Vertigo

Freefalling with Vertigo ⍣

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Freefalling with Vertigo ⍣

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Freefalling with Vertigo ⍣

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Freefalling with Vertigo ⍣

ryuuichi

R Y Y U I C H I S A K A M O T O
R Y Y U I C H I S A K A M O T O

^{"I ain't got time for games. You wanna say somethin', say it to my face, damnit."}

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_______________________________________________ Identity Full Name - Ryuuichi Sakamoto Nicknames - Ryuu, to all those who know what's good for them; he hates his full name Age - 17 Gender - Male Year - First Personality A man of action So it's no secret that Ryuu is... pretty bad with words. And whether the hen came before the egg or not, he's always preferred to show his feelings and beliefs through his actions rather than his words. After all, he has some trust issues when it comes to words, both his own and others'. Sometimes people say what they don't mean, either by accident or on purpose, or what they say gets misconstrued, or something goes wrong and leads to misunderstandings. But if someone puts themselves between you and danger, or brings a shoulder when you really need to lean against one... yeah. That's way more difficult to mess up — not that... he hasn't managed to done that, too. After all, his propensity for action does mean that he often leaps into things before thinking, and that if he feels like something needs doing now, he's going to get up and do it — even if it's the middle of history class. Self-fulfilling prophecy If you're told you're a trouble maker your whole life, if you weren't one before, you sure as hell become one eventually. While there might have been a time when Ryuu tried to explain his side of things, he rarely bothers to do so anymore. In fact, ever since he managed to make like-minded...ish friends in Tokyo, he's embraced people's views of him, and even encouraged them to a degree — as evidenced by many aspects of his appearance and outward attitude. So yeah, even if he doesn't need to it, he may as well kick the shit outta that trashcan when he gets angry, or whirl on that guy touching his shoulder to ask him to please quiet down, because that's what people expect, anyway. It's easier to make everyone at least leave him the hell alone than trying to change just to make friends. Is it bravery or stupidity? Probably both, in his case. All too often, his readiness to act despite danger comes from the fact that he hasn't yet stopped to think about the possible consequences, aka, he doesn't even realize he should be scared until after the fact. What, there's a cat stuck in a tree, precariously hanging off the side of the mountain?! Hold his bag, he's scaling that shit. Falling? ... Oh, yeah, guess there was the danger of that, too, huh. Anyway, here's the cat. He can be somewhat of a daredevil, and has a burning need to prove people wrong whenever they tell him he isn't able to do something - unless, of course, that something has to do with school. He's given up on his grades. Also, come a difficult social situation? That previous bravery and boldness is very quick to wane, no matter how much he tries to cling to the illusion it hasn't. A sense of justice?! Though it might be difficult to believe nowadays, the sense of justice that guided many of his seemingly unruly actions as a child is still there, buried underneath layers upon layers of anger and bitterness as it may be. It doesn't make up for the bad things he's done, nor does it prevent him from doing bad things in the future (he will kill over his grandma's flowers, seriously, watch your step, or watch him), but it does mean he won't clock just anyone for any reason, contrary to popular belief. He's not about to get physical with someone who can't fight back, and to this day, he will still intervene if he sees someone getting bullied or otherwise discriminated against in his vicinity. Which... is admittedly ironic, because to some of his peers, he's decidedly the bully. Character Relationships Osanai Suzuka "Shit, shit, shit, she saw me feedin' and playin' with Mochimaru-chan the other day! I don't think she's told anyone, not like she talks much anyway, but... I mean, she does have a buncha friends, so... huh. Come to think of it, how does she have that many, when she's kind of a loner like me? She must know somethin' I don't. ... Imma ask her." Isshiki Mikako pending whether they've met before! Fuji Eikichi "The guy can talk, I'll give him that. That's... kinda awesome, gotta admit, always managing to say shit the way you intend to. Means he's gotta be smart. I can tell he's tryina look cool, and yeah, he's popular, he's getting there, but-- I think dude needs a dye job. Not like I'm gonna tell him that, though, I sure as hell don't need to meddle with a meddler." Haruto Morioka "I don't trust him. No, seriously, dude's always happy and smiling, that just ain't right! I mean, yeah, he seems genuinely nice and-- actually, he kinda reminds me of Mika-ch-- Mikako. Hell, they must get along well. Super well. Like two peas in a bed. Pod? Bed. ... Shit, I really don't think I like him." Arashiyama Junko "Scary. What? I ain't say nothin', alright?! Just, yeah, she's a lot. Looks-like-she-could-fold-me-into-half-lot, you know? It's cool. She's pretty cool, but also-- wait, is she lookin' this way? What does she want?! I told her I'm NOT joining the damn judo cl-" Shinomiya Koharu "Oh shit, talk about a glow up. It's not like I knew her all that well back then either, but I almost didn't recognize her now! At least there ain't no way she remembers me now either, thank god. Glad she's doin' well, but I really don't need her talkin' to me and drawing even more attention." Takaya Chihara "Nerd alert! Man, can't believe I was ever friends with this guy. Dude's just like the rest, saw him almost drop his stack o' papers tryina avoid me in the hallway. Fine, whatever, not like I'm all eager to sit down with him and talk about... what, studies? Grades? Borin'." Other Information - Spends a lot of his free time playing online games, usually as a medic, healer, or whatever the game's equivalent is. Lately, he's been pretty into Underwatch. He enjoys knowing that, as a healer, he is in fact needed by an entire team of people, even if they don't outright say it. And there's nothing quite as satisfying as passive-aggressively shoving his healing staff where the sun don't shine if one of his teammates acts up. So, well, if you've ever wondered why your cute catgirl of a healer becomes a swearing, toxic hellian at the drop of a hat, now you know. It was probably Ryuu. - Green thumb by circumstance, all thanks to Grandma's garden. Granted, his hands are still often scratched up, if not because of the cats, then because he isn't very good at handling sharp objects or thorns in the garden. - All the moving and trouble he's gotten himself into have caused him to fall behind and miss enough school that, at seventeen, he's the oldest first year to start at the local school. He tries to hide his age, but few things stay a secret in such a small community.

Physical Description In all honesty, Ryuu wouldn't need to stand out as much as he does. He's only a little taller than average, and doesn't have any particular features that would notably stick out, were he to conform to dress code and lose the garnish. He is athletic, sure, but not to the extent it'd turn heads in a casual setting — especially with absolute units like Junko around. Add in the offensively red hair, red contacts, cap, earrings, and the tattoo his father almost disowned him over and the tendency to try and skirt dress code whenever and wherever possible, though, and suddenly you have a dude that very much sticks out. Part of it is just his personal preference; the way he dressed when he felt part of a group for the first time back in Tokyo. In part, though, it's a deliberate choice, a blaring middle finger, a warning not to stray too close. At least, at school. At home, he dresses much more traditionally, quite liking his grandmother's handmade samue and jinbei in summer in particular. He loses the contacts too, even if he still refuses to tame his hair — though that might be more inability than anything else. Personal Story Ever since young, Ryuu has been a troublemaker — especially if you were to ask his no-nonsense, self-made parents, who hoped their son might not only inherit their successful tech firm, but their good business sense and ambition as well. A futile hope, they realized early on, when Ryuu clearly lacked both the patience and the smarts to keep up with his peers, let alone rise above them. What he did have in spades was curiosity and boldness. He was always the one to go first when exploring new — admittedly, often dangerous — places, and he was the first to speak up for himself and others when he saw the need arise — be it against bullies or teachers. Sometimes his meddling came from a good place; the will to help out other kids who couldn't help themselves. Sometimes, though, he really did it because, quite frankly, he rather enjoyed the rush, the feeling of something happening in a life that his parents did their best to make dull. Reasons hardly mattered to his parents, however. A kid who stood out was a kid in need of stricter rules and boundaries, even punishment if necessary, lest rumours start to spread. For as long as Ryuu can remember, the most notable part of his year were always the summers. His family used to vacation on Kumoriyama Island, where his paternal grandparents lived. Ryuu loved the island. He used to sneak out come every opportunity to explore, and had quite a few interesting encounters there over the years. Every year, upon returning, he seemed to be more well-behaved for a time after, almost as if the clean island air had soothed him, or chased away whatever yokai must've possessed him for the rest of the year. Unfortunately, while still in elementary school, their island vacationing tradition came to an abrupt halt, as Ryuu broke the nose of another boy local to the island. He insisted he'd done it to save a girl, but his parents were decidedly not interested in his reasons and, fearing backlash towards them or his father's parents, decided to no longer take him with them. And so, deprived of not only the one thing that made him happy, but forced to spend his summers thereafter with his uncle in the heart of bustling Tokyo, Ryuu's behaviour worsened. Only, in the big city, he wasn't the only troublemaking kid around — and so, as he reached his preteen and eventually teenage years, he managed to eventually find his own crew. People who understood him and accepted him, without question. Delinquents, many of whom had done way worse things than Ryuu could ever imagine getting involved in. For the first time, Ryuu really cared about fitting in however, and so instead of trying to shed his issues, he cultivated them into a proper tough guy persona. Until, once again, his parents'd had enough. Remembering that the rural island had helped at least somewhat all those years ago, they sent him back to Kumoriyama, this time to live with his paternal grandfather. He had made a man out of his son in his yourh — surely, he could do the same for his unruly grandson. He could not. He did make Ryuu behave for a time, granted, but out of fear rather than respect, and only by forcing him to suppress all the feelings and thoughts his grandfather deemed bothersome or unmanly. So, the boy who used to wear his emotions on his sleeve, crying when sad, shouting when angry, became a ticking timebomb, calm until the dam burst, and then came the fists and the violence and the plethora of rumours and tales and whispers shared between the locals. A truly troublesome kid, that Ryuu. Troublesome to a point, some said, that he even drove a good man to an early grave out of sheer stress! Never mind that his grandfather had already been old as time when Ryuu had moved in, let alone when he'd passed at almost ninety. By then, Ryuu had already been in trouble with the law more than once, and considering he was now a minor without a guardian, a move back to the mainland seemed to be in order. At least, were it not for Grandma, living on the other side of the island. Grandma was not truly Ryuu's grandmother, their blood connection distant at best, but to Ryuu she quickly became the closest family he'd ever had. She took him in, and the few years he spent with her were— if not calm, at least calmer. Until she, too, had to leave. Her daughter overseas needed her, living alone after a grave accident. Grandma promised, however, that she would be back as soon as she was able, and that she would send postcards regularly. She's kept that promise, and Ryuu's learned patience waiting for her return and taking care of her house, garden, and the many cats she used to feed. In the few months since her leaving, Ryuu has managed to keep out of trouble for the most part — except that one time he assaulted a police officer, who came to check the premises with no regard for his Grandma's beloved flowers. He ended up locked up for a few nights for that. And he'd do it again, goddamnit.

wraith

Wraith

Race:

Halfling

Gender:

Male

Age:

25

Appearance:

Short and unassuming even when compared to his kin, Wraith is easy to miss in a crowd — and that is by design. Standing a few inches short of three feet, he comes across as little more than a mobile pile of tattered clothes, scurrying from shadow to shadow. Even when standing still, his posture is poor and stance wary, as if the slightest sound could spur him into a run — a stark contrast to his face, which seems to be stuck on an indifferent scowl if you do happen to see it, and his voice, a monotone mumble. As a whole, he is quite unremarkable, and not many consider him a threat. That's their first and last mistake.

Cloaked in a hood and hidden by a mask, few are those who have actually caught a proper glimpse of the halfling's face — but those who have, will likely remember it, a fact Wraith loathes. A past magical injury has branded him, carving blue veins into the skin below his eyes. They ripple as if made of liquid, an occasional shimmer giving them an eerie hue. Their shade is a turquoise similar to his eyes; sharp, unnatural, unnerving.

Though Wraith comes across as unarmed at a glance, no self-respecting warrior truly assumes him to be such. His kind always carry blades, the smart ones two, and the ones that live the longest as many as they can. Wraith intends to live long.

Personality:

Having long since learnt that knowledge is power, Wraith lets slip very little of himself or his intentions. Some things, however, can be surmised easily enough. For one, Wraith is reserved, keeping to himself in every sense of the word; he abhors physical proximity as much as emotional, and is at his most comfortable (which is to say, not very) when at an arm's length away from others. What he isn't is shy; when he does decide to talk, he does so with deadpan confidence and the boldness of someone who never quite learnt how and when to stay his tongue. In a similar vein, insults from most others don't seem to bother him either, and though he can certainly display frustration, he doesn't anger easily.

Curiosity is a vice Wraith has suffered from for the longest while, and try as he might, he cannot keep it completely under wraps. Some say his cowardice is another, perhaps even worse vice, though Wraith considers it his greatest asset. It's his alertness and willingness to drop whoever might slow him down that has gotten him this far — and he isn't about to stop anytime soon. If you can trust anything about this halfling, it's his determination to see the morrow.

Background:

Little is known of Wraith's past, including his birth name, and he'd very much prefer to keep it that way. But to paint a proper picture, it's important to know that where he came from, halflings were not considered a jolly, merry lot with big smiles and bigger yet bellies; they were known as conniving, cunning thieves, likely to steal your coin the second you looked away. As such, Wraith wasn't exactly dealt the best of hands at birth. Living on the streets of a grandiose city known for its magical academy, he got by stealing scraps from mage apprentices and scribes.

That was, until he was caught — and instead of having his hands chopped or being sent to the gallows, he was offered an opportunity. The academy was looking for a few volunteers to help with a few of their experiments. He was promised an easy job even a kid like him could do, a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, and all the food he'd ever need. Even as a child, Wraith wasn't trusting, and knew there was no such thing as free dinner. But desperate and hungry, he agreed. Whatever they had in store for him, surely it couldn't be worse than his life now?

A decade or so later, as the research wing of the Grand Academia of Magic was burning to the ground behind him, Wraith thought back on that thought and laughed. Since, he returned to his old ways, putting to use the magic carved into his very body by the experimentation he was subjected to. Only this time, he stole lives instead of coppers. Turned out it was far more lucrative.

Talents:

🗡 Universal key // Give him a lock, any lock, and he will have it open before you can so much as blink. The same goes for disarming — and indeed setting — traps, whether magical or mundane.
🗡 Coward's weapon // While it might not sound like much compared to magic, Wraith is very knowledgeable about poisons, able to brew his own.
🗡 Never here // If you're able to see Wraith, it's likely because he's allowing you to see him. He's a master of disappearing at will, partly thanks to his magic, which can render him invisible and undetectable, as well as allow him to jump from shadow to shadow. However, as someone who's specialized in tearing magic away from their wielders, he is quite capable of hiding even without any magical aids. He's inhumanely nimble, and also able to run on walls and other such surfaces.
🗡 Mageslayer // Escaping from the academy was no easy feat, but during his preparations for it, Wraith became quite adept at killing magic wielders in particular. Thanks to the experiments he featured in, his body is highly resistant to magic, allowing him to shrug off spells that would down a regular person. He is not completely immune however, and the more magical harm comes upon him, the longer a breather he has to take to "recharge", so to speak.

Flaws:

🗡 Paranoia // Distrustful to a fault, Wraith's own paranoia prevents him from truly being able to make use of teamwork, and often has him run away even from his own if he suspects them to be after his life.
🗡 Shortstuff // While his short stature has its advantages, Wraith cannot deny the disadvantages either. Simply put, he's physically weak, unable to lift or carry heavy things or withstand nearly as many physical blows as magical. He's light, too, and one of his worst enemies so far has been a particularly strong wind. No, really.
🗡 Magical infliction // While the magic coursing within him offers him many a benefit, it is also unpredictable, the result of curious, not genius, minds. This can cause his magic to backfire at times, causing unpredictable results.
🗡 Curiosity killed the // Curious and greedy to such a degree that it sometimes supersedes his cowardice, Wraith cannot help but pocket every shiny, potential dangerous thing he comes across — or at least, have someone else do it for him. That was, ironically, how he ended up caught by the magical scholars in the first place.

Equipment:

🗡 Serrated dagger, with runes running along the length of the blade. Those in the know call it the Essence Reaver. Wraith calls it a dagger. Its blade never seems to dull, but its greatest strength is its uncanny ability to rend magic from its target. That is to say, a magic wielder injured with it will find themselves unable to properly channel their magic for a time. Weaker mages will lose their abilities altogether until their wounds have healed and their blood cleansed, while extremely powerful ones might experience recoil, or find it difficult to aim where they intended to. If taken from Wraith, the dagger's runes will fade and its special abilities cease to function until returned to his possession.
🗡 Tools of the trade; crowbar, ball bearings, lock picking set, small mirror, the usual things needed to get into places he isn't welcome in.
🗡 Vial of paralyzing poison.
🗡 Hooded cloak.

Miscellaneous:

xo

just a dude and his dog

B O R G E R S E N
B O R G E R S E N

"Sometimes, your closest family's got four legs."

_{[ ❇ ] B R I E F F A M I L Y H I S T O R Y}

The Borgersen family hasn't been in town for long, and the reputation they've built isn't entirely positive so far. Not quite used to the culture of greeting and talking to your neighbours, the silent, reclusive Artair and his potential shewolf can come across as cold, distant and even suspicious to some of the members of the community — especially when patrolling the streets in the early hours of the morning or late at night, wordless and armed. As for where the Borgersens came from and what Alistair does for a living, there are only guesses and rumours circulating about, some less complimentary than the others. He can be seen outside on his porch at odd hours of the day though, and he never seems to leave his house long enough to go to a workplace; rather, whenever he leaves, it's most often with a thermos, a backbag and the dog in tow.

_{[ ❇ ] F A M I L Y M E M B E R S}

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Live and let live." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

B O R G E R S E N, A R T A I R || P A T R I A R C H B O R G E R S E N, A R T A I R || P A T R I A R C H _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A loner at heart, Artair prefers the company of his dog to most people, and isn't very often seen interacting with others in the neighborhood. That doesn't mean, however, that he dislikes people. On the contrary, it's just that he's perfectly content watching the people around him live their lives happily, separate from his own. He feels he doesn't really know how to interact with them in a way would contribute to their lives, anyway. Instead, he prefers to show that he cares through actions. That is, he and Taiga patrol around the neighbourhood quite often, keeping an eye out for zombies and opportunistic outsiders alike. Ever vigilant, yet ever quite-suspicious-looking to the local folk. If it weren't for the copious amount of smoking he does and the nightmares that sometimes keep him from getting any proper shut eye, his lifestyle could be described as pretty healthy. After all, regardless of how little he slept, he can be found on a jog with Taiga every single morning before the sun rises, without exception. ▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Awoo." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

T A I G A || C O M P A N I O N T A I G A || C O M P A N I O N _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A rescue mutt who Artair claims rescued him, not vice-versa. She quite literally walked into Artair's life as a young pup, and hasn't left his side since. Due to her appearance, she gets mistaken for a wolf quite often (even Artair made the mistake at first, and to this day cannot say for sure whether she has some wolfdog in her), which makes many people mistrust her and give her a wide berth. At an estimated six years old, her crazy puppy days are long past. Confident and calm, she's an observer much like her owner, hardly phased by noise or the various small critters that pass through the neighbourhood. Her alarm bark is loud, but used sparingly. She does howl quite often, though, which doesn't exactly help with the wolf allegations. She's not too keen on most people, preferring to leave them alone and be left alone in turn, but there are a select few she likes allows to touch her, chosen by criteria even Artair isn't privy to.▅ ▅

The Whisper in the Dark

The Whisper in the Dark

AGE:

20

SEX:

Female

APPEARANCE:

What Cirilla loses in stature, she makes up for in attitude — and heel height. She's a good five feet of spite and accessories, with just enough patience to do her makeup in the mornings, and none left over for the rest of the day. She's thin, barely escaping being sickly-so, doesn't exactly have a physique meant for physical labor. Which is why, if you ever do fight her, she'd appreciate if you dropped dead now rather than later, k? No? Okay, but don't tell her she didn't warn you, because she just fucking did.

👹

When transformed, the most striking change are the two bright pink horns protruding from her forehead. Her eyes also become much deeper in colour — all the better to throw death glares with. Mostly, though, she just gets a sweet new getup with just a little bit more of everything; more leather, more spikes, more saturation, more reasons for her mother to roll in her grave. (Good riddance).

Oh, and she grows an inch. Or two. Arguably. Don't worry, once she knocks you on your ass, she'll look plenty tall either way.

GRIMOIRE:

A heart-shaped hair clip.

INSTRUMENT:

KISS & MAKE UP: A black handgun with pink highlights. It fires peace offerings — or as the normies call them, bullets. They, too, are pink. There's a heart-shaped charm hanging from the trigger guard, reminiscent of her grimoire.
GRADE: Silver
KEYWORD: Handgun
DAMAGE TYPE: Physical
DAMAGE: B
SPEED: C
SENTINEL: E
SPECIAL: WE ARE BUT DUST AND SHADOW | Upon dealing a final blow to an enemy, calls forth a summon from their shadow. This shadow creature takes the appearance and physical characteristics of the fallen foe, but its prowess is determined the same way as a [Summon] cast, using the instrument's grade. This ability has a six second cooldown.

STYLE:

HELLSPAWN: Black meets pink hot enough to make your eyes bleed. If it doesn't, all the spikes will, when applied directly into your eye sockets.
GRADE: Bronze
PHYSICAL: D
ARCANE: D
CHAOS: E
SPECIAL: STREETSIDE DEVIL | Gives the user two brightly coloured horns. They're somewhat sharp, I guess. Not enough to be truly dangerous or anything, but don't like, get close enough to be headbutted? Because she will do it. Unprompted.

GENRE:

FRIENDS ON THE OTHER SIDE: A style all about making friends. Literally, making her own friends. If you're a monster and willing to work with her, you can be counted among that lot. If you're not, you'll be sent to the other side, fast, most likely without ever finding out what hit you. Ciri's a little camera shy that way.
GRADE: Gold
ELEMENT: Shadow
NOTES: [Obfuscate, Intangible] Damage X (6), Restrain (4), Blink (4), Minor Heal (2), Summon (4), Enhance (2), Powerful (0), Homing (2), Avoid (2), AoE (2), Bend (0), Construction (4)
SPECIAL: ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT | Ciri has a particular affinity for the shadows, and the beings called forth from them. She can enhance her minions in two ways. She can use both of these modifications only once per operation, and they cannot be applied on the same cast.
Deepen Shadow / a creature summoned by the user receives a +1 rank to all of its attributes.
Stretch Shadow / when summoning a creature, creates a replica of them without extra mana cost. Any notes that would buff the first creature upon casting will be half as effective on the second creature.

LEITMOTIF:

SO(ME)THING ON YOUR MIND: Allows the user to speak telepathically with a sentient creature whose presence she's aware of. The connection is two-way, enabling a back and forth conversation via transferred thoughts.
GRADE: Silver

PR:

GRADE: Bronze
GEAR: Disguise (30cr), Self Defense Weapon (20cr), EMP GRenade (40cr), Medical Supplies (10cr)
SPECIAL: Leg Up in the Race | Do almost 4 inch heels count as a backup weapon? Cause they should.

BACKUP:

n/a

FACTION:

Maverick Alternative

TRIVIA:

In one way or another, monsters have always been part of Ciri's life, even before she knew they existed. Her parents worked in the field, her mother as an esper, father as an IT guy behind the former's operations. The two worked tirelessly to keep the city safe, and were well-respected by their peers. Or that's what Cirilla has since heard, anyway. If you ask her?

They fucking sucked.

In over their heads from the start, they were a prime target for monsters seeking to cultivate their misery crop, and before they realized it, they had become prey to the very things they were supposed to hunt. And young Ciri bore the brunt of it. It was, after all, easier to blame the wailing little shithead that had forced them to divert so much of their attention and time from their budding careers than to admit to being shit at their jobs, or something.

Luckily for Ciri, she made a friend early on. A friend no one believed existed at first — children did have wild imaginations, and regular humans, particularly such young ones, weren't supposed to be able to perceive monsters, let alone befriend them. Her friend was a large hound of some kind, big and fluffy and somehow able to fit into every shadow in her room all at once. Its where It lived, away from prying eyes and the light of the day.

Until one evening that Ciri cannot properly recall. She remembers her mother yelling, remembers her parents looking at her friend as if It was something bad, and then remembers them lunging for her, weapons in hand. She remembers she thought she would die, and that she didn't, because her friend was there. And then her parents were not.

Because It fucked them up.

For the next few years, Ciri grew up among monsters, though she couldn't really tell them apart from regular humans — yet apparently, there was supposed to be a huge gap between them and actual humans. Because, as it turns out, killing monsters was fair game, but apparently the opposite was not.

Ciri was eventually "rescued" from her "predicament" by GEMINI espers who, upon checking her information, realized she was related to one of their own. They handed Ciri her mother's old grimoire, which had since turned into a regular old hair clip, unresponsive to anyone's attempts to draw power from it. As a memento, they said, and brought her back to live among humans. They aided her in her daily tasks, trying to help her find a house she could call a home.

What they didn't realize was that she'd already had a home. And they'd burned it to the ground.

Assholes.

So when it turned out that in her hands her mother's hair clip turned into an active grimoire once more, it wasn't the GEMINI she joined, like her late parents had wished. It was their complete opposite; the Maverick Alternative.

It followed her. Because wherever she goes, It follows, like a shadow.

Good. After everything, she owes It her entire lifes's worth of hot mana meals. Thankfully, it's not like she's about to run out of misery anytime soon. The world's kinda shit like that.

suzuki, wip

Name:

Suzuki Himiko, "Hime"

Gender:

Female

Age:

18

Appearance:

Himiko stands a little above average at around 5'5'', taller with heels. Her exact weight is one of her most well-guarded secrets, but she has a slender body kept in shape by exercise and a strict dieting regime. She makes it a point to always dress fashionably, sporting the latest trends and most expensive brands she can, complete with a sunny disposition and of course, a smile. No one apart from her family has ever seen Himiko without makeup either, though they might not realize it. The trick is to apply enough that no one knows you used any at all, after all.

Personality:

The Himiko you see at first glance is quite different from the Himiko you'll come to know with time. Her job in the entertainment business demands her to display certain traits even when the cameras are not rolling, and over the years she's learn to perfectly exemplify what a budding idol should be. Youthful, bubbly and too big a ditz to grasp difficult topics, she comes across as endlessly naive and twice as kind.

In truth, she isn't as stupid as she would have you believe, and even her kindness comes with baggage. Above all else, she wants to be adored and cannot handle being viewed in a negative light or - heaven forbid - disliked. Obsessed with her reputation, her kindness is a means to get people to flock to her and to wish to be around her. That is to say, her kindness isn't disingenuous - but it isn't entirely selfless either.

As for her being a ditz... well, there is certainly truth to that, as she likely isn't the sharpest tool in any given shed. However, despite working alongside her studies, she has somehow managed to keep herself afloat at school. Barely, and with the help of many a generous schoolmate, true, but still. She might not shine academically, and she can be scatterbrained, but she is resourceful when it matters.

Himiko is also very much a girly-girl, and her work alone dictates that she must spend copious amounts of time on her appearance. She can be quite superficial, often clinging to first impressions for longer than necessary, though she very rarely has a bad word to say out loud.

She hasn't had much time to study due to her work, Some of it is self-inflicted; if she genuinely is not well-read in a topic, there is less chance of her letting slip something too intelligent, after all. To somewhat alleviate this, she has been studying languages. They're a 'safe' subject to excel in, and help her spread her fanbase beyond Japan's borders to boot.

Needless to say, Himiko is not at her happiest where she is now - though she would readily tell you otherwise. As far as she is concerned, this is the only path she can keep walking on. She could never stop being an idol. She couldn't live without the attention, much as it eats away at her person.

Skills:

xo

Equipment:

xo

Echo:

Name:
Appearance:
Abilities:

Brief Backstory:

With a face like hers, Himiko was born to succeed, or so said her mother. A model in her own youth, her mother had missed the chance to go big, and wanted to make sure Himiko didn't have to suffer a similar fate. No doubt in part so she could live through her, though her mother wasn't necessarily conscious of such a motive herself. Either way, since she was born, Himiko was always the apple of her mother's eye, and the latter would gush about her to anyone who would listen, and even to a few who wouldn't.

There isn't a lot to tell in Himiko's story so far, because all of it was pre-written, predetermined, like a script she was handed at youth and told to act out.

fom a very young age, she gushed about her daughter to anyone who would hear

Mari Yamamoto

Name: Mari Yamamoto (originally Maya Norgaard)
Titles: She doesn't have enough renown to be granted titles
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Objective for the Grail: Her wish is to no longer be wrapped up in the dangerous world of magic. Whether that means she wishes to rid the whole world of magic, or simply remove her own crest and circuits, she does not know yet.
Command Seal:

seal

Personality:

At heart, Mari is an easygoing, positive person. She's sociable and loves to laugh, even if it's at her own expense - after all, god knows she's bit of a scatterbrain, and not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. She can be surprisingly blunt, mostly because she speaks before she thinks. But while Mari's no hero, she is a decent person; if someone needs help and it doesn't endanger her, she'll offer help readily and without asking for anything in return. Mari likes to daydream, and frequently talks to herself - especially whenever she needs to hype herself up, which has been tragically often as of late. She's meticulous about her appearance, and loves to pamper herself.

Mari has never been a particularly ambitious or hardworking person, nor one that takes competitions of any sort too seriously. It's not that she's lazy, she's just always been content with life's simple pleasures, and hasn't had the need to push herself out of her comfort zone. Winning has never been a big deal, as long as everyone had fun. Until recently, of course. The turmoil of recent events has left her far more stressed and anxious a person than she used to be, but it has also made her more determined and hardened. She still doesn't like the idea of hurting anyone, but she has to win her wish, and she can't exactly let others get in the way of that. Just... if they could give up when asked nicely, that'd be really cool, you know?

Bio:

From the age of five up until recently, Mari's life was mundane enough not to warrant elaboration. She grew up in a middle class family, had friends, did decently in school, and most recently started to work part-time in a coffee shop alongside her university studies. For the longest time, her biggest problem was trying to juggle studying, work and social life, and her biggest wish was to get a cat - one of those breeds that don't cause allergies. To her, the name Norgaard meant nothing.

But she meant a lot to the Norgaards. Though few in number and on the brink of being wiped from history, they are an old family of magi with a questionable reputation. They originated from Northern Europe, with a family tradition of galdrar, divination (seiðr, as they themselves call it) and, if rumours were to be believed, experimentation with magic circuit transplantation.

Twenty two years ago, Mari was born into their midst - though at the time, she went by Maya. She was to be the heir of Norgaards' magical knowledge, and her parents wasted no time in starting the engraving and training process to make her such. They never managed to finish what they started, however. Theirs was a family of ill repute, and shortly after Maya had turned five, a divination practitioner of the family received a disturbing vision; their mansion was to be attacked in a matter of hours, the whole family wiped out by disgruntled rivals.

Wanting to hide their heir, the Norgaards used magic to seal Maya's memories and arranged for her to be sent to safety. Only, the carriage was attacked on the way. Though the Norgaards were not entirely wiped out, many of their members died or disappeared voluntarily, and Maya ended up in an orphanage with no known relatives left to care for her. It was the Norgaards' intent to come get her once it was safe to do so, but much to their misfortune, she was adopted by a half-Japanese couple - who then subsequently moved back to Japan. Her adoptive mother was a therapist, and worked hard to try and cure her of her amnesia, but to no avail. Though she remembered her first name and basic life skills, she had no recollection of her birth family - just as the sealing magic dictated.

And so, Mari lived a happy, normal life.

That was, until two years ago, her past caught up with her. She found strange people at her door, demanding her to come with them. She refused, of course, but it mattered little. She was dragged away, the seal on her memories lifted, and her family threatened if she did not cooperate. It was then, on that dark autumn night, that she learnt of the existence of magic, magus, and her supposed fate as an heir to a family of them. She was forced to undergo training and the crest was finished forcibly - leading to one complication after another. Mari struggled, fought and argued, but threats towards her parents always quelled her anger.

It was during those torturous times that a volcanic eruption shook the country. In the midst of the chaos that ensued, few were surprised even if they happened to see her uncharacteristically depressed, tired or difficult to reach.

Recently, she was told of a war, and that she was supposed to win it. To wish upon the Holy Grail and restore their family to its previous glory. For once, Mari agreed. After all, she, too, had a wish - but it was not in the Norgaards' favor.

Magic Circuits:

Switch: The smell of blood
Number of Magic Circuits: B
Quality of Magic Circuits: A

Elemental Affinity:

Aether

Magecraft:

General Magecraft - Mari knows the basics - the very basics, and still occasionally needs revision.

Galdrar - Rite-like spells used for various purposes in the past, including easing childbirth, creating storms and blunting blades. Unfortunately, Mari has mostly been taught harmful, curse-like variations, which she's reluctant to use. Her curses require incantations and either something belonging to the target, or a direct line of sight to them. Her curses mostly focus on affecting the mind; bringing about bouts of fear, madness, paranoia or other such altered form of consciousness, or simply affecting the mood to a hindering degree. The exact nature depends on the target, and tends to focus on enhancing already existing negative traits, emotions, beliefs or mental issues. The duration depends on how much mana she uses and how susceptible the target is, and varies from a few minutes to a few hours.

She's also capable of tampering with equipment; dulling blades and softening armour somewhat, as is tradition with galdrar. However this requires direct contact with them, and is therefore extremely risky to use.

One form of galdrar is gandr, which was among the first spells Mari was taught. Her shots aren't strong enough to be considered bullets, nor can they pierce bone. She is able to fire them very rapidly however, and they do hurt when landed on vital spots. If nothing else, they're quite a painful distraction.

Seiðr - Magic far older than Mari's family lineage, it was rediscovered by her ancestors a few hundred years ago. The magic is focused around telling and reshaping the future. Not something to be used on the spot, preparing a divination session takes time and energy, and leaves the user vulnerable; after all, if one is gazing into the future, they cannot see the present. One also cannot feel their body during these sessions, and therefore being injured in the midst of one could easily prove fatal.

Mari is able to see glimpses of things to come within a twenty four hour period, but what she sees varies greatly. Usually, she strives to focus her mind's eye with some sort of a catalyst; blood from a person who's future she wants to read, a picture of a place, a vividly imagined scenario she wants to know the likelihood of. The better the catalyst, the clearer the vision. Either way, she cannot directly alter the future through her visions like the ancient shamans could, and they serve purely as a means of reconnaissance. If she wants to change what she saw in a vision, she must do it the old fashioned way.

Crest:

The Norgaard family's crest is engraved onto her back. There is conflicting information as to when the family was founded, but it's said their forefathers are from the time of the Kalmar Union.

Weapon:

She has no weapons to speak of, but has taken some rudimentary martial arts classes and is, at the very least, very nimble.

Here to scratch your sofa

^{_{(will also drop this and this here, for reasons)}}

Age of Death: — Older than her cubs, younger than Mother
Gender: — Female
Race: — Ti'kari
Psychology: — Now and always, until the moment she is required not to be, she is a watcher. She observes. At times, she merely stalks; at times, she prowls close and prods, paws, speaks, asks. Anything to satiate the curiosity of a stranger in a strange land. Few are the things that scare her, the jungle sovereign, aware of her power, and not aware of yours. She fights not for fighting's sake, but if claws are to clash, she intends to outlive you and yours. She has a duty, be that she cannot remember it, cannot hear Mother here. But once she remembers, she will act.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{[She who hunts]}
All she remembers is the hunt.

The soil underneath her paws, the silence and the sounds both, as the jungle held its breath, and her prey did not. Air escaped it in ragged wheezes, tore from its throat as screams and shouts and terror shaped into words she did not understand. There were those that would, those alike her prey, skin on two legs, but they no longer breathed at all, for she'd caught them a moment prior. They lay upon the jungle floor in her wake, feeding the very life they had tried to take. As she ran, their blood, still warm on her paws, imprinted warnings in the duff; stay away, for you are not welcome here, you who are not of nature and do not obey its laws. You take more than you are given, you take when you do not need to take, and you take, and you take, and you take. The Mother has asked kindly - now, she demands.

There was one final scream, one final swing of a limb torn from a tree, shaped and shaved and made sharp by hands that wanted to take all. They would take no more.

⑴ A body; a weapon: her weapons were not forged in fire, not conjured by a vile humoid mind, that which dreams of war and death and conquest. They cannot be cast aside nor stolen from her, and even fear of death shall not make them tremble. They're Mother's gift to her and her kind, so that she may run, and hunt, and feed her young, and be not tamed by Them who come with cages. Fangs to break bone, claws to tear flesh, muscle to carry her, a predator, to you, the prey.

⑵ A passenger; watchful: she is not alone. She never has been, truly, surrounded by life as she was, wherever humoid had not yet tread. Her jungle, ancient, boundless, was alive in so many ways beyond the comprehension of none but Mother, and it is what made it home. But this is different. 'Tis a presence inside her, lurking underneath her skin, breathing and stirring and bleeding out where her stripes run, dormant, always, except when not. And when it wakes, she sleeps, and her dreams are not of nature.
Skill description here.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[What you took was not yours to take, nor mine to give]}
It had troubled her for a time by then, the pain in her shoulder. Pierced by the wooden beak of a humoid bird, the kind they let loose from wood and string, coated in black when it flew, then red when it struck. It had hurt, but she had been hurt before. Pain had not slowed her, so she'd pounced, and then the humoid had hurt worse. But briefly; always briefly, for a single beat of the heart, and no more.

When it did not go away, the pain, she lived with it, hunted with it, did not know it might fester, worse than anything had ever festered, in the jungle, in nature, under Mother's eye. She did not see the signs because she could not look; the crawling up of new stripes, from shoulder to neck, to her head, to her skull, to her brain, to her mind. To what connected her to Mother and all her children, all that was.

It is not of nature to hate, even when one breathes their last. Death has walked with her since she first pounced upon an unsuspecting rodent, since her teeth first tore flesh. She has heard its whisper in the wind, as its taken away the fear of a felled boar, the pain of a deer in her claws. It has taken of her kind, too; a cub before its time, an elder calling for an end. One ought not fight it, the one enemy for whom strength means naught.

Yet, she did. And as she trashed, in pain, in fear, in agony, the dark descending upon her fast, too fast, not from the sky but from beneath her own skin, consuming her, she knew, and it made her angry. Whatever the humoids did, whatever manner of death they wrought, it was not the death of the old or the ailing, it was not the snap of a neck or the closing of tired eyes. It was devouring by a power unknown. It was consumption, as one consumes their prey, but from the inside, and for a time longer than a single beat. It was not of nature. And in fighting it, in fighting Death, she, too, was no longer of nature.

And so, she hated.

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

Working on a Trickster!

Aesithas (D&D 5e Homebrew) - On Hiatus

I wrote it up under the consideration of ‘research downtime’ taking time, so all of it would be known to everyone at the ‘end of the downtime activity’. If you wished to roleplay out specific details you can feel free to divvy up those research points as you see fit.

@Fading Memory

Oohh, gotcha! I was thinking of having Raj reply to Amaryllis, but also if we're about to move on from research downtime and skip ahead, that's also fine! Whichever works.

Aesithas (D&D 5e Homebrew) - On Hiatus

Just making sure for my post, which parts of the info would be known to I'Rajith? He researched a lot of the topics, but I'm not sure which parts he knows versus what was meant for others.

Arknights - E.R.R.A.N.T.

Just to check, are canon operators allowed?

Epyllion, a PbtA game about dragons

Not familiar with the system, but that's never stopped me before!

P A T H I A: THE CERULEAN ORDER [closed]

I'm in!