Starleaper

[Feend's Scrapyard] Hay in a Needlestack

Zetmit spotted the three steel-clad men, hiding behind the corner of the path and only peeking through with his suspicious eyes. Overhearing their conversation, he was quick to deduce from these nonsensical words they were speaking and their unusual appearances that... these punk-looking fellers might be here for the same reason as his! Why else do they have the shiny metal all around their arms and legs? Obviously, they're collectors like him, but their tastes aren't as refined in comparison. Picking up such a dirty and broken pair of whatever that thing was out of the pile of even dirtier and more broken whatever those things were, and looking back at his friend with a palpable smile.

He almost felt tempted to just run in, snatch their find and escape or even better---tear them even bigger and shinier attachments off of their persons, but he's outmatched in both size and numbers on top of not having a single clue what they do to begin with, and Zetmit, though not that he would admit it... is smart enough to know which fights to pick and which to not. Whatever, he scoffed as he turned his back away from them. These simple peasants with a taste so bland even he took offense to it were clearly never going to find what they're looking for at the rate they were going, so he continued to do what he was put in this earth to do, and that is to seek and sniff out for shiny things.

Then soon enough, he caught something. The second he saw a glint coming from the otherwise unremarkable parts piled upon each other across the field, his ears instantly perked up and he glowed up with a smile of his own. "Oh, oh yes, yes, yes! Shiny!" Zetmit spat out as quietly as he could with bubbles in his chest. He did not hesitate before skittering over to the closest spot where he saw the glint and began to rummage through the dumps to at least get one of them. Whatever obstacles were in the way, he'd use his big goblin claws to push and dig through them.

"Please, please be good find, Zetmit didn't get job only ta get nothin'!" He muttered to himself, not caring that he's creating some noise in his excitement.

Actions:
1) Dig through the waste

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Dread returned to Rachel's chest when the horn blared through the air and she heard that her presence are needed. Despite all reassurances, she felt wholly unprepared for what's about to come. The moment the captain directed her, she forgot about her conversation---though still remembered to apologize---and paced to the wall to catch the view.

Then her blood ran cold, what she could have imagined to happen could not be any worse than what she's seeing right now. Within haze, hordes of creatures much more foreign, their shapes uncanny to what she'd known in stories told among her people and their numbers much more than she could ever expect. Demons, they're demons, aren't they? They're real... The words caught in their throat.

Grotesque forms emerging from the darkest of nights, to pluck out unsuspecting victims and pull them away, never to be seen again, leaving houses empty and ruined. Now, in broad daylight, they come out in the open with their horrific fangs bared and their many legs treading the white grounds. Back home, they used large hounds. Not just for the cattle, but for the people. Sacred animals with sacred duties. They protected her and her people fiercely from danger, they could smell sin, unbelievers. She was told that their baying breathed invisible fire that wards off ancient evil and strikes terror in all forms of life. They were essential in stopping these attacks from endangering her family.

But a swarm of this magnitude? Hounds wouldn't be enough. Steel wouldn't be enough. Not that she thinks they would. Her fingers twitched at her hip, but still making no real motion to pick at anything, not yet. She breathed in as the horns sounded again.

Rachel, Little Lamb.

Not so much a voice, but words regardless came to her mind. Nothing happens without an end. No end happens with nothing.

The fire inside you, remember It. Remember Its light. Remember Its warmth. Remember your purpose.

Then she breathed out, gulping back her doubts and her mind cleared. She turned back to the lord's calculating eye, assessing him the same way albeit lacking his edge, then to the captain who briefed them in about the outpost.

"The snow... perhaps we might be able to make use of it to get us around after all." She replied affirmatively, not just referring to the snow, but in a way, herself. She looked on, this time with a sense of resolution, returning a knowing glance at Andrea's nod. Her stance righted itself as well into a more firm one, not outright confident but getting there.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Rachel Backe of Wool and Flame

Name: Rachel Backe
Titles: Mundane, Prime

Points Earned at Start: 105
Points Spent: 105
Points Earned: 0

Strength: E
Precision: F
Intelligence: D
Vitality: E
Speed: F
Character Grade: F
Standing Grade: F

Skills
Type Affinity - Fire [F] 7
Type Affinity - Indirect [F] 7
Fighting Style Melee [F] 7
Magic [E] 14
Selective Magic [F] 7
Magic Targets [F] 7
Magic AoE [F] (Born For This)
Ritual Fighting Style (Knife) - Technique: Blight - Fire [F] 7 Discount

Abilities

Hellblight [E] - [Magic] E, [Type Affinity - Fire] F, [Type Affinity - Indirect] F, [Selective Magic] F, [Magic AoE] F ; causes target to combust in hellish fire - 1 Post Cooldown

Blessing of Lightbane [E] - [Magic] E, [Type Affinity - Fire] F, [Selective Magic] F ; the blade of the ritual dagger becomes coated in hellish flame, burning anything that touches it - 1 Post Cooldown

Body Torch [E] - [Magic] E, [Type Affinity - Fire] F, [Selective Magic] F ; Caster’s body warm up intensely until its touch is hot enough to leave a lasting mark and potentially smelt - 1 Post Cooldown

Equipment
Catalyst [E] 14
Ritual Dagger [F] 7

Assets

Character Background

Personality:
Rachel is–true to her name of origin–a sheepish girl. She is soft-spoken and appears fragile. She is reluctant to interact with just about anybody, avoiding eye contact whenever possible, but she isn’t necessarily averse to social interaction, rather it’s any sort of confrontation that makes her feel fainthearted. However, she does have the capacity to steel herself should it be needed of her, it just takes until the mysterious voice in her head to convince her.

Despite this, she hasn’t lost fully the innocence of her youth. There’s still kindness in her heart that may come out in more sensitive moments, but she can still be quite gullible and oblivious of things that may threaten her due to having lived most of her life in closed-off communities.

Goals:
-Find herself in her spiritual journey.
-Find a new home where she feels she can truly belong.

Backstory:

Rachel once lived in a remote town where she would visit a local church every day and for most of her childhood had lived praying to a god whose name she no longer remembers. As far as her sparse memory goes, it was a relatively peaceful childhood.

However, as she grew and disease struck her family, her faith dwindled and one day, she ran away from home in an act of defiance. Of course, a girl like her shouldn’t be running out of town by herself. Wolves, bears, or worse could hunt her down from behind the treeline.

That was when she stumbled upon a house and was suddenly met with a community of people who immediately welcomed her with open arms and gave her a new place to live in.

Days turned to months turned to years, a happy life in a large family who loved her always and forever. They took her to their garden, let her pick out her favorite flowers and asked her about her favorite food and favorite animal. It ended up being the same as everyone else’s.

Then, that fateful moment, it would be her special day, as she was told.

She was lovingly dressed in a white fluffy coat with ornate frills like a sheep, it was warmer and softer than any dress she had ever worn back home. Behind the smile she held as bright as the others before her, there’s a small sense of unease in the back of her mind as she stepped forward past the vases of lilies lined up across the hall.

A feeling well confirmed in the coming moments.

Loud chants echoed throughout the room as faceless men of cloth raised their hands in unison. She looked around wildly, eyes darting in panic until they landed on one of them, clad in a much more elaborate outfit as he stepped out from the crowd with something sharp in his hand. A dagger.

Her eyes, wide open, fixed solely on the crooked blade, ignoring everything else that was happening. It’s as if the world around her was blurring and fading rapidly.

Everything turned black, and with her fear overwhelming her senses, she felt no pain, as if she had merely fallen asleep.

When she came to once more, what she felt was the flat wooden floor of that house is now the cold grass wet from the rain. She looked around only to find trees surrounding her. Had she not known any better, she’d assume it was all just a terrible guilt-induced dream.

She clenched her fingers to feel the ground again, they touched something wooden. But not quite the same texture, it was smooth. She slowly wrapped them around it, an eloquently carved hilt likely made from an impossibly old tree, charred from what might have been fire. When she picked it up, she recognized the shape of its blade.

The crooked blade of the ritual dagger once held against her, now in her hands.

Then, something blew through her ears. It was not merely wind, she heard something beyond a simple gust, a whisper smooth yet guttural like a snake.

It spoke to her.

Do not be afraid. Let me shed light on your way to a path void of uncertainty or betrayal. Use my fire to protect yourself, show them that you are more than just a sheep.

Strike fear in their wicked souls if you may, the power you now possess is the gift that I give to you, my special child.

Her fist tightened on the hilt, then she got up to her feet.

[Feend's Scrapyard] Hay in a Needlestack

Zetmit, the Kleptomaniac Goblin

Name: Zetmit
Titles: Mundane, Prime, Small, Goblin

Points Earned at Start: 105
Points Spent: 105
Points Earned: 0

Strength: E
Precision: D
Intelligence: F
Vitality: F
Speed: D
Character Grade: F
Character Standing: F

Skills
Fighting Style Ranged (Slingshot) [F] (Born For This) Technique Core: Accurate + Range 7
Stealth [F] 7
Fast [F] 7
-
Features
Small Size
Darkvision [F] 7
Camouflage [F] 7

Abilities

One with Nature [F] - [Camouflage] F, [Stealth] F, [Darkvision] F ; Zetmit blends seamlessly into the environment–whether it be foliage, garbage or the dark, allowing him to move undetected by the naked eye - 0 Post Cooldown

Skitter [F] - [Stealth] F, [Fast] F, [Small Size] ; Zetmit does what a goblin does best and hightails out of here - 0 Post Cooldown

Equipment
Claws [F] Natural Weapon 14
Slingshot [E] 14
Light Armor [F] 7 - Technically part of his paraphernalia as they cover his body

Assets
Zetmit's Paraphernalia [F] 7 - Shiny tools of varying sizes that he doesn't seem to fully understand the uses of, all hanging from his waist tied by rope. This includes utensils (pans, forks), keys, trinkets, gold and quite possibly jewelry.

Character Background

Personality:
Zetmit is an eccentric little fellow, having child-like speech and a chaotic energy that’s simply far larger than the body of his size. He is a kleptomaniac, whatever shining catches his eye will be added to his growing collection, and he is not willing to share any of it. He is however not above listening to others, but only if he doesn’t think they’re gonna kill him.

Goals:
-Collect as many shiny things as he can, build the greatest shiny hoard
-Maybe find a way to reconnect with his goblin friends that he left behind
-Live a good goblin life

Backstory:

Zetmit once lived in a human vicinity among many other goblins, but they were not equals. They were not even treated as individuals with their own names. They were slaves of labor to the humans living in this vicinity, subject to threats of lashings and slaughter to keep them leashed serving their master. He did not have a name of his own either, his current moniker was given by one of his crankier captors.

Zetmit, being the simple goblin he is, simply accepted it as what his life would be, forever and ever until he dies.

Then one day, a pack of wolves driven by wild hunger attacked. Zetmit found an opening, and in his panic he took it, bolted from beneath the walls that held him and his kin in one place and towards the trees where he disappeared.

Now, with his newfound freedom, he lives as a nomad. It’s a struggle to get by, scavenging for food and running away from those that threaten his small form, but what he finds to be the best thing in this new era of his life is finding shiny objects that he otherwise wouldn’t have been able to get his dirty goblin hands on. Some would not let go without a fight, but Zetmit is persistent to get what he wants if he could help it.

Along the way, when rummaging through the trash buried under the bushes, he spotted on the ground a strangely-shaped wooden implement wrapped with long strips of rubber, which was not shiny at all but he soon found it to be quite handy for his survival in the future.

[Feend's Scrapyard] Hay in a Needlestack

Zetmit stared the junkyard through the fences and the hips of his fellow dumpster divers, almost completely lost in his daydreams of what he would do there. If it were not for his sensitive hearing, he would have missed the very reason why he came here to begin with. He looked at the picture stuck onto the wall by the robot, blue ball was the only thing he really took note of, which made him snicker a bit.

When the group moved into the property, he followed along without delay. He did not quite come here just to do the job as much as he'd love the gold he'll gain by the end of it, as a matter of fact, he used this job listing as an excuse to access the place and do whatever he wants without getting the suspicions of any onlookers.

To a normal person, the smell was off, a mix of the earth, rust and oil. From a bad spot, it's almost outright pungent how these chemicals had spilled all over the piles. To Zetmit, a humble goblin covered in rags wrapped with cloth that ties to his body a variety of discarded objects that sheen at the right angle, this was a sign of good conditions to scour within the trash. A coat of foul smell, no matter how foul, always hides something deep beneath, perhaps a small chance of 'real treasure' which Zetmit only determines by how shiny it is.

Zetmit can afford these chances, he's lived with the trash almost his entire life. What he couldn't afford as much was time, even someone like him would know how fast the hours can go by until someone comes in yelling at him while brandishing a knife and forces him to retreat, so even a physically effortful activity like this does require a bit of thinking and some awareness of his own surroundings.

His large ears then picked up a question from a human and he fell back only a bit, his nose peeking over his own shoulder. The inquiry caught his curiosity, the possibility of more than one memory discs in the junk? The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. If he brought more alongside the one requested by the gnome man, would the reward be even more than he already promised?

But he did not have the patience to wait for an answer, so he merely took the few seconds he had to glance back to mentally note the man's facial features ginger and hoped he'll remember to find him and annoy him about it before moving on.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character Name: Rachel Backe
Status: Pensive

Rachel softened after hearing out Bromann, the confidence in her speech becoming more apparent as she spoke more clearly. "That's an admirable goal. I'm sure my family would have loved to reach out and help you, we provide support and cozy homes for those struggling with money and debt. Perhaps if you would allow me, I would help you bring more home for your people." She smiled.

When the conversation shifted to her focus, her expression dropped in an instant. "Oh, please. I wish I knew myself." She started with a small sigh, "I was living my life in peace, tending to the garden and feeding our animals, then things happened. Next thing I know, I was far away from home with no way to make contact." The way she said all these things under a thin veil of vagueness, she's clearly being coy about the details of her situation. Skirting around the truth of what actually happened, whether she's doing it consciously or not. Sounds rang in her head, but she could not make out just what it was.

She put her hand on her head as she began to re-articulate her deeply confusing thoughts.

"There's a presence I've been feeling that'd been following me ever since. Giving me words of reassurance that I will be guided and protected from danger. I thought it to be our god or an avatar of his, for I know nothing else would remain with me even after disaster or death, but..." She closed her mouth in the middle of the sentence, her mind going somewhere else, thinking of the people she'd left behind and feeling as if she'd abandoned them. "...I'm not quite so sure myself if this is the right place to be. If I'm fit for it." That was a bit of a lie, she remembered what she saw at the hearth. How the flame burst to send sparks sprinkling her way, leaving her something to remember that she had then engraved.

Perhaps the small shelter of fire in the middle of white tundra following her near-death experience in the snow was exactly where she's meant to be, but why? Why was she so compelled to follow it if she doesn't know if it was her god? Wouldn't it be sinful to pray to anything other than her god even in the most dire of situations? Guilt welled up in her chest, and to that she asked herself internally, what else could she have done? She was scared, and this wasn't the first time she'd deserted her own faith.

At the corner of her eye she spotted another human wandering within the walls, someone she hadn't noticed before. Had they been on the wagon with the rest of them, or did they sneak in overnight? Though her eyes pointed towards them, she chose not to say anything about it.

@Nachogod @Slowpokie

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

When she was prodded at, Rachel didn't really give much of a reaction. Only a slow turn to what touched her, then her eyes shot up to see Bromann looking at her. "Oh. Well, I guess of course." She uttered gently, barely recognizing him as the man whose spirit endured through the entire ride. Her face was a seemingly permanent look of neutrality backed by the subtle dark circles under her eyes, and it didn't change upon seeing him outside of her added wariness. She merely listened as he talked and without rush, she took the stone that she was examining, stuffing it inside one of the pouches under her cloak. As her arm brushed under it, there was a brief glimpse of a dark wooden hilt hoisted alongside the rest of her possessions, all hidden from view.

She then turned to find Bromann's hand reached out in front of her and froze completely for a moment. Her vacant eyes was locked in place for what felt like a minute, then finally she blinked and readjusted herself, nodding with a quick stilted smile and declining the offer with a wave. "The way you speak of money... It eludes me completely. I didn't come here of my own volition, let alone be paid. I don't even know why I'm here, so I'm afraid I wouldn't be very helpful for that." For a moment, she spaced out and her mouth cracked between a smile and a fearful frown before settling on the former. "But... I can try to provide what was needed of me and help either way. And if I do get, um, compensated by the end of this, I wouldn't mind giving most of mine to you---if you need it of course. My way of life does not need gold to carry on."

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

By the time the sunlight started bleeding into the building, Rachel was already up and awake first, staring out through the windows.

She hadn't been able to get a good night's sleep ever since she came into this land. Whenever she tried, when she was able to doze off after several minutes of tossing and turning, she'd end up getting a cryptic dream that she could not hope to even comprehend. The only thing she remembered was that she was walking somewhere, treading on endless white ground---snow, perhaps, regarding circumstances. Either way, it always ended with a sudden pang of fear and then another episode of migraine that has kept her up in these darkest hours.

Ever since she was a young girl, Rachel has believed her dreams to be predictive in nature. She would talk to her friends and family about what she saw, and every time they all unanimously agreed it to be a sign of the future. These recent ones however have been so vague to her that it filled her with both confusion and apprehension. What could they possibly mean? How does it relate to this entity that had been guiding her these past several days?

She looked to the sky in deep thought. It was a dull grey, easy on her eyes but no less comforting than the thick fog covering the woods that she had been lost in.

Lost.

The biggest question that had been nagging at her mind finally occurred to her in earnest. Why is she here? What is her purpose here in this place? She's overheard from the guards of names she didn't recognize, whispers of something lurking beneath the frozen surface that surrounded this land, talks of gold being rewarded as opposed to giving them away and finally the bells ringing through the walls. The more she tried to fit in and understand, the more disconnected she felt. She's survived thus far, but she already had a bad feeling about today, and all these thoughts along with her sleepless nights did not help her case.

She shivered from the abnormally cold wind that hit her and quietly retreated to the bed she took.

Resting on it was a stone, the same one she'd taken from Andrea, a small reminder of kindness in a place of indifference, foolhardy and greed. What others may not see however was that on its side, there were crude lines forming runic symbols that may have been recently carved with a sharp edge while no one was watching.

Holding it, she still wasn't completely sure what all this was about and where it came from, but the image lingered in the back of her mind from when she 'communicated' with that presence from the fireplace, and looking at it gives her a small feeling of connection.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Rachel Backe
Status: A little more refreshed.

When Andrea stepped up towards the table to confront the sellsword, Rachel did not move to stop her or follow her in any way. She watched as a fight appeared to almost break out and turned her back to it. There's no reason to intervene, she doesn't think. Not just to save her energy, but in her mind, her priorities lie somewhere else.

She regarded the flame before her at length. Ever since she left, she was not able to access or find any signs of a fire until now, but the moment she stepped into the room, she felt the heat radiating from it draw her to it. The way it danced around vigorously within the stone walls that had contained it, kept it from incinerating everything else. It may have just been the exhaustion, but there was always a little something about it that stuck out to her. A vague shape barely forming with each lick of the flame, not something of particular form that she would have recognized. The only thing she could put her finger on, as far as she could see it, was that there's a presence. A presence only felt by her, watching but not quite stalking, not quite scrutinizing, but from afar without direct interference.

A feeling all too familiar to Rachel as realization washed over her face, she clasped her hands together, intertwined in the form of a prayer and began muttering something under her breath. When she finished, she saw the fire flare up for a split second, a few sparks flying far from their source in her direction then dispersing into nothing. Blinking back to the fireplace, the presence was no longer there, leaving her in slight awe of what she'd just witnessed.

There was communication and a quiet understanding between them, even if she didn't fully realize it at first. She always knew there may have been a benevolent entity or at least some form of sentience that watched over her and guided her in uncertain times, that in this fragile state, she would have died out in the cold if not for the similarly contained warmth thanks to this being. The small patches of doubt were beginning to seep in after the fact, but now she found clear evidence of its existence and a reassurance that she will stay blessed with its protection.

She gave the fire a single nod with hope and resolve rekindled before getting up on her feet, brushing the dust off her white dress and picking up the hot stone left for the taking. She then made her way through the room past the table, shooting a glance at Bromann acknowledging his thanks. She continued to withdraw from engaging with the rest of the group, but the fact that they accepted her greeting in the form of bread offering eased her worries ever so slightly, allowing her to peacefully retire for the night.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

"That is what I was told." Rachel nodded absently to what the elf said about desperate mouths and eager lips, easing into the conversation. "That's why the day after they come in, we would invite them to a family dinner. It was a special occasion each time, so many of us were expected to be there. I happened to be able to attend one for the first time last year."

The following question had herself piqued, there are many things that immediately came to mind but she shouldn't get too comfy giving out all the details at once. "It would be welcoming them as part of the family, of course. Our village near the mountains is a peaceful place, sometimes we call it a paradise. And we would all volunteer to show the newcomers around, offer them drinks and make them feel belonged, that by itself was the biggest joy of being part of our community..."

She paused in deep contemplation.

"Well, it has been a while, at least."

For a brief moment, a small frown formed on her face. With every strenuously picked word uttered as if she had been reciting them beforehand, it's becoming harder and harder to accept the distance between herself and her home. So much had happened, it's been nothing but a blur in her head, and though she's met a friendly face thus far, she doesn't expect things to truly slow down at any moment.

It's already hard to believe what led her here in this building to begin with and what came of it, her eyebrows strained with the subtle twitching of a storm of conflicted thoughts. She ultimately decided she'd continue to numb herself to the inner turmoil, staring deeper into the fire and nearly forgetting her surroundings, the half-eaten piece of bread still in her hand.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed Andrea setting down the wrapped stone beside her boots, her pointed gaze following it but made no other motion to pick it up nor did she say anything about it, not yet. While her manner of speech was pretty disarming, she's still practically a stranger, and she wasn't ready to accept anything given to her herself.

Then she overheard the sellsword's demands pulling her back to reality and whipped her head to look at the table where people are beginning to gather around the wicker basket. "Yes, we do. You're absolutely free to take one." She swiftly replied with the same punctual tone she used when asked about alcohol, though more proper this time now that she had somewhat replenished her energy. Whatever the chances that there may actually be a bottle or two in these barracks, in her opinion, any other option on the menu would do him a great favor, even plain old bread.