she realized the elders and the culture they'd created for her tribe was not destined to remain as it always had. It started as all rebellions do, with a whisper. The whispers grew as the tribes discontent did, parents were less willing to have children knowing they were likely to be sent to their slaughter only six years after their birth. The whispers grew louder, until the fools who had once advocated for the games became disillusioned. Nico was at the head of it all, she had no other choice but to be. She'd become the tribes unofficial champion, and when she shed her coat in the height of their winter to bare her scars to all who could see, it all fell apart for the elders. She had become cherished by even the cruel, and the evidence of their sin's written across her body, still that of a child's, seemed to awaken them for the first time in decades. Nicolosia's last game ended much as the first had began, with her staring into the terrified eyes of someone who was helpless to do anything before she cut them down. She did not show any of the remorse she had with the other children of her tribe when she killed the elders. It had been their punishment and her payment for years of suffering, and when it was all done, when the tribe had successfully been reformed a year later, she finally got a glimpse at what peace could be. She never put down her axe, the fear that had awakened in her as a child could not be tempered by something as simple as justice, but blood no longer sat beneath her nail beds. She was able to watch her younger brother live the sort of life that had been stolen from her and so many others, she'd made friends and picked up silly hobbies her new free time afforded her. All was well, and in a perfect world it would have stayed as such. In this world though, a strange man came making promises of trades and access to new resources. The tribe had been impressed by what appeared to be a noble man and his determination to cross the Sunless Lands simply to offer them a new start. It was the start of the end though, because once their deals had been made and the man had left sickness came for her people. She watched day after day as friends and family slowly succumbed to the sickness, her hands trembling as she helped care for the ill. It was her father who had sent her away, her mother and brother laying on their death beds between the two of them. "You cannot remain here, you haven't fallen ill yet. You can live on." His voice had been so somber, devoid of the desperation and anguish that had been laced in everyone else for the last week. He sounded as close to death as her family looked laying before her. She had refused, argued, screamed, and raged at him, but in the end her father had remained resolute in his decision in a way that she could not easily refute. "If you won't leave willingly, then I will exile you. I won't watch another one of my children die, not when you've barely gotten to live. For the first time in her life, Nicolosia left the Sunless Lands. She wondered often what it meant to be exiled twice over, it often felt as if she was fleeing something, though she was not certain what it was. It had only been three months of her traveling, living in the wilds, mourning those she'd lost, when she heard of The Rethari Blades. For the first time since she'd been exiled, it felt as if purpose was being breathed into her. She did not want to fight, did not want to participate in some act for the greater good while her tribe succumbed their their sickness elsewhere, but she knew it was the only chance she'd get at doing something other than simply living in fear and guilt. And perhaps, if she is lucky, she will catch wind of a mysterious noble man offering poisonous resources to the innocent. Justice didn't cure the fear, but it felt nice all the same. R E L A T I O N S . . . Anything beyond familial love and close friendships is lost on Nicolosia, though she would not be opposed to romance she does feel as if she is not deserving of something so soft. She doesn't entertain the idea often, for the thought of being so unworthy of something as simple as love makes her feel ill, but perhaps someday she will find someone to be vulnerable enough to share those thoughts with. As far as she knows, everyone from her tribe is dead from the sickness. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #BB502A ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani ........ signature . | . Sleepy

.

A Returning Player

Howdy! Welcome in! ☺️ I just joined too, happy writing!

Ding Dong, Bell here!

Welcome in!! 😊