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Please Scroll Past

I'm a newbie so this is a little bit of experimental stuff. If this annoys you then I'm going to kill it when I get the hang of something... though it shouldn't annoy you if you ignore it. Ignore me...

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Introduction

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Welcome to a world where zombies are no more than pesky rats. They invade your house, eat all the food, tear up your garden, turn your neighbours and pee everywhere. Zombies never used to be a problem in the small country town of Eastapple and it wasn't until lately that zombies became a frequent occurance. These zombies are not as bloodthirsty as you'd expect - it appears that all they are looking for is a good boogie with a side quest of world domination. Seriously.

They spend their time partying at night and slinking away during the day, chasing after the living to bite them, eating anything remotely edible and, well, they have the sex drive of rabbits. In small numbers, zombies can be easily dealt with, but, thanks to the local Warlock (who is also an alien) an outbreak occurred. Soon the children of Eastapple found themselves waking up to all adults in the town turned to partying, garden-destroying zombies and trapped behind a magical barrier.

Now, only a small number are left; the gardening club of Eastapple Junior High and the Exterminators from Eastapple Senior High School. The gardening club is primarily focused on keeping their food source, the school vegetable gardens, alive and some are so passionate they value their tomatoes over their own lives. The Exterminators are a group that are determined to wipe out the entire zombie population, despite there probably being a cure. But both groups share a similar goal ... to find that Warlock, kick his ass and end the "apocalypse" once and for all...

... and grow the most amazing vegetables in time for the Eastapple Produce Fair. Yes, even the Exterminators.

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You may have already noticed, but these zombies are based off the zombies from The Sims. Here's some more information about the zombies.

1. So, these zombies are going to be sensitive to sound just like any other.
2. They're also slow walkers, not these new fast zombies.
3. They dance whenever a radio is turned on near them.
4. They constantly hit on one another and can lust over people that aren't turned, so watch out.
5. They can be turned back, but only by the Warlock himself.
6. They don't like being ignored but will not attack you if you pretend to not notice them. They start to question their own existence if people do not notice them - yes, they are that stupid.
7. They have a soft spot for small children and may let you live if you're kawaii enough.

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I'm going to give each character an archetype to make sure that they don't end up too similar, which they often do. Just incorporate the trait/stereotype into your character - but you can be creative with it! Like, make them a complete failure of the stereotype they're supposed to be, or make it their persona/true personality. The characters should all be 12-15 for the gardening club and 15-18 for the Exterminators.

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Character 1: The hero/heroine. Also the leader. // OPEN

Character 2: The stoic. The younger sibling of the leader (can be younger than 12). // OPEN

Character 3: The angel. // OPEN

Character 4: The crazy. // OPEN

Character 5: The asshole. // OPEN

Character 6: The airhead. // OPEN

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Character 7: The badass. Also the leader. // OPEN

Character 8: The genius. // OPEN

Character 9: The sloth. // OPEN

Character 10: That one optimistic guy. // OPEN

Rules

1. I like having anime FCs. So, only anime FCs!
2. I'd like everyone to post between every 1-2 weeks, and if your can't, then tell us in the

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Character Portrait: Dorothy Blue DRAFT "I wish my legs will grow a mile. Then I can walk away and go to all the pretty places grown ups always go."

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Form Room

Form Room by CabbageAngel

AKA Main Lobby

Class

Class by CabbageAngel

LeArNiNg!!

The Game

The Game by CabbageAngel

You may view it as fiction and fabricated, but for us it's a reality! >:(

World 1

World 1 by CabbageAngel

MOD = Dr_Empen

World 2

World 2 by CabbageAngel

MOD = Syntax Error

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First and foremost, Quinn was not an idiot. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. It was more of a comfort to her than “somebody will come for me” or “when I’m free, you’ll all be dead!” There was no room for wishful thinking or empty promises. She was on her own and if the chance presented itself, it was smarter to not attempt to slaughter all of her captors in a vengeful wrath. That would be something an idiot would do.

She told him not to stray far, before he ran from her. Everything was clear for a moment, then. This was it, the moment they had all been waiting for – the boy was leading her into the trap he had marked her for. She had drawn a pistol and made her way after him to find only the boy. Quinn was quick to pick him up and rush towards the safety of the camp, before she felt it. It was just a tiny, little pinprick. Then time started to meld.

She remembered that farmer being congratulated and offered a position back in the family. She remembered the shot, though she couldn’t remember why it happened. The farmer’s wife screaming as she was dragged off before the Scarecrow stopped them. The Scarecrow, as she nicknamed the man with a crow on his shoulder, had knelt before the pregnant lady and stroked her belly, cooing to the unborn child… something. Quinn had watched the entire exchange from a tiny gap in the coffin.

All that came next were pinpricks and the word Triveila, repeated over and over again. When she was awake once more, her limbs heavy from the constant injections, she dug her nails into the wood and carved that word in there until her fingers bled. She didn’t make it far, before a wheel hit a rock and her coffin shifted. Her priorities changed, then.

Forcing her coffin off the back of the wagon without a plan of what to do wasn’t the most intelligent thing Quinn had ever thought to do, but it wasn’t her escape she had in mind. As Angus made the dash during her distraction, Quinn had felt relief – until his damned mother had to scream out his name, alerting all to his escape. In the struggle she had managed to use the mercenary’s weight against him and make him stab one of the horses with the needle, before being reintroduced to the simple, classic way of knocking someone out.

She didn’t feel the pinpricks after that... but the memories became even more blurred and confusing. Some not making sense at all. She remembered asking for her brother.

Her parents told her he was away on business. It was unfair, Oleander was always busy with something. Sometimes it felt like she didn’t even have a brother. When she did see him, he was so cold and distant, they might as well have been strangers. But if her brother not being around had any positives, it was that her parents’ attentions were solely devoted to her. She watched them eat the cake she had baked, her hands tugging on her frilly green skirts and feet dangling above the ground. The showered her with praises, “This cake is delicious, you put the cook to shame.” “Oh, how your piano has improved. We have to show off your playing next we have guests, and that lovely voice of yours.” “That’s a sad story, little princess. Write a happy ending and I’m sure you will keep your husband entertained.”

“I want to tell my stories to more people than a husband,” she replied to that, to which her parents laughed. Ottavia didn’t know what else to do but laugh too. She must have said something funny, but still, this laughter lasted seconds too long. She squirmed uncomfortable on her bony seat and reached forward to take a slice of the cake for herself. She sat back down with her slice, ignoring the creaking and bringing a small forkful of the cake to her lips… then she set it down on her plate and pushed it away from her.

“Mother, Father,” she began to inquire politely, “What are we doing to these people?”

The sunlight filtering through the window onto this pleasant scene dimmed and the billowing drapes settled down like dead weight. Her father barely looked up from his reading.

“They aren’t people, Ottavia, you are mistaken.”

Quinn, hair pinned up and dress plain and black, gingerly removed her weight from the scarred back she was sitting on. They gave a little moan of relief. “Father –“

“Sit down, Ottavia.” Her father had stood at his end of the table, his olive green eyes – her eyes – looking at her with disdain. Quinn sat back down on the woman's back without question. Her mother gazed sympathetically at her, then shook her head and returned to her meal. Two bony, shaky hands snaked their way over the table, the bruised body of a young man following them. The man crawled his way towards her, his head hanging low as he didn’t dare make eye contact. Her cake was crushed beneath his knees as he knocked everything on the table aside. Her father strolled up to her with him, ignoring the destruction of the table spread. “They aren’t people,” he repeated, not taking his eyes off her as he grabbed the man’s hair and slammed his head down on the table. Quinn gave a short cry and brought her hands to her mouth, falling backwards off the woman on her hands and knees. The young man’s mouth was forced open as her father jammed his fingers in it. The young man’s eyes were dead as they looked directly down at her, his tongue hanging out lewdly, “Do you really consider something so depraved human?”

“Father, please…”

“They aren’t people, Ottavia,” he growled. Quinn scrambled away from him on the floor, only to be held still by more scarred, bony hands. She shook her head in protest, tears threatening to spill. “Say it. Tell me what they are.”

“Stop it! Leave him alone!” she cried as her father grabbed the man’s tongue, threatening to rip it from his mouth.

“She doesn’t like that, darling,” her mother’s soft, kind voice rang clear over the chaos. Quinn’s fast beating heart calmed ever so slightly as she saw her mother stand from the table and walk over with dignity. Her blue eyes shone with empathy, and then… they were no longer shining and beautiful, they were bulging like a fish being torn from the depths of the sea and brought to the surface. Foam mixed with blood dripped from her mouth as she uttered, “Perhaps this is why she killed us.”

Her parents crumpled, deathly pale and bleeding from their eyes, nose and ears. Quinn shrieked and drew her knees in as they hit the ground, bringing her hands over her ears to shut everything out. Memories popped off like pistols; a whip, a fire, a golden eye and empty rooms and -

She lifted her heavy head, chained to a wall, unable to see anything past the canvas on her head. Every sense felt abused and her body was exhausted. She could hear the soft cawing of crows and running water, something she barely noticed she could hear before. Making out shifting figures through the worn fabric of the bag, she yanked slightly on her chains, then immediately fell limp again and squeezed her eyes shut when she felt eyes turned to her.

“… let me have a turn with the knife,” a voice reached her ears as the drug’s effect on her slowly wore off. She barely heard a response, but picked up on a name – Carringway. Carringway, Carringway… she remembered that name from somewhere distant, like a dream…

“Is the little thing awake?”

That haughty voice took the air from her. She clenched her fists to try and stop the shaking, her chest expanding and falling irregularly. Instinctively, she squirmed her back against the wall like she was trying to bury her way through.

Light suddenly pierced her eyes as the bag was whipped off her head. It felt harsh and painful, though its source was only a few candle fixtures on the walls. She forced her furious, burning eyes open despite the pain and looked up to see her. The narrow, painted face of a woman framed by thick fiery waves. One clever, wicked golden eye regarded her prisoner, the other covered up by hair and a decorative hat fixed over it.

“Rucia,” Quinn rasped, a simple greeting that said so much more from the hatred etched into it.

“Saphine,” the woman corrected her patiently, “I believe I should be calling you Quinn?” Quinn didn’t reply, opting to look away. “Quinn Xe’ Duzelle… a lovely name, though I must confess, I was fond of your old one. You don’t mind if I still call you by it, do you, Lady Virmonte?” Quinn shuddered, bringing a smile to Rucia’s face. She moved forward to graze her fingertips against Quinn’s biceps. Quinn immediately tensed up at her touch and Rucia gave her arms a squeeze, nodded with a vaguely impressed expression, then moved down to her thighs. At last, after a while of poking and prodding, she moved up and slapped Quinn’s face lightly, “Look at me.” Quinn raised her head up slightly and Rucia pinched her cheeks together, moving it around as she observed it, “There’s that pretty face I remember so well. Show me those teeth.” Quinn’s jaw was pried open and Rucia looked inside. Quinn knew this routine… she knew it a bit too well.

“What do you plan to do to me?” she demanded, already quite aware of her plan.

“Must we go into details now?” Rucia lamented. The lanky, dark-skinned man with a crow had entered the room with a tray holding a cute little tea set. It was out of place for… this place, but not unusual for Rucia. “I’ll spoil your appetite. Tea?” Quinn shook her head, but a tea cup was forced up to her lips regardless. Steaming hot tea dribbled down her chin, and despite the scorching pain, Quinn didn’t break eye contact from the woman force feeding her – much to the woman's irritation. She frowned and set the empty cup back on the tray, shooing the crow man away. “It’s been years since we last chatted, Lady Virmonte. Where have you been since you evaded me?” No answer. “You are being a poor guest, dear.

“I went to Veilbrand,” Quinn answered carefully.

“Ah, of course. You seem to have done well for yourself in that shithole. However did you manage to keep the gold flowing?”

“I became a jeweler.”

Rucia’s brow raised in surprise, then her sparkling eye narrowed, “How honest of you.” Her painted nail trailed up her neck and caressed one of the pearl-caged earrings Quinn wore. A small smile crept up on her as she played with it, before she tore herself away and turned her back to her, “Now, I see you’re still travelling with that mercenary. From the corpses of my men he left in the Capital, I’d say he’s quite devoted to you. Are you intimate?”

Quinn was taken aback by the question, her glare faltering for just a moment, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Lady Virmonte,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, “I’m asking whether you are involved with my Marcel.” For a moment, there was only white noise. Rucia turned to see Quinn’s expression and burst out laughing. “Does he never speak of me? How cruel of him.”

“Your what?!"

“Oh, do grow up,” Rucia tutted, “I was hoping to have nice, girly chat about his performance. I didn’t take you for a prude.” She returned to Quinn, getting uncomfortably close for comfort, “I care for you, darling Ottavia. I would love to let you go, to watch you flourish, but when new blood rises…” she sighed almost sadly, wincing as she removed her hat and tucked her bangs behind her ears. Quinn stared at the jagged scar running down her left side, into the squinting red gash an eye should have been, “Old blood dries,” the woman said, a tremble in her voice, “I will not allow you to spit in my face and walk away. This business began to burn from the fire that started with you.”

Quinn raised her chin proudly, growing tired of Rucia and the lies she was trying to beat her with, “Well, maybe, next time you’re in the market for a new secret base, don’t choose the most important building in the city,” she hissed, Especially when it belongs to me.”

The sound a slap echoed around the underground room and Quinn’s cheeks were clawed into, “Listen up, slug,” Rucia snarled into her face, “The Virmonte name ends here! From your reaction to my harmless little question before, I take it you’re a virgin. Don’t fret, I won’t let you die one. And when they’re done with you and you’re humiliated and helpless, I’ll come back for that pretty little face of yours. I will not let you die beautiful, Virmonte. You robbed me of that luxury.” She pulled back, bringing a hand up to cover her shame, then suddenly snatched at Quinn’s ear. Quinn yelped as her earring was torn from her lobe and Rucia raised it before her, then hurriedly took its hook between her lips and suckled off the blood. “As for how you’ll die…” she mused then whispered into Quinn’s bleeding ear, [color=#edb417]“I think poison will sting the most.” As she turned to leave, the crow on her heel, Quinn surged forward against her chains.

“I KNOW IT WAS YOU!” She roared. Rucia froze then looked over her shoulder, confusion evident on her face for just a moment.

“… Be gentle with her,” she said to the men in the room instead of addressing Quinn, “She’s not yours to cleave into.”

She left, some of the men opting to follow her. The only other woman in the room looked over the three men remaining with disgust before following the others.

“Her face and her virginity?” the crow man said with a cocked head as Saphine sighed and came to rest at the dining table. She took out a fan, looking quite exhausted with the ordeal. “Forgive me, Lady Saphine, but it sounds like you’re stripping her of what makes her valuable. You had her promised to Carringway, I believe?”

Saphine’s golden eye snapped up to him, “If you think any of the girls we ship with those pirates retain their virginity before they are sold, then your understanding of the world is foolishly ignorant, Luther.” She shut her eyes and fanned herself in silence for a moment, “I’ve changed my mind about selling her. I’d rather have her disposed where I can see it. And quickly. You heard of what happened to that idiot, Sketch.”

“Putting pride before a profit, Lady Saphine?”

There was a long pause, in which even Luther’s crow stopped fidgeting on his shoulder. She dangled Quinn’s earring above her, watching it catch the light, before shaking her head. “Luther, my darling, you know my heart better than I." She reached out a hand as a gesture for Luther to lean into it and stroked his cheek fondly, "I won’t disfigure her. I understand her worth.”

“Then what of the men?” Luther asked cautiously.

There was a furious scream from below, the scream of a man. Saphine stood up and fixed Quinn’s cage earring onto her left lobe, caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror, then beamed at herself. “Men?” she spoke up innocently, then frowned and shook her head, “What men? There have never been any men. She’s a virgin.” She held out her arm for Luther to take. He smiled reluctantly and escorted her out the door.






Quinn barely noticed the hand that was gripping her thigh, only that the little beast that had been tearing at her head had ceased, and even then, she had barely been awake for that. Her eyes fluttered open slightly to see a dark shape leaving the room just as another figure blocked everything from view. Her head drooped down and she weakly knocked him with a knee, feeling her consciousness slip, either out of exhaustion or to protect herself.

She heard the sounds of bones cracking and muscles being turned to bloody pulp, she even just managed to see it all through her lashes, but it didn’t feel real. None of what she was seeing felt real. She must have been hallucinating again. She watched as two burning red eyes came closer. In that moment, in what she thought was her final breath, she wondered how those eyes could be feared. They were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

As soon as the gag was removed from her mouth, she spat out a bloody chunk of ear that had been festering in her mouth. Saliva poured down her chin as she gasped for air, nearly hyperventilating. Thank the gods, it was finally out. She thought she would eventually have to swallow it.

“That’s disgusting,” the demon had remarked before freeing her from the chains. She dropped gracelessly to the ground and looked around in a daze at the gore that surrounded them, the headless man and the pulverized bird, then drooped her head back down and looked at the ear near her knees. Her mouth opened into an exhausted grin and she just… laughed.

It was an airy, pathetic laugh. She looked up at the demon, wincing at the pain laughing gave her. “You think…” she rasped between painful chuckles, You think… this is disgus-” She was interrupted by the sudden vomit surging up her throat.

Once she was done emptying her already empty gut, she remained curled over. Her shoulders shook violently and raw, bloodied fingers scraped against the stone floors as they curled into fists. Her head raised, furious eyes peering through the long blonde hair that had fallen over her face – looking directly at the last man the demon had left behind. He was offering him to her. She forced herself to her feet, stepped over her sick, and promptly wobbled and hit the floor again. She didn’t give up. Crawling over the blood-slicked ground towards him, she snatched a dagger from the beheaded man. The man had looked over to the Red-Eyed Demon and slumped to his knees in acceptance, allowing Quinn to hold the blade to his throat without taking the painfully long effort to stand. He looked at her with just as much hatred as she regarded him.

Quinn stopped herself from outright slitting his throat. She shut her eyes and took in a ragged breath, her brain ticking. With restraint she didn’t think she was capable of, she lowered the dagger and took his wrist, fixing his hand on the floor.
“How many fingers will I take?” she uttered dully. The man stirred slightly with panic.

“I dunno. All of ‘em?” he spat at her with a glare. She shook her head solemnly.

“How many fingers will I take?” she repeated, then added in barely a whisper, “You know how many.”

The man’s glare faltered a moment, before he shut his eyes and sighed. He looked up at the ceiling in defeat, “Three.”

Quinn just nodded. She didn’t have to say anything more. They both understood it. Turning her attention to his hand, she positioned the dagger, grit her teeth, and brought the blade down on his index finger with a sickly crunch. The man shouted and squirmed, but the pain she had caused him caused a sudden wave of strength and power to crash over Quinn and she kept his hand still as she severed the second finger. That finger took two attempts to completely detach.

“Y-You think this is justice, don’t you?” the man gasped as she sawed through the bone. His gasps of pain were replaced with growls, “My brother was fourteen. You didn’t even bother to know who you burned that day, Virmonte filth.” There was a small splash on the back of his hand and he looked up at Quinn, her eyes averted from his. The surprise on his face was quickly overridden by disbelieving anger. “Don’t you dare –“

He howled as the third finger was removed and tossed aside. Almost as quick as it happened, Quinn brought the dagger back up to his throat, “I’m not going to kill you,” she said strongly, “You tell Rucia of my ally. You tell her that I know what her family did to me. And you tell her…” she pressed the blade further, drawing blood, “That I will not be baited.”[/color] She drew away from him, pointing at the door with the dagger, “Go.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled out of the room, glancing back at the demon. Quinn sat in silence, resting her forehead against the end of the dagger’s hilt, as she listened to the man take a horse and hurry away with it. When she could hear nothing, she lifted herself from the ground and steadied herself against the wall. Still in her heels, she slowly lumbered to the door using the wall for balance, not even paying attention to gods-know-what she was stepping on. She paused at the door, turning her head slightly towards the demon without looking at him.

“I’m taking a bath,” she said, then walked out.

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The journey had been hellish, but they finally made it.

It was sundown the next day when they trudged into that small, dried up mining village. All weary, almost all of them travelling on three to four hours sleep. All but Linde; still wrapped up and sleeping in Sieghardt's arms, drugged up with whatever could help numb the pain, and Jeanne; her head flopped on Marcel's shoulder, where she had been softly snoring for the past two hours. Miriam had been on edge watching out for Te'i Sai, now their only protector against them, while Quinn had navigated their way through the tunnels and very, very secretly panicked that she might not know where they were. Xia's fervent faith in Quinn did reassure her when she thought they were going in circles in her tired paranoia.

“This is it,” Quinn declared. Marcel glanced at the top of Jeanne’s head and started gently shrugging his shoulder in an effort to wake her kindly.

“Jeanne,” he whispered, giving her a tired smile when she came to. He looked just as haggard as she was. “Time to get down.” He released her legs and she slid off his back before he started walking after Quinn again.

There were only ten buildings scattered around, and people were scarcer. They all watched the group arrive, and one young boy jumped to his feet and sprinted away the moment he saw them. Nobody moved to approach them as Quinn led the group towards the mine; they only watched. Inside the mine when they reached the elevator, the man in charge of the lever shot to his feet and gave a quick bow before standing aside to let them on. Quinn opened her mouth to say something, but she snapped it shut and just moved to stand on the wooden platform.

“Nobody is asking us how we are,” she whispered to Marcel as the platform descended, nudging him.

“Huh?” he croaked, then slurred, “Mmmyep. How rude of ‘em.” He finished with a yawn, which Quinn caught, then it infected everybody.

“N-No,” Quinn squeezed through her yawn, “That’s the phrase. They ask how you are, you slip ‘there’s only up from here’ into your response, and they let you in.”

“But... we’re going down,” Marcel replied slowly. Quinn replied to him with an even slower blink. “... Mmmtired. What?”

“They’re letting us in without a password.”

“Yeah. You’re the Maiden, aren’t you?”

Quinn shushed him, folding her arms as she glanced over to Linde. She wished this thing could crawl faster. “... They don’t know that,” she murmured. Marcel gave her a confused look.

When they reached the bottom, a bit more walking had to be done before Quinn paused, scanned a wall, then reached her arm through a crack in it. Her face scrunched up as she wiggled her arm around, then suddenly a rumbling echoed throughout the cavern. Quinn slipped her hand back out and walked out before a segment of the rocky wall that had begun shifting and she waited expectantly with crossed arms as it very, very slowly began to slide upwards. The rebellion was just on the other side. They had made it...

Then the grinding came to a halt.

Quinn’s arms dropped and she looked up to the ceiling with an, “Ugh.” She walked back to the crack in the wall and plunged her arm into it. Some fiddling. The rumble. Small lumps of stone pelting them from above. Impressive secret door still stuck and not being very impressive. After storming over to the door grumbling about someone named Hector and how nothing ever gets fixed around here, Quinn hit the rock with her hand.

“Door!” she called out. No reply. “Hey! Wake up! Who’s on duty?!”

A startled commotion. “Me, miss.”

“We have a dying woman out here. If you do not get this door open right now...” Quinn let herself trail off as she heard flailing and clanking from the other side of the wall. She leaned her shoulder against it and folded her arms, looking back to the others. Marcel looked like he was trying not to laugh. “You must understand, this isn’t usual,” she suddenly blurted, the tips of her ears turning pink. “We’re – we’re very organized, and under control, and – and – and one’s merits do not lie in how one opens a door!”

“Did you try from your side?”

Quinn’s blushing face whipped away from the others to glare at the stone and she snapped in one breath, “YES, and I am only answering your stupid inquiry and not leaving you in silence to stew on it because I haven’t the time to wait for your brain to catch up to your idiotic mouth. Yes, I tried to open it from my own side, the side I am stuck on with A DYING WOMAN.”

“... Can you try it again?”

Quinn shut her eyes, took a deep breath, then stepped to the side, “Miriam, be a dear and get the door for me,” she said calmly, déjà vu rolling over her like the words off her tongue.

Soon, the acne-riddled teenager behind the moving wall was treated to the sight of the slab of rock being lifted up by a woman in gladiator attire, all by her lonesome. His jaw dropped, then immediately snapped shut when Quinn walked through the door. He stood up into a hurried bow, while Quinn wagged a finger at him.

“I am having words with your superior,” she hissed.

“You are his superior,” Marcel whispered as he passed.

“I know,” she whined back quietly, “Just let me – threaten – ngh!” She jabbed her finger at his face, “Fix it,” she said, ice dripping from her lips. The kid nodded with disbelieving eyes, looking past her to the enormous black knight that had just ducked under the stone door the woman held up. The door slid down slowly when it was released, but still shut with an ominous thud. The boy fell to his knees as he watched the very unusual, terrifying group walk out of the corridor and into the base, almost traumatized.

“There are more doors,” Quinn reassured the others as they walked, then added on a quieter, slightly embarrassed, “Obviously.” The moment they entered the main cavern, Quinn cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at the top of her lungs, “WE NEED A DOCTOR!” Eyes turned to them, one pair belonging to a fragile looking young man in white robes. Quinn immediately singled him out. “Priest of Velran, why do you stand there? This woman has been stabbed.”

Quinn didn’t notice how the cavern seemed to stop its commotion to stare, but Marcel did. This seemed to be an underground trading hub of sorts, or a rebel storehouse. Some shops were set up, further back was an area for training, and he could see a shrine to Velran near a few set up tents. There were stairs to a room held up by mostly scaffolding, set up to oversee the entire operation. A shape shifted in one of the windows, but he barely paid it attention, nor to the figure emerging from a tent by the Velran shrine. No, what caught his eye was the Shaharan woman prowling upon a tall stack of crates, watching them with interest.

It was her dark skin that caught his eye, that instant familiarity and companionship one felt when recognizing another of their homeland, that he resisted so tirelessly - but her dark eyes weren’t looking at him. She suddenly grinned and leaped off the crates to reveal a small, flat figure, and landed lightly on her feet. As she bounced up, her curly afro of golden brown hair bounced with her. Then she turned to the woman leaning against the crates that Marcel had not noticed before. Also Shaharan, skin as dark as charcoal, and huge. Not as big as Sieghardt, but her biceps bulged as big as Linde’s bust, and that was saying something. She had a shaved head and a dark red bandanna covering her nose and mouth, and was staring straight ahead at the group, her dark eyes and stillness... terrifying. Absolutely chilling. But the little one wasn’t afraid. She stood up on her toes, making excitable hand gestures that the hulking woman picked up in her peripheral vision as she stared dead ahead. Marcel couldn’t tell what most of them meant, but he definitely knew what the hand on top of her head miming a fin referred to.

Meanwhile, the flushed young man Quinn had addressed finally overcame his shock at being spoken to. His grey eyes lit up with what could only be interpreted as joy and his already pink-tinted face grew a shade deeper, “O-Of course, my Lady,” he stammered, then moved forward to Linde. Quinn frowned at what he called her. “Forgive me, sir.” He peeled back the blanket just enough to see the closed wound, seemingly unaffected by her state of undress, and his brow creased with sympathy. He let out a soft sigh and stood aside as others came to take Linde from Sieghardt’s arms. Before he followed them, he looked to Quinn, brushing a lock of his straight, dark ash-blonde hair from his what seemed to be a permanently pink face. “My Lady, we need someone to come with us to answer any questions a-”

“Oh, Monsieur Carter~!”

Quinn’s head whipped up to where that insufferably relaxed voice chimed from. A man was leaning over the balcony of the room held up by scaffolding. A man of discernible age from their distance, with an eyepatch, a hat, and a curly mop of dark hair. A man who looked somewhat familiar to her, for once.

“Lady Crescalla, go with him,” she said distractedly. The unlucky noble had been caught in Quinn’s peripheral vision as she looked up at the man and was waved towards the priest. When Quinn saw the man’s wry smile, she broke out into a relieved grin, which faltered as he slowly raised up his hands and began clapping.

Oh no.

This was not good.

This could not possibly be good.

What was he -

“The Maiden of Revolution has returned!”

Quinn’s smile was completely gone in favor of looking up at the man in both shock and horror.

“... So be sure to make her feel welcome,” he finished his announcement to the entire cavern, dropping his hands down.

Silence.

Then suddenly, applause.

The Priest of Velran beamed excitedly, ducking his head down as he led Xia away with him. A tall, thin, stern-faced woman in robes gazed over from the shrine, largely unimpressed, before she turned to walk into the tent Linde was being attended to in. The small Shaharan woman clapped enthusiastically then tilted her head back and let out a whistle. From somewhere in the cavern, an animal howled in the same pitch. The wild-haired woman’s scary companion tapped her fingers against her arm once or twice, but didn’t uncross her arms for the occasion. And everyone else... well, they cheered.

Quinn was frozen.

The man on the balcony lifted a hand while maintaining eye contact with her, then turned to walk inside the room.

“Psst, Quinn,” Marcel hissed to her out of the corner of his mouth as he nudged her, “Aren’t you going to address your people?”

Quinn looked around at the crowd in a daze, her eyes not really seeing anything. “I don’t... uh...” Her eyes fixated back on the place of the balcony where the man had once stood. “I... need to go. Now.”

She began to move forward, but she didn’t make it very far when that person – the person she had told herself she could go her entire life without seeing and never be disappointed for it...

That person let himself be seen.

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Just some stuff I'm sorting go away


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NPC(s) UNLOCKED!






Luca Amaranda


Plot Purpose: Essentially Quinn's manager

NPC Importance: High

BBCode: [#2e335b]

Character Theme: Complication



Biography

A Gweynuran conman that came to Veilbrand, seeing a chance to raise his status within a rebellion. Now, he practically runs it. That's all that will ever be known of him, past his involvement in the rebellion.


Appearance

Currently, you know him as a pale man in a trench coat of indiscernible of age, standing about 5'7'', with an eyepatch over his right eye and a hat over his shoulder-lengthed, curly dark hair. Through his hair and beneath the shadows of his hat peers a heavy-lidded, sly blue eye, and thin lips always on the edge of a wry smile.

I say that this is how you currently know him, as the next you meet him, and the next, and the next, you will find yourself unable to recognize who he is. There are some things that remain a constant: his relaxed attitude, his smile, and the way he gestures. Lazily, like he moved his hand as an afterthought.


Personality

Luca is a man that you never feel that you have the complete attention of, but with the confidence and charm of somebody you want to pay attention to you. Impossible to make laugh but always looking like he's holding back a smirk, people like Quinn have a one word summary for him: "Frustrating."

He's intelligent, sarcastic and what feels to be a bit too chilled out for his job. When Luca looks serious, you know that shit is about to go down.

He will always believe in doing missions more discreetly, especially since learning of Te’i Sai’s involvement with Egruus. He doesn’t condemn nobility and only wishes to do his job in removing Egruus from power.

In summary, Luca is your cool uncle.




The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships with/opinions on other characters

Quinn Xe' Duzelle

Ah, his Maiden of Revolution. The girl he stole away from both Moriah and the Wavecrest Shipping Company once he learned what she did to make her flee to Veilbrand. He gave the rebel a cause and groomed her to be the next Maiden of Revolution. He takes pride in her much like a father, though he'd never tell her. In truth, he's glad that it was her who became the Maiden without a mask. He perhaps takes a little too much "ownership" of her. Expect a lot of "my Maiden" and "my Quinn

Ruben Landolt

Another "kid" Luca took under his wing and feels he has responsibility for. Luca never got along with Ruben as well as he did with Quinn. Their personalities clash on a good day, and their ideologies on a worse one. Luca may rile him up on purpose and not outwardly show how deeply he cares, but he keeps a good eye on Ruben and tries to keep him out of trouble by putting a stop to his personal crusades. Ruben isn't grateful for it.

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

"Eh, let's figure that out when we get there."

"We have the Red-Eyed Demon on our side. Thoughts?"

He'd prefer to keep this information hidden from almost everybody involved in the rebellion and the public, even if Egruus already knows. But he's happy to have him on board, as long as he doesn't have to meet him.

More to come!





Other

Luca is that character that's going to pop up everywhere. Every rebel base we hang out in, every time without fail, he will be there in a different disguise. Consider him that NPC you have to talk to to save your game.

In his spare time, he's either napping or messing with people.

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NPC(s) UNLOCKED!






Xia Jua' Crescalla


Plot Purpose: Quinn's slave The meat shield we make go first to check for traps The person that keeps getting left behind because everybody forgets about them Eventually our undoing ... Quinn's biggest fan?

NPC Importance: Mid-tier.

BBCode: [#af0090]

Character Theme: Nope. I can't chose a theme for Kumori's character. It's too much pressure!



Biography


Born and raised as a daughter of a Triveilan Noble house, Xia was a sheltered young girl who was too shy to come out from hiding behind her mother's leg when she was introduced to Ottavia Virmonte. Despite Ottavia forgetting her face in about a week, little Xia was inspired by her. From that day onward, she tried to be more like Ottavia. Elegant. Regal. Noble and proud. She practiced hard to carry herself with those qualities, and carries them still to this day. Now, she has finally reunited with the one whom she fashioned herself after... but when Xia wipes the stardust from her eyes, she may find herself questioning whether Quinn Xe' Duzelle is still the image of perfection she strove for.

(Highlight below for spoilers.)

Her brother, Hektor Crescalla, was a member of the Cre' Itian Royal Guard. Despite being eight years Xia's senior, they were still close. His death came at the hands of none other than Linde Xe' Almna.


Appearance

Xia has black hair reaching her lower back, amber brown eyes and a fair Cre'Itian complexion. She possesses a slender build with a lithe frame, more indicative of agility and flexibility rather than brute strength. Despite the katana on her hip indicating her to be battle-ready, she still wears clothes fit for nobility but forgoes anything too flashy or extravagant. Just a shorter skirt and pantyhose so she can move around easily in combat while avoiding showing off bare legs.

Personality

Xia is very proud and elegant, and formal to almost all she meets. She is sweet-natured and likes sticking to routine. When there is a deviation from that routine/a change in plan it flusters her, but she tries to keep it to herself. She's got a temper on her, most easily aggravated when Linde is nearby or (worse still) the direct cause. If anyone gets under her skin, or worse still, insults her honor or noble stature, they'd better be prepared to draw some kind of weapon to defend themselves because her katana is unsheathed and headed their way.

Beyond her anger, Xia's greatest flaw is that she's not very courageous in times of great stress. She's not going to be the first to jump in to save someone from a powerful enemy or dash towards a cliff to catch someone who just fell. But, if you managed to piss her off first, she'll be the first to toss herself into the fray.

(My own observations of her) She seems to be quite optimistic, driven and has an idolizing faith in Quinn's abilities. She also doesn't want to offend anyone and is quick to apologize - to anyone other than Linde.




The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships with/opinions on other characters

Linde Xe' Almna

Highlight for spoilers!

SHE. MURDERED. YOUR. BROTHER. GURL, HOW HAVE YOU NOT FUCKED HER SHIT UP YET?!?! I guess it's because she's the Demon's second, so she has to work with her. BUT STILL!!!! How this has not escalated past catty remarks at this point amazes me. And Linde!! What right do you have to be such a bitch to her?! Kill her brother than bother her with some petty bullshit I can forgive you for wanting to torture a child and I can forgive you giving Quinn a death threat BUT LEAVE THIS POOR GIRL ALONE!!!!

Ahem. So, Xia hates Linde. For good reason. And torturemum continues to live up to her name.


The Gang!

I'm also putting Quinn in here because I'm pretty sure you already get how much Xia slobbers over Quinn from the rest of the NPC profile - oh god. This really is a harem.

Xia is completely indifferent to Marcel's presence, which somehow hurts more than her finding him irritating. She finds Jeanne charming, albeit a bit odd. She considers Miriam to be barbaric, but not without her own charm (Miriam and charm in the same sentence unsettles me). She is intimidated by Sieg's size, though she is grateful that he is a good man at heart. Marcus' roguish background concerns her, but she can tolerate him well enough.

Promise me that by the end of the rebellion she either ends up adopting us as a second family or absolutely despising us for the shit we're gonna put her through.


Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

The nature of Veilbrand's ruling after Egruus has been removed from power is of no concern to her. She just wants to do her part to help Quinn for giving her the inspiration to become a stronger person.

"You have to choose to stand by the Red-Eyed Demon or Quinn. Who do you stand with?"

She's on team Red-Eyed Demon. As much as she would hate to do so, she would turn against Quinn should the scenario arise. Her true battle lies with the Red-Eyed Demon, helping Quinn's rebellion is more something she's doing because she feels that a debt is owed to her, despite that Quinn literally did nothing but exist to deserve her loyalty.

More to come!





Other

In Xia's spare time, you may find her reading poetry and old folk stories... or, jumping across sizable gaps between rooftops. She practices running across the rooftops, attempting to mimic the Red-Eyed Demon. Leaping across platforms at great heights is the only time she demonstrates fearlessness, other than when she's too pissed off to remember that she's terrified. However... if she has to make that leap under a stressful situation, there may be some reluctance...

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NPC(s) UNLOCKED:
The Mercenaries







Xanth and Teyren


Plot Purpose: People to hang out with that are really cool I promise

NPC Importance: Low... technically...

BBCode: [#5b0707] and Bold (Teyren), nothing for Xanth.

Character Theme(s): Xanth ... Teyren ... Xanth AND Teyren




Biography

Nothing much is known about these two, other than the fact that they are Shaharan mercenaries hanging around the rebellion because of the work that keeps getting thrown their way.

Teyren claims that she simply found Xanth four years ago while travelling the same way, and the only reason they stuck together was because Xanth was quiet. Xanth stuck with Teyren because she liked how she didn't treat her like a child, or 'other'. She was a scary, anti-social bitch to everyone. It was later as Teyren learned to read Xanth's hands that she learned how Xanth was not quiet, and Xanth discovered that Teyren wasn't a bitch to everyone.


Appearance

Teyren is a huge, bulky figure with nearly ink-black skin and dark, serious eyes. She keeps her head shaved and wears a red bandanna over her mouth and nose purely because it discourages people from talking to her, as if her appearance and terrifying aura didn't do that well enough already. As a general rule, she's always looking imposing with folded arms, and very rarely breaks out of that default position.

She has the body for heavy armor which she only forgoes for leather beneath a cloak because of full plate armor being too suspicious. In battle, you can see her wielding an impractically large two handed battle-ax with ease.

Xanth is short and flat in every way - except when it comes to her hair. That is never flattening down. A curly, bouncing mass of golden brown that stands out against her chocolate skin and adds at least four more inches to her full height, it makes her quite easy to spot in a crowd. Her hair almost distracts from the pink, nasty looking scar on her throat. A black and red dragon tattoo crawls up the right side of her torso and spreads across her chest. She wears as little armor as she can get away with, leaping around the battlefield with two thin daggers and a bow. Her wardog is never far from her side.


Personality

Teyren isn't a talker. Neither is Xanth, you say. But no. Xanth talks a lot.

Frank, shameless, excitable and mischievous Xanth talks a lot, and Teyren is her begrudging interpreter. Her awkward, anti-social interpreter of few words. As much as Teyren comes off as stand-offish, in truth, she is overwhelmingly shy and would much rather communicate through grunts and fists rather than hold a conversation with strangers... which Xanth forces her to do. She just cuts down on the word count, getting the bare minimum of what Xanth's saying out.

If anyone makes fun of Xanth's muteness, or even so much as slows down their words while talking to her, they have hell to pay. Teyren will knock their block off. Xanth likes to threaten to set Doot on anyone who offends her like so, but if they're being real assholes, she'll get a nice seat as she watches Teyren work the charm.




The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships with/opinions on other characters

Each Other

Closer than friends, and more like family. Teyren knows the story behind Xanth's scar and accepts her regardless, and Xanth knows the insecure sweetheart that Teyren really is, but doesn't tease her about her shyness despite how much fun she pokes at others.

Doot

Xanth's precious pup! Xanth communicates to Doot through whistles and has taught him many tricks, mostly for messing with other people. Doot is still intimidated by Teyren and Teyren acts like she doesn't care, but she's dying inside.

Aberdeen

Screw that racist bastard. Xanth and Teyren will always be willing to help a fellow Shaharan out when dealing with that guy, or just make his life that much harder.

Kay Dunzt

Xanth gets irritable whenever this guy approaches, thinking that he keeps trying to convert them. Teyren has a very different reaction. She empathizes with his low self-esteem but admires how he fights through it to be open and kind to others, something she just can't seem to do. She also secretly likes how he doesn't approach her with caution and has the same kind smile for her that he does for everyone else. Maybe she just kinda... like-likes him... just a little bit...

The Gang!

Xanth struck up a bond with Marcel right away, which is quite unusual for her, so Teyren has decided that she likes him. But she's just waiting for him to mess it up. Teyren loves the arena from back home, so imagine her excitement when a popular gladiator suddenly waltzed into the rebel base she was loitering around in! That's right, Teyren is the Shark fan. Xanth is just forcing her to go speak to her.

~Will be added to as they interact with the crew more~


Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

Pfft, who cares? They're just here for gold.

More to come!





Other

Yes I named their dog Doot I can't help myself

I feel like Teyren secretly likes pretty shoes and dresses but could never bring herself to wear them because of her titan figure, so instead she just settles for staring at Quinn and Xia when she thinks nobody is looking

Despite not having the voice to spread it, Xanth is a huge gossip who is all up in your business and if she senses anything romantic going on then be warned she's gonna tell everybody.

As bright and cute as Xanth appears, you can't help but feel that there is something darker and almost wise behind those brown eyes...







Doot


Plot Purpose: DOG

NPC Importance: THE HIGHEST

BBCode: A color so beautiful it cannot be seen by human eyes

Character Theme: WOOF




Biography

Doot only started travelling with Xanth and Teyren about a month ago. They don't know where he came from. He just is.


Appearance

Not a Mabari.

...

(sigh) Yes, he's a Mabari.


Personality

A very good boy.



The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships with/opinions on other characters

Xanth

Best friend! Smells good! Like lots!

Teyren

Scary tree. Doesn't like being peed on. Don't like.

The Gang!

Lots of pats! Lots of love! Like lots! (Definitely is gonna pee on Sieg if he stands too still in his armor around the doggo.)

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

"Woof!"

More to come!





Other

Scared by nothing... nothing but big bugs.

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NPC(s) UNLOCKED:
The Temple of Velran







Sevaka Emon


Plot Purpose: High Priestess "Don't do that" of the Temple of Velran

NPC Importance: High

BBCode: [#ba8305]

Character Theme: Sleepy Willow



Biography


Sevaka does not speak of her history, but it is safe to assume that she was once somebody of a less reputable background who turned to religion for redemption. She looks almost sorrowful while she prays.

Appearance

Sevaka is a tall, gaunt figure wearing long white robes. She has a long face, high cheekbones and stern features, marred by a jagged scar running from her nose to the right side of her constantly pursed lips. Her salt-and-pepper hair is cut very short (think Cersei Lannister), and her narrow dark hazel eyes always look like they're silently judging you. Her slender, aged hands are clasp in front of her when she stands, upright and dignified. When she moves, she glides. Almost eerily so.

Personality

Sevaka is a no-nonsense kind of person, coming off as both cold and serious. She's your scary math teacher that waits for the class to be quiet while silently marking down the minutes. She has a mild temperament despite her resting bitch face, and is often the one to break up or contain arguments with only a few words or a look. Whenever she does argue, it's against something that goes against everything Velran stands for, and she carries her arguments with grace and care. Generally, she keeps negative opinions to herself (especially when they're of other people). If she starts shouting at you, then you dun goofed.

She is diligent and generous, everything you would expect from the representative of Velran, and has been noted on some occasions to smile. Her cold eyes light up with a flicker of passion when she preaches Velran's teachings. She strongly believes that it is her purpose to make sure Velran's teachings are not forgotten by the people under Egruus' rule.





The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships/opinions on other characters

Luca Amaranda

She has a complicated relationship with this man. He irritates her, but is too useful to throw away because of his background, and she does begrudgingly respect some aspects of him. She does wish he'd at least make himself look busy once in a while. The way Luca defends or praises Quinn makes her quite irritable, and it shows. She considers him to just be defending his bad decision, and he won't admit it.

There is a small part of her that blames him for her late pupil's passing, a part of her that she knows is being ridiculous.


Xanth and Teyren (and Doot)

She wishes they'd go back to Shaharan. They're leaches on their resources, and Sevaka has no tolerance for their Goddess. Also, the dog is a hygiene risk and keeps sneaking into the medic tents.

Quinn Xe' Duzelle

So, Quinn is the Maiden. That aloof little girl who once openly stated that she had no love for Velran, and no desire to learn it. This is the face of their revolution? A non-believer? Sevaka will keep her mouth shut, but the disdain for her is in her eyes.

Kay Dunzt

Sevaka is Kay's strict-but-fair superior. She holds some affection for the boy as his mentor, but also feels responsibility for him. She knows that his late older sister was the last Maiden of Revolution, but has not told him.

The Gang!

Has respect for Linde as a fellow woman of medicine, and respects Sieghardt as a fellow child of Velran. Everybody else is somebody she silently judges Quinn for hanging out with. If you haven't noticed yet, she's a fairly judgmental person.

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

By her and the Temple of Velran. Only those with their lives devoted to their God can truly restore the country to what it was.

"We have a Demon. Thoughts?"

*affinity with everybody goes down -1000*

But seriously, she'll force herself to tolerate, but will make an objection every time somebody makes a suggestion that involves the Red-Eyed Demon. She's going to be one hell of a thorn.

More to come!





Other

Sevaka and Luca are the only two people that knew the identity of the last Maiden of Revolution. Her name was Lara Dunzt, a priestess-turned-fighter. Quinn took up her mask and identity of the Maiden just as Mable did before her. Sevaka does not believe Quinn will ever live up to her old pupil and detests that it was Quinn who was exposed as the Maiden.

Strongly believes that after Egruus' passing, the country's name should be changed to something that isn't the name of their late tyrant. Quinn agrees.

Strikes me as the sort of person that loves chilling at a spa/fancy bathhouse, but given the current circumstances, she hasn't been able to get to one for an entire decade.

Knows dozens of natural beauty tips, such as things to put in your hair to de-frizz it and natural anti-aging face masks and whatnot. Obviously, she keeps this interest of hers to herself, but if there's ever a situation where the girls find themselves hanging with her for a day... :3c

Seems frail... but an unnervingly good shot with a flintlock rifle...







Kay Dunzt


Plot Purpose: Bishie Priestie Being a sweetheart.

NPC Importance: Low

BBCode: [#42877f]

Character Theme: Dekiru kana (Can I do it?)



Biography


Kay's parents were highly devout to Velran, and when they spoke out against the outlawing of Velran-worship, they were disposed of. Kay and his big sister Lara were taken in by priests of the temple that were in hiding. When they were old enough to devote themselves to the revolution, Mable dragged the hesitant Kade with her.

Lara was always more of a fighter than Kay, and for that reason, she ended up leaving him to join the rebellion outdoors instead of staying behind closed doors to heal the wounded. Almost a year before now, she didn't return.

Instead of being taken by grief or rushing out into the fight to avenge her, Kay remained a healer. He would be a lost cause out there. Lara always said that his biggest strength was his heart, and he was going to use it.


Appearance

A deathly pale, fragile looking young man with a slight, almost feminine build and soft features. His dark ash blonde hair comes down to just past his jaw, sometimes being yanking into a tiny ponytail that falls out almost instantly. When he's alone, he may try his luck with pigtails, that stay in and get his hair out of the way but are just embarrassing to be caught in. Speaking of embarrassment, Kay can never seem to erase the light flush across his cheeks and the tip of his nose. His eyes are large, expressive and grey.

He looks like a ghost in his white robes. An insecure, pink-faced ghost who's always looking at his feet.


Personality

Kay is overwhelmingly nice. The kind of nice that makes you want to not like him just out of spite. He has a deep empathy for everyone and everything and is most happy when he's helping someone, even if it's as small as running an errand. He's forever hopeful, polite and sees the good in others first, and does not shy away from remarking on somebody's good qualities.

He's easily flustered and startled, but sheepishly laughs it off whenever he stammers for too long or jumps out of fright. He's quite happy to be the butt of the joke. Despite being incredibly noticeable (if you shone a light on him in the dark, he'd probably glow), he still gets taken aback and clams up whenever somebody important addresses him.

He does everything in his ability to help the sickly and wounded, and does not let himself be taken by depression after every life lost under his care. He's diligent and hard-working and doesn't let the stress from his job ever get him down. Despite being gentle in nature, his rage will flare when the taking of innocent lives is involved. It's a quiet rage.

If you see Kay give up and cry, we're all screwed.




The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships/opinions on other characters

Sevaka Emon

His superior. He has the highest respect for her and enjoys her company, no matter how strict and cold she is.

Xanth and Teyren (and Doot)

Xanth has wolf-whistled him a couple times since they've been at the base, and Kay has suffered through the consequences. He is a little wary of her and her dog now. Despite Sevaka's disdain for the mercs, Kay sees no issue with them being here. On the contrary, he quite enjoys the company of one of them.

Quinn Xe' Duzelle

D-Did she just - Did the Maiden of Revolution just speak to him?! She noticed him! This is the best day of his life!!!

The Gang!

Positive opinions of all of them, but Linde especially. He thinks that she has a lot of medicinal knowledge he can learn from.

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

By the Temple of Velran. This country deserves to be taken in kind hands.

More to come!





Other

Yes. Yes, in the background of all the chaos of the rebellion arc, there is gonna be an adorably awkward little romance blooming between this little white wisp of a man and the enormous hulking shadow that is Teyren. And it shall be the most precious thing in the world.

His big sister was the old Maiden of Revolution and he has no idea. He thinks, like practically everybody else in the rebellion, that Quinn has always been the Maiden of Revolution. Which, might I add here, is why "She's younger than I expected" is a phrase that is thrown about a lot during the arc.

He doesn't have any hobbies because working is his hobby. Trying to drag him away from it and making him do something "fun" will result in a lot of flustering.

Nothing to see here. Move along, 2759023.

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NPC(s) UNLOCKED:
Some Highly Useful NPCs







Willard Aberdeen


Plot Purpose: Drugs Person to buy/trade from at the mines

NPC Importance: Low/Mid-tier

BBCode: [#91531a]

Character Theme/"the Shopping Theme": Yes.



Biography

Veilbrand born. Does business with the Wavecrest Shipping Company and Fable, currently in charge of distributing weapon supplies here but runs his own gigs on the side. The person you talk to if you're after a particular item, or if you ever want something... special.


Appearance

If I had to compare this guy to anything, it'd be a sultana. He's a squat, fairly rotund fellow with a tanned, weathered complexion and a particularly large birthmark on his neck, peeking out from his well-maintained goatee. His brown hair is slicked back to hide the fact that he's starting to bald. Beady dark eyes that only light up when money is being passed over into his hands are set beneath a heavy brow. He wears dozens of layers with a ridiculous number of pockets and pouches that he seems to navigate with ease.

Personality

You're either there to talk business with Abe, or you're not there at all.

Though his responsibilities in the resistance include fairly distributing weapon supplies, he's quite eager to charge for whatever he can. He may be lenient (and sometimes generous) when it comes to fellow children of Veilbrand, but any outsiders (*cough*Shaharans*cough*) that try to cheat him out of money and dip their hands in the rebellion's supplies better watch themselves. He's always sneakily promoting himself as somebody who can get less reputable items. Anything for some loose change.

He's a grump, has "don't trust me" written all over him and is openly greedy, with no shame in it. The only time you may ever see him gleeful is after a good deal. He considers himself a "respectable businessman" ... though, really, he's as much of one as Quinn is a respectable businesswoman.

(Despite not looking like it, he is true to his word. You can trust him to stick to his deal.)




The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships/opinions on other characters

Xanth and Teyren (and Doot)

Damn Shaharan mercs, always trying to cheat the rebels out of their supplies and him out of his money! What are these damn leeches doing here, anyway? Looking for a handout?!

The Gang!

All I know right now is that he's taken an instant dislike to Marcel because he's Shaharan, but, if the team gives him enough work (and coin), he'll warm up to us right away! He has dealt with Emile Carter before, but not enough to really remember or care that Emile and Quinn are one and the same.

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

By anybody with half a brain who can figure out how to maintain a damn functioning economy. Hell, even he could do it! In all honesty, he does like the idea of a council that's been floating about. A country run by the people, rather than by one big wig.

More to come!





Other

Yeah, his name is Willard, but call him Aberdeen.

Bit of a racist prick, really.








Earnest and Elizabeth Atwood

Plot Purpose: Guns and blades/Jeanne's minions

NPC Importance: Mid-tier

BBCode: [#ff56a2] (Elizabeth), [#c12c47] (Earnest)

Character Theme: FINALLY I GET TO USE THIS FOR SOMEONE.



Biography

Head blacksmith and gunsmith at the mines. Earnest and Elizabeth are twins. It's known that they come from a family of blacksmiths who work to supply Egruus' army, and their descent into the rebellion began with them sneaking weapons to the rebels before they decided "screw it" and just left their double-lives behind to work full-time for them.


Appearance

Liz is a tomboyish figure, despite her curves and attire at first glance. She keeps her strawberry blonde curls short and tucked behind her ears, beneath a white peasant's cap. Her puffy sleeves and frilly apron look more suited to a maid than a gunsmith, but look closer and you'll see that black wasn't the original color of her attire. Her arms and hands are littered with burns, her fingers pink from being worked raw, and gunpowder, without fail, will always be smeared across her nose. She has a several beauty spots dotting her round face, and her eyes are angular and amber in color.

Earnest is quite taller than his twin. He shares her angular amber eyes, short thick eyebrows and scattered moles, but his strawberry blonde curls are darker in color and longer, swept up into a lazy bun on top of his head. He has patchy stubble and really can't be bothered maintaining a beard. He has burns the same as Katie, but also has a scar running across the palm of his left, dominant palm. Just because he doesn't work so much with gunpowder doesn't mean he's any less filthy than his sister.


Personality

Liz is the gunsmith. She's hardworking, practical, and very good at her job. But she isn't inventive. She believes that guns are useful and a no-nonsense way of getting the job done. If Jeanne's suggestions for a new weapon sound even mildly ridiculous, she will be incredibly skeptical of it and consider it just a time-waster.

Earnest is the blacksmith. As a kid he was more of a dreamer and romanticized the skills and values of honorable warriors, while his sister would be the one to bring a slingshot to a stick fight. He shares the same work ethic as his sister, but with ambition to make something amazing rather than just "practical". He's constantly designing super-cool (and sometimes ridiculous) looking blades, which his sister just considers a waste of resources. He will be disappointed if Jeanne's new invention involves gunpowder and isn't really an "honorable" weapon, but he'll help.

The two constantly bicker about whose chosen profession is the greatest, with Liz's arguments for guns being "everybody can use them" and "this is the future", and Earnest's being "they're no weapon for a warrior" and "yeah, everybody can use them, that's why young people lack honor these days". As immature as it is, they seem to have a prank war going on, as well as a constant competition with everything.

In summary: Liz is the realist, Earnest is the hipster dreamer. But Liz is harder to convince than Earnest to help with Jeanne's inventions.




The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships/opinions on other characters

Each Other

They may bicker, but it's plain to see they love each other despite their differences. When they work together on something, they move as fluidly as a machine and barely have to openly communicate. Neither of them fulfill the 'protected younger sibling' or 'protective big sibling' role. They both are equally protective of each other, but know that they can both stand on their own.

Xanth and Teyren (and Doot)

Liz doesn't think much of them at all, but she doesn't have a tolerance for Doot disrupting her work. Earnest however loves having them around. Shaharan still holds swordplay and honor in high regard, and he wishes to find work in the country once Veilbrand is free.

Kade Dunzt

Liz and Earnest are good friends with the little priest, simply from spending time together. They're all workaholics, but a burn here or other workplace injury there has sometimes placed Liz and Earnest in Kade's tent. They were friends with his sister, too, before her passing. Earnest tries to get Kade to come out for drinks sometimes.

The Gang!

Earnest knows of Sieghardt's reputation and finds the knight admirable. He also has respect for Marcel and Miriam, purely because of their Shaharan heritage/involvement in Shaharan culture. He'd take an immediate liking to anyone who looks at his more unconventional looking blades and goes "Cool!" (So he's [i]definitely going to like Marcel.) They'd both come to respect Jeanne's resourcefulness and handiness with a hammer. They respect the Maiden as their flag to rally behind, but Earnest silently judges her flimsy umbrella blade and hates that she keeps shooting down his designs for a new, much more epic sword for the figurehead of the rebellion to use.[/i]

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

Earnest plans on leaving the country anyway, but Kade's passionate babbling about the Temple of Velran has him thinking that the temple isn't the worst decision. Liz doesn't see anything wrong with the temple, she just leans more towards the idea of a council.

More to come!





Other

Liz can make a sword, Earnest can make a gun. They just don't like to.

Liz is Elizabeth's nickname and what she'll ask people to call her. People that are closer to her call her Lizzie. Liz calls Earnest "Ernie", just because it annoys him.

Liz and Earnest are both capable at using what they create, with Liz being a good shot and Earnest a decent swordsman. If they have to, they'll take up arms, but generally just to defend.

The moment Earnest finds out Shiver is orichalcum, you can bet he's gonna do everything in his power to pinch it from Marcel - everything above just stealing it, of course. That's not honorable.







Fable

Plot Purpose: Convenience

NPC Importance: High

BBCode: ???

Character Theme: ???



Biography
If you need a weapon off your hands, or armor waiting for you at a certain location, Fable will make sure it gets there without detection.

Appearance

???

Personality

???



The following is information that will be added to as the rebellion arc progresses.




Notable relationships/opinions on other characters

Everybody

Nobody knows them. Not even those who are "in contact" with them. Perhaps somebody has seen them or knows something, but they are holding their tongue.

Very Important Opinions!

"How should Veilbrand be ruled?"

"..."

More to come!





Other

You may sometimes find tangerine peel near areas you're picking your stuff up from.

Setting

Characters Present

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Footnotes

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As the Shark of Triveila refreshed herself from the stressful journey with a strong drink, she caught strikingly heavy footsteps approaching the bar. It was nothing worth sparing a thought for. No, it was that annoying feeling of being stared at that caused Miriam to turn her attentions away from her glass.

Black, menacing eyes were glaring at her above a blood-red cloth. Eyes that belonged to dark giantess, leaning against the wall some distance away from Miriam. Well, perhaps she was a woman. The only indicators of femininity were her hips and what little facial features weren’t covered. Everything else was hard, bulging muscle. She was being avoided, it seemed, by the people and their glances. But Miriam was not so easily intimidated. She glared right back.

“What’s your problem?” she shot. All she got as a reply were the woman’s eyes flicking away. Good, she wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. Miriam turned back to her drinking, but the moment she did, she felt those damn eyes again...




Marcel had held back by the entrance. He almost thought to accompany Miriam to find a drink, but... well, that would not go down well. No liquor was worth the headache of dealing with Miriam right now. Hell, he’d had hangovers more forgiving. So instead of finding a bar, he found a seat on a crate and waited. Something scratched at his elbow and he glanced down to see a rolled piece of paper crammed between the crate’s planks. Taking it and unrolling it out of bored curiosity, he saw Quinn. Well, kind of.

It was Quinn if she was forty years old and a bit lopsided, but still, it was labelled for his convenience. He snorted at the artistic licensing before giving the poster a read. Quinn Xe’ Duzelle, wanted for murder and treason, bounty... whoa. Now, that was a pretty penny. Once upon a time, this was the sort of thing he’d keep a copy of, just in case. His eyes trailed up from the writing to the half-smudged mark that had been scribbled above her head. It looked like a crown. As he lifted his head to take in the sounds and sights of the bustling activity in the cavern once more, he found himself shrinking.
Three years.

He had been impressed to find that she had worked her way up from Moriah’s to become a jeweler in that time. But she had seriously worked her ass off to own such a business under these circumstances, while working as the figurehead of a rebellion? Yes, he had left her in hell, and she didn’t simply survive in it. She had thrived. The girl who had burned down everything left of her had built herself back up into all this, in three years.

What did he become, during those years without her?

A startling gasp jolted him out of his stewing, and his gaze trailed over to follow Jeanne’s stare. Quinn was marching over with somebody who made his brow raise in mild surprise. He jumped up to his feet while stuffing Quinn’s hapless portrait into his pocket, standing to attention. He watched Jeanne’s reunion with Marcus with a half-smile, his eyes flickering with recognition, and perhaps, oozing from somewhere deep and ugly within him, some jealousy.

A snap. “Marcel.” His head jerked around, chin tilting down to look at the face of the revolution. “I’m not repeating this again. Your weapons should have arrived here before us. Ask for Aberdeen. He’s in charge of weapon distribution. When you find him, tell him what you had Fable deliver.”

Marcel nodded, then frowned slightly as he noticed the pink in her face. Reaching up to lightly graze his fingers against a freckled cheek, he asked, “You OK?”

Quinn was quick to withdraw. “Of course,” came her snappish reply, her cold eyes shutting down any other unspoken attempts to pry. “I have a meeting. We’ll stay at the inn above. Do not bother waiting for me.” And she turned to strut away, while Marcel’s hand was left lingering in the air. He lowered it gingerly, slipping it into his pocket and feeling paper crinkle, before looking over to Marcus. It took all of his strength to plaster on his trademark charm.

“Good to see you, Marcus,” he greeted, before glancing around the rebel base, “You ran off to something worthwhile, that’s... even better to see.”

Marcel was quick to excuse himself to hunt for Aberdeen. It didn’t take much asking around before he saw the man he’d been directed to. The man possessed a round, leathery looking head perched upon a broad, rounded body, and sported slicked back hair and an even slicker goatee. His sea-green eyes appraised Marcel from as he noticed the mercenary approach. From the looks of it, this man was judging what he was seeing quite harshly. Marcel couldn’t blame him. His shirt had been out of order ever since he’d used it to soak up Linde’s blood, and now he was left with just a jacket.

“Aberdeen, is it?” Marcel spoke up with a friendly smile, holding out a hand as he neared the shorter man, “Marcel Starr. I was told you’d have a delivery from Fable?”

The man completely disregarded Marcel’s hand, his low-set brow furrowing as he regarded him a moment, tapping a finger on the cluttered table before him. “What’s your package?” he asked in a particularly unwelcoming tone.

Marcel swiftly pulled back his outstretched hand without a flinch. “A bow and a spear.”

Aberdeen nodded, before turning to look at the crates behind him. Marcel heard some muttering before he maneuvered around them and began rummaging. Marcel took the time to observe Aberdeen’s stock as he waited. All crates were unmarked. Made sense, no trading company would want their name thrown about down here. Something else caught his eye, something crawling high above on the scaffolding behind Aberdeen’s stall.

Aberdeen took back Marcel’s attention as he placed down the bow and spear on the table. Marcel grinned and moved to take them. “Thanks for tha-”

Two large gloved hands placed themselves over his weapons and he looked up to meet the grouchy man’s gaze. “It’s pay on pick-up, Mister Starr. Convenience doesn’t come cheap around here.”

“Ahh...” Quinn hadn’t told him that. Marcel paused, feeling in his pockets for the five silver and eight copper clanking around somewhere in there, before giving the glistening weapons a wistful look. “Alright, I’ll be back for them later,” he sighed.

“They won’t get you far in the city, you know,” he heard just as he turned to leave, “And that sword you’ve got on you is nothing but trouble. Fable can get these into the cities, but it’s up to you to conceal them on the streets.”

Marcel patted Shiver as if to comfort the blade, but he knew that his weapon of choice was an issue. That had been made very clear on the day he found himself chopping up two bodies and stuffing them into a suitcase. “And I don’t suppose they settle for confiscation,” he mused as he wandered back to Aberdeen, who had ducked away and returned with a flintlock pistol. Marcel’s nose crinkled at the sight of it.

“You people are always so skeptical,” Aberdeen grunted under his breath, then began turning the gun over in his hands, “It’s a weapon and it kills, like any other. Only difference between this and your bow is that it's compact.” Glancing up and seeing Marcel still visibly repulsed by the gun, he took a dagger off the rack behind him and laid it on the table before continuing, “When you’re back and prepared to spend, you can either take your inconvenient package or adapt to life in Veilbrand. The dagger can part with me for ten gold, the gun for forty. But if an old rebel’s advice means anything to you, I’d suggest swallowing your pride and taking the gun.”

Marcel gazed over the weapon cache behind Aberdeen, when he caught a little wave from above. The tiny Shaharan with big hair had perched herself on some scaffolding, letting her freely observe the exchange between Marcel and Aberdeen. “... You know, I heard you were in charge of weapon distribution," Marcel began slowly, tearing his eyes from the woman’s sly gaze. Aberdeen folded his big arms defensively.

“Right, I am. And I distribute,” he said matter-of-factly, “Within the resistance.”

Marcel’s face lit up with a winning grin, “Ah, that’s great to hear,” he said, “I happen to be part of it.” He glanced up to see the woman’s lips twist up into an amused smirk. Aberdeen was less impressed. “Well, what would I be doing down here if I wasn’t?”

“Look, mercenary,” Aberdeen’s glare dropped from being grouchy to hostile, “You pay for what you get down here. If you don’t like that, you can go find another conflict to leech from.” He snatched the dagger off the table and moved to put it back in its place, along with the gun. “You’re not shopping; you’re wasting my time.”

“Alright, alright,” Marcel soothed with his hands up innocently, “I’m not trying to cheat you, mate.” Yes. Yes, he was. “There’s just a misunderstanding here.” He thought a moment. “You saw me come in with your Maiden of Revolution, right? I’m with her.”

Aberdeen inhaled loudly though his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “I saw it,” he said, then muttered, “Didn’t take her as someone to hire your types.”

Marcel opened his mouth to say something about how he wasn’t hired, he was just... hanging around, when he stopped, his eyes narrowing as something dawned on him. “... Mercenaries or Shaharans?”

Aberdeen's reply was interrupted by the sound of something splashing behind the crates. The man’s eyes went wide.

“Fucking mutt!” he shouted and disappeared to the source of the splashing, leaving Marcel behind blinking with an offended hand on his chest. He tossed his head up to the Shaharan woman that had been watching, mouthing, ’What the f-‘ at her and gesturing in the direction Aberdeen had trudged off in. The woman’s hair wobbled with her silent giggle, before she shrugged with her arms in the shape of a W. She then pointed at the bow and spear left on the table, mouthing something back at him. Marcel couldn’t determine much from his distance, but he picked up on the two most important words: “bastard” and “bullshit”. When Aberdeen returned, Marcel had the bow slung over him and spear in hand.

“Right, sir,” he spoke up before Aberdeen could, “I don’t want to ‘steal’ anything from your stash here. I’m here for my bow and spear. Those were my orders from the Maiden. You can take it up with her if you find them disagreeable.”




Marcel left Aberdeen with his weapons, feeling quite pleased with himself. He was thinking of ways to reward himself, when he noticed the small Shaharan on the move again. As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked over and curled her lips into a smirk, right before she leaped off the scaffolding and landed lightly on a crate stack. It barely protested under her weight, and she gracefully jumped over to another, going unnoticed by the people beneath her. Marcel soon found his feet following her along with his eyes. She came to a stop at the other end of the cavern and twirled around, dark eyes lighting up when she saw that he had followed her. She plopped herself down with crossed legs upon a smaller pile of gear and equipment, and gave him an appraising look up and down. Marcel smirked when he noticed her wandering eyes and shot her a wink. The woman’s mouth formed an ‘o’ and she fanned herself mockingly, before grinning and beckoning him forward with her index finger. As he was being drawn in, she pursed her lips together and let out a shrill wolf-whistle.

And Marcel was immediately slammed into by a giant dog.

Marcel was flattened to the ground, buried beneath a mass of fur and flesh that was furiously humping away at his thigh. Laughter had broken out around him as he tried to shove the dog off to no avail.

“HEY! N-No! Bad boy! Bad... bad dog!” He stammered out, feeling his face flush bright red. He managed to hold back the dog’s huge, slobbery head just enough to see the little Shaharan woman. Her mouth was wide and her shoulders shaking violently with laughter, only he couldn’t hear her. She rocked back with her hands clutching her stomach like it ached, and promptly fell off her stack. “Crap!” With a final effort, Marcel kicked off the dog and scrambled up to his feet. The dog bounded off behind the supplies the woman had fallen from, followed hurriedly by the humiliated mercenary.

He almost thought the dog was eating her. She was dwarfed by it, her legs kicking out as it slobbered over her. Her head poked out from under the dog to see Marcel, then she rolled out from beneath the dog and jumped effortlessly to her feet. ‘Whoops,’ she mouthed, brushing off her shorts.

“You... you alright?” Marcel asked, finding himself unusually stunted for words. The woman gestured to her unharmed self with a raised eyebrow. “... Right.” She gestured to him, particularly his red face. Marcel glanced away, scratching the back of his neck, “Yeah, it’ll take a lot of time and big nights to live that one down, but thanks.” Her shoulders jiggled and chin lifted, and Marcel caught his first proper look at the scar on her throat. It didn’t look like a scar that should have existed, purely because whatever had caused it should have killed her. But here she was, very much alive and... ah. She had begun making quick hand gestures, ones that were completely foreign to Marcel but were precise and patterned enough for him to determine that they belonged to some language.

She was voiceless.

When she flattened her hair under a hand miming a fin, Marcel almost jumped for joy. “Shark!” he exclaimed, happy that he could understand something, “Did you want to talk to her? I can introduce you.”

The woman nodded aggressively, her hair bouncing.

“Great,” Marcel breathed, the excitement of understanding slipping down a steep slope as he realized that he had to speak to Miriam, “I’ll do that... but you’ll have to give me your name first.”

The woman’s cheery expression turned defensive, then her eyes flicked down to see his hand held out, palm facing the ceiling. Giving him a curious look, she took that hand. With her right index finger, she began to trace letters onto his palm. X... A... He glanced up for a second and caught her looking back at him. She simply smiled, then closed his hand into a fist before letting go.

“Xanth,” he said, her name still held in his fist. She gave a nod and a grin. He mimed putting her name into his pocket, before turning his attention to the dog, ducking down to rub his neck. “And who is your friendly rascal?” Xanth gave a short whistle, and the dog answered with a happy bark. Marcel gave her a strange look. She gave him an annoyed one, and repeated the whistle. “You mean, it’s-” Marcel whistled, but Xanth shook her head and whistled a third time, which Marcel again attempted to mimic. Soon, Xanth was whistling while pointing up, down and gesturing for shorter or longer while Marcel tried to follow her, until they were just whistling over the top of each other. The dog whined and slumped to the ground with his paws over his ears. Marcel began whistling an old Shaharan folk song amidst the chaos, that Xanth picked up on and attempted to harmonize with, both of their faces brightening from the nostalgia of it.

But before they finished the final bars, the sound of what had to be a horse being dropped onto an ale barrel echoed around the cavern. Marcel winced.

“Sounds like the Shark is that way,” he said.




Marcel and Xanth rushed over to the bar, the dog hot on their heels. Marcel already knew what to expect, but still, as he took in the scene, he felt himself go a shade lighter.

That enormous, terrifying woman he noted as Xanth’s companion had completely flattened a barrel against a wall, which she had been slammed into. Miriam stood by the bar, one fist raised. The crowd that had gathered to see a good fight were a sea of pale, shocked faces. Xanth’s hands slapped over her mouth before she sprinted over to the fallen giantess. The dog also sprinted past Marcel’s legs, but not out of concern for the woman. He ran to lap up the booze that had flooded the floor. Marcel inhaled deeply.

“That... was a stunt!” he declared confidently to the bar, walking forward with his hands in the air. He shot a look at the defeated brawler, “That was a stunt, right?!”

There was the chilling sound of bone-popping as the woman set her jaw back into place under her red bandanna. Glaring in his direction without any indication of how painful that was, she gave a slow nod. Marcel restrained himself from openly shivering, trying to start an applause. Two people joined. He got the feeling that he didn’t quite convinced them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Xanth and the giantess signing to each other, before the huge woman turned up her palm and Xanth slammed a hi-five down on it. Weird. Ignoring them, he moved to Miriam.

“Are you serious, Shark?” he whispered accusingly, right by her ear, “Nobody would’ve believed that kid at the door, he was one kid. But an entire bloody tavern? We don’t even know if Quinn wants these guys to know we have a magical super potion made by a demon!”

Sounded pretty damn secret-worthy when he said it aloud.

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Miriam felt the eyes upon the back of her head and let out an annoyed sigh. She stood up to face the dark giant of a woman and asked. "Just what the fuck do you want? I'm trying to enjoy a drink here.."

The woman did not flinch. This time, she didn't lower her gaze. She kept her eyes locked with Miriam's, a daring glint to them.

Miriam's anger started to flare. "You deaf? Or just Stupid?" she asked taking a step forward. "I'm really not in the mood for this. Tell me what you want or better yet just fucking piss off."

The crowds around began to clear out with terrified looks on their faces. A few brave ones stuck around though. They had to see what would happen.

The giantess lifted herself off the wall, staring down Miriam as she did so, before slowly moving around her to the center of the room, not once breaking eye contact. At the rooms center, she raised her fists and widened her stance, waiting.

Miram just smirked. "So it's a fight you want? Come at me then, bitch!" Miriam said as she pounded her chest with her fist.

"Please ladies! Not in my bar!' The barkeeper begged.

But it was too late... The brave crowd started whispering bets as the giantess rushed forward. "A thousand gold on myself!" Miriam yelled out as she danced away from the giantess' charge. "Too slow!" Miriam chuckled.

The Giantess let out something a kin to a feral growl as she came at Miriam again. This time though she met with Miriam's fist. Too fast for the crowd to even see Miriam had jumped up and connected with the giant woman's jaw.

As Miriam landed on her feet with catlike grace, The Giantess was sent flying across the bar. She went right though a table before smashing head first into a keg of beer smashing it to bits. As the beer poured out over the giantess and the bar the crowd stood with stunned looks mouths wide and jaws hanging.

It was about that time that Marcel came rushing in...

Miriam barely noticed the woman that rushed over to the Giantess as Marcel opened his mouth to harp at her. Annoyed, Miriam simply said. "She started it..." Clearly not caring about what he had to say.

Miriam turned to the barkeep "Sorry about the mess... the boys over there can pay you from my winnings..." she said before turning to walk out of the bar.

Marcel gave the barkeep a friendly wave and an apologetic smile, before looking over to Xanth. Her little hand was enveloped in giant paw of the big one, making them appear like a child and parent. He gestured after Miriam, but she waved about a hand and shook her head, before resting against her companion’s arm. Marcel gave her decision to stay away from the Shark an approving thumbs-up and waved her goodbye, following after Miriam.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, bounding up beside her like no tension that hung over their heads whatsoever, “Be careful with it.” He paused a moment, then chuckled. “So how did she start it, exactly? Look at you funny? I’m sure you’ve punched people for less.”

Miriam groaned as Marcel bounded up to her like a happy puppy. "Don't fucking tell me what to do. And yes I have punched people for less. Like I'm about to punch you if you don't stop following me."

“I can take it,” Marcel said, undeterred, “Send me flying through the ceiling. Or crashing through somebody’s merchandise, or the supplies here. I'm sure Quinn will love that.” The smile playing on his lips indicated a lighthearted jest, but...

Miriam suddenly grabbed Marcel's jacket and pulled him down towards her until his face was inches from hers and shouted, "Don't fucking test me! You of all people have no right to lecture me. Why don't you just fucking leave me alone... Isn't that what you are best at? Leaving people...alone..."

Miriam had no fucking idea what she had just tread on. Marcel was tired, of Miriam and the journey. He was sick of trying to play nice, but he could’ve done it forever, if she hadn’t said that. Jealousy, loathing, doubt, everything ugly in him throbbed in that ticking time bomb that Miriam had just dared to kick. Their whereabouts and the people around them were a white abyss.

Those golden eyes that glittered with all the superficial charm of a gold bar widened, flashing with the ferocity of a lightning strike, as he roared, “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, MIRIAM?!”

The sudden snap of his charming persona loosened Miriam’s grip as his hands snatched her wrists, yanking her off him. People had lifted their heads to glance, or in some cases, gawk at the commotion, but their attention did nothing to calm Marcel, his handsome face contorted like a snarling dog’s. “I’m stuck here because I can’t leave someone alone!” he barked, piercing through her with his golden glare, “And you’re stuck here, too! Stuck with me! Punch me to the moon if you want to, I’ll be back. I’m not leaving anything. Starting with whatever the fuck your issue is!”

Miriam was taken aback by Marcel's words... but anger still burned in her. She noted the onlookers and gave them a glare before grabbing Marcel again and dragging him off to a nearby hallway. When she was out of sight of the main room she suddenly pinned him against the wall and spoke, her face once again inches from his. 'You want to know what my problem is? Do you Really? YOU are my problem. Every fucking time I see you there is a burning... a wrath... a love...a hate... a friendship... a desire to rip you in half... and a desire to do this..."

Miriam pressed her lips against Marcel's it only lasted a few seconds but it seemed as if time just stopped for a moment. When pulled away she just looked at Marcel as what she just did set in.. She had just kissed him... oh gods... she had just kissed him...

As Miriam pulled from Marcel, she met a dark, unreadable gaze that had not faltered since the moment she met his slack lips. Not unlike the eyes those who spasmed on the end of his blade saw, before he sent them into the arms of their gods.

He didn’t want to think.

About what he was supposed to say next, about whatever Miriam had just confessed, about the rebellion out there, about super assassins, about the demon Quinn had vowed to defend the world from and the woman who had promised her death, by the Goddess, about Quinn. The way she flinched from him, the ways she surpassed him, what he had done to her, the pearls that were still tucked away in his jacket.

About what he was doing for her. About his pitiful presence.

No, he didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted to feel something, something like...

Power.

And it was that sudden hunger which drove his hands to clutch at the gladiator’s hips and pull her against him. He kissed her as if he was starved for it. From her lips to her neck, feeding from her, exactly like the selfish parasite he was trying to forget he was.


It all happened so fast...

Miriam found herself and Marcel making out their way to the inn above. Soon she had Marcel picked up in her arms, carrying him into room 21. She pushed him onto the bed crawling on top of him with a smirk.

When it was all over Miriam just lay there under the covers with Marcel. This wasn't a dream was it? No, this was real, she had just.... with Marcel... She laid there naked beside him. She just let herself breathe...


People like Marcel were not made to keep power. He had proven that to himself time and time again. But for the moment, the buzz lingered, though he knew in several hours’ time he would lose it and go back to... well, he didn’t want to think about that.

Marcel and Miriam had fallen apart and laid there like debris, not touching, both staring at their respective spot of ceiling. Quite the unceremonious aftermath to such an explosive outburst of passion. Marcel definitely felt like he had gone through an explosion. His body ached with bruising, not unlike those he’d received when training with Miriam, but somehow, these felt worse.

Guess... now was the time to say something. Something not stupid.

“So,” he breathed, shoulders still heaving and eyes still fixed to the ceiling, “Does this mean the flirtatious banter is back or am I being too wishful?”

Miriam wasn't sure now to answer him... this whole affair had cooled down her hate for the man beside her... but she was unsure of what would happen now. "I guess that's up to you..." she answered with a sigh.

Miriam looked over at Marcel and asked "What do we tell the others? I'm sure they will be wondering why we have been gone for so long..."

“We tell them that we sat down and discussed our differences like civilized folk,” Marcel replied, letting out a groan as he curled up from the bed to swing his legs over the side and start shuffling back into his pants, “Or, that you were beating the crap out of me.” He rolled back his shoulder with a hiss, “I think that's more believable.” Everybody was distracted with their own business, surely they wouldn't have been missed. Only thing to worry about was whoever had seen the argument or them leaving together, and Marcel... hadn't exactly been paying attention to his surroundings, then.

He got off the bed (Thank Heresta they weren't taking off again so soon, he was going to be walking funny tomorrow. He wasn't used to be being the one in this position - well, there was that one other time-) and did up his belt buckle before searching around for the rest of his attire.

Miriam just watched for a moment taking in Marcel's form before finally pulling herself from the bed. Finding her clothes and armor she quickly dressed. Her eyes resting on Marcel from time to time. As he whipped up his crumpled jacket, a flash of white was flung from its pocket and came to land on the foot of the bed. A pearl necklace, disappearing within the white bedsheets. Marcel paused a moment as he gazed upon it, then snatched it back up to stash it away without a word. Miriam noticed it but she said nothing as she straped on her swords.

Finally, Marcel looked at Miriam, for the first time since they had untangled.

"Miriam," he said seriously after a quiet moment, "This isn't going to happen again."

Miriam looked crushed but just said "Yeah...keep telling yourself that..." before heading out the door before Marcel decided to say something that would piss her off. She wanted to keep this high...

Marcel watched Miriam go with dulled eyes, before he promptly fell back onto the bed with his arms out. “I’m sorry it did,” he hadn’t said. It wouldn’t happen again. There was no damn way he could let it.

Three rules, Marcel, you only had three rules. You were a bastard with princibles. No virgins, no crazies, and nobody who looked at him with eyes like that. He had definitely just broken two of the three. ... It was time to update those rules. There needed to be a forth, now.

Nobody he cared about.

He'd never thought he’d have to make a rule like that.

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Miriam was almost dozing off in her seat when a high-heeled boot parted the fabric of the tent. Quinn had returned from her meeting, her messy, low bun pinned back up into place and wrapped with braids. Her attire was near identical to the second dress she had lost to a blade, with the addition of navy blue accompanying the black. Her face was the only thing that hadn’t been rejuvenated. Her eyes were just as heavy and tired as they had been before coming out of that room.

A clay cup of some herbal smelling liquid was clutched in both of her gloved hands, her pink umbrella hooked over her elbow. Olive eyes scanned past Miriam and the other woman in the tent with them to rest on Linde with complete apathy.

“Miriam,” she said, then with hesitation, “... High Priestess Emon.” The spindly, scarred woman in white robes narrowed her yellow-green eyes. “May I please be alone with her?”

The High Priestess turned her head to Linde then nodded, her stern features failing to soften as she glided over. “I’ll grant you this, Maiden,” she said, the disdain in that title subtle – but Quinn knew it. She ducked her head slightly in a bow to the woman.

“You needn’t call me that,” she murmured quietly, feeling the judging gaze fall upon her head.

“Shall I call you child?” the woman replied evenly. Her eyes narrowed once more and Quinn knew that she could smell Luca’s pipe on her dress. She passed Quinn to the tent’s exit, her narrow chin raised. “I am not so bitter a woman, Maiden. Welcome home.”

Quinn didn’t raise her head, not until Miriam moved past her – that was when one hand shot out to grab Miriam’s wrist. She looked over her shoulder to lock glares.

“You may access the bar again,” she informed her, “But do not show off your abilities here without my permission. They don’t need to know just yet, and...” she glanced away from Miriam with a little grumble, “... I don’t want to make a habit of convincing people to forgive you for property damage.”

“Sure,” Miriam snapped, “As soon as you keep YOUR people in line. It was the big Sharahan bitch that started this, not me!"

Quinn’s eyes shut, her hand around Miriam’s wrist squeezing slightly. “Miriam... please,” she said in a tired voice, “You’re one of my people now, are you not?”

“For now.”

Miriam snatched her arm back and burst out of the tent, leaving Quinn’s own arm lingering after her. “You’re... welcome,” she said quietly to no one, balling her hand into a fist and bringing it back to her, adding an uncertain, “... comrade.”

She waited until she heard no more footsteps outside before she moved over to Linde’s bed, sitting in the seat Miriam took beside it and setting down the warm cup on the bedside table. Then she just stared down at her.

Quinn hadn’t been that drunk when she had danced with this woman. Enough to make her think that it was a wonderful idea and that they were best friends and nothing terrible was ever going to happen, yes, but not... not enough that anything was blurry. She still remembered the steps, the way Linde’s body moved – and the way her own body moved away from the woman’s. Stepping away, Linde chasing, the strength Quinn felt in her as she guided their... dance...

It should have been a happier memory, at the least bittersweet. But now, all she could think was how her body was manipulated so easily by the hands of her killer.
Her killer, who was presently wounded, sleeping, and human before her.

Quinn’s fingers trailed slowly up her thigh, her fingertips just grazing against the gun barrel. She shivered. It was the same guilty, exciting feeling a child felt when doing something against their parent’s wishes. Or the feeling of standing from a high place, with the thought to jump, just to see what would happen. Entertaining the thought of having a gun to Linde’s temple, knowing that right now, she could be stronger than her, was enough. Her hand dropped from her thigh and hung down, while her head moved forward to rest on the bed besides Linde’s arm.

Stupid, petty Ottavia. What were you thinking?

Linde's slumber had been blissful until this point. Her relaxed, peaceful features slowly contorted with a softly wrinkled brow as Miriam snapped at Quinn and raised her voice, rousing Linde from her sleep and bringing her back to conscious reality.

Her eyes did not open, but her mind was awake. She could hear the final words of Quinn's exchange with Miriam, and the sounds of Quinn sitting, setting her herbal drink down, and running her finger along her leg before letting it sink to her side as she rested her head on the bedside near Linde's arm.

Inwardly, Linde was pained by this gesture. She didn't know what Quinn had been doing or why she stopped, but when Quinn's head came to rest by her arm Linde was unable to hold back the emotion of Quinn's ability to be so vulnerable with her by choice after what they had been through.

A single tear formed in the corner of her eye and dropped down her cheek as her arm gently bumped Quinn's head.

Quinn stiffened when she felt the bump, jolting her head up to see Linde’s wet brown eyes gazing down at her. She immediately straightened back up into her seat.

“You’re awake,” she stated, then glanced over at the cup and took it into her hands to offer it to Linde. “I understand that you can’t eat solids after surgery, but, you haven’t eaten anything since that fight. You’re the doctor. Can you drink this now?”


The corners of Linde's mouth curled into a weak smile.

"Thank you." She said softly.

She eased herself up into a half-seated position, took the cup, and sipped at it for a few seconds before letting it come to rest in her lap.

"... Miriam didn't seem too grateful for being allowed back in the bar." She said quietly.

Quinn had withdrawn into a crossed arms, crossed legs position. She tossed her head away at Linde’s comment, bothered that she had been awake to witness that.

“It’s a shit dive,” she dismissed.

Linde offered a weak chuckle.

"Seems Miriam has a lot to learn about how to control her temper and thank people when they do her a kindness."[color] She said.

She looked up at Quinn.

[color=#6363ff]"You're still here, so may I presume there is something you would like to speak with me about?"
She asked.

Quinn drew in a little further, defensive. “I’m still here because I haven’t said goodbye yet!” she retorted, then went back to fuming silence for a moment, before blurting, “I came here to check on you and I’m still checking on you. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Linde's smile softened slightly as she looked down at the cup in her lap.

"... I'm sorry." She said after a few seconds.

Quinn looked at her apprehensively for a moment, before glancing away. “You didn’t kill him, but he won’t be back for a long while,” she murmured, “You did enough.”

Linde's smile faded.

"That's not why I'm apologizing, Quinn." She said quietly.

Quinn froze.

Linde took a deep breath, which became a bit wheezy at the end, before letting it out on a soft sigh as she looked over at Quinn.

"I'm apologizing... Because I've been horrible." She said softly.

Tears started welling in her eyes as she spoke.

"Threatening a child... Threatening your life... I've been little but trouble for you since this all started back in Cre' Est." She said, her lower lip quivering towards the end of her sentence with tears now flowing freely.

"The Red-Eyed Demon tasked me with protecting you all, and I've done the opposite. I've caused strife, confusion, and discontent." She whimpered.

"I've never been more ashamed of myself than the course of these last few days before Ven arrived. Reflecting on my behavior. On my words. The things I've said and done to and around you and the others... They're unforgivable." She whimpered, her head tilting down towards her lap.

Linde broke down, dropping the cup and its contents into her lap and burying her face in her hands.

"I let this happen!" She cried.

"I knew I was changing, but I let it happen anyway!" She continued, shaking her head.

"Three long years following by his side, seeing and doing things I'd never have imagined myself capable of. Horrifying and unspeakable things..." She whimpered.

Her head lowered further, her hands nearly touching her now damp lap as the cup rolled off her leg to the floor. Her sobs and gasps grew weaker, and her breathing slowly came under control.

"Before all of this, I was a dignified doctor in Cre' Est serving my community with pride. People looked at me with a smile and hope, knowing I would do all I could to save them, their loved ones, or their friends from any and all pain and misery. They were proud of me. I was proud of myself." She cried softly.

"Children. Adults. The elderly. Everyone trusted me. Everyone smiled at me. If you told any of them I advocated torturing a child for information, they'd have called you insane." She said quietly, lifting her now soaking wet face from her hands.

"... I let this happen to myself... I allowed myself to change, all for his sake." She said softly.

She turned her head and looked at Quinn as her lower lip quivered.

"I'm sorry... Quinn... I'm so sorry!" She gasped through her tears.

Quinn couldn’t say anything. Wearing her apathetic mask, she watched Linde cry, completely still. Suddenly, there was a weight sharing Linde’s mattress, and the sobbing woman looked up to see that Quinn had moved from her seat. She sat facing off the side of the bed, her head turned to look at Linde in line with her shoulder. They locked eyes for a moment, then Quinn did something she had been itching to do for a long time coming.

She raised her left hand, and slapped the doctor.

It was a quick, sharp strike across Linde’s cheek, sudden and stinging. Quinn's emotionless gaze did not flinch, not even when she saw Linde’s weak smile.

“... A slap well deserved,” she uttered, continuing to shed her tears, “Th-”
Linde did not get to finish that thought, not before Quinn cupped her face with the same hand that had struck her and forced Linde to look her way. Quinn’s gloved palm rubbed at Linde’s eyes, battling to wipe away the endless stream of tears.

“Don’t cry,” she urged firmly, “Not for a reason like this.” Her thumb wiped under Linde’s lashes, her glove now wet with tears. She hadn’t succeeded in stopping them, only in rubbing the skin around Linde’s eyes red. “The moment you cry for your own weaknesses is the moment you become nothing but them.”

She released Linde, settling her hands on her lap and turning her lowered head from her, her blonde bangs shielding her face. “What you have done, is done. Don’t stop walking.” Her fingers curled around her skirt fabric, “But... if you truly regret your decisions this much... you’re walking the wrong way.”

Linde was not expecting the slap, but as it came she could not help but smile and say how she deserved it. She wanted to continue speaking, but Quinn stopped her and rubbed away her tears. It was a touching gesture, and after Quinn finished speaking, Linde's head dropped. Her eyes closed. And her hands fell back into her lap.

"...... Quinn..." She said weakly.

"Could you please hand me my pack?" She asked.

Quinn rose from the bed and walked over to the entrance of the tent where Linde's personal effects were all on a stool. Some of them were outside the pack, the doctors having had to go through her items to find a few things to help them along given their own dwindling supplies. Quinn replaced each item into the pack as best she could, and delivered it to Linde, placing it on the edge of the bed next to herself as she sat back down to observe and listen.
Linde reached for the pack, still with her eyes closed, and reached inside. After her hand sifted through for a few seconds, she brought her hand back out and held up three darts in the palm of her hand for Quinn to see.

"Take them." She said quietly.

Quinn's brow furrowed.

"What are these?" She asked.

Linde's head turned slightly allowing Quinn to see the corner of Linde's left eye from under her bangs.

"...... You once asked me if I would be willing to sacrifice thousands of lives to save the Demon's during Roda I'l Lousta... My answer..." She began, with new tears now leaking from her eyes.

She lifted her right hand out of the pack carrying a fourth dart with a red coat of pain along its body complete with a special leather protective cover over the tip, and placed it into Quinn's hand beside the other three. As the dart left her hand and dropped into Quinn's, she let escape a sob combined with a whimper, as if letting go of it came with extraordinary pain.

With the dart now in Quinn's hand, Linde's head tilted back down.

[b][color=#6363ff]"My answer... Now lies in the palm of your hand."
She said quietly.

Quinn stared into her palm at the red dart in stunned silence. Her eyes slowly widened as she comprehended...

"This is," she began, then swallowed, "This can?" She looked to Linde for confirmation, and at the sight of the woman's defeated posture, Quinn knew. She shot up from her seat. Her other hand grasped the fist that clutched the darts and they rested against her brow as she gasped, sounding desperate for air, like she had finally been lifted from water. The quick, shallow breaths that followed made her shoulders shudder. "Oh my Gods," she whispered, "Oh my Gods, there is a way! Miss Almna!" She practically shouted as she twisted around to look at her, beaming with overwhelming joy and relief. When she caught a glimpse of Linde's expression, however, that smile faded fast. "You... Why would you just... let me believe that you would... In what possible way could that have benefitted anybody?! You absolute moron!"

With a huff, she looked down at the dart in her hand once more, smiled briefly, then her emotions shut back off.

"... Is this trust or guilt, Miss Almna?"

Linde's head was still down and tears still dripped from her unseen eyes behind her bangs, but at the corners of her mouth curled a smile.

"It is trust, Quinn. As much trust as I can bestow upon someone else in this world." She said quietly.

She finally lifted her head and looked at Quinn, that weak smile still on her face.

"I love him, Quinn... I have since the day he saved my life those many years ago." She admitted.

She closed her eyes, but remained still in her posture.

"That day, I was stabbed in the back by Te'i Sai. It shredded my lung, opened my heart, and severed my abdominal aorta. I was going to die. There were no doubts about that. But... Call it fate. Call it chance. Call it whatever you want... He would not let me die." She said.

She opened her eyes, tears still flowing.
"Shadow can separate the Demon from his body for brief period of time, but doing so puts a severe strain on him as the Demon has half his soul. Without a complete soul, the body withers and dies. He surrendered the Demon to me to save my life, and worked as fast as he could to surgically repair whatever damage he could manage before he finally passed out and the Demon returned to him. Without that transfer of the Demon's spirit and regenerative power, I would not be here today." She said.

She blinked and wiped the tears from her eyes, her smile calming and becoming more genuine.

"He is not nearly as dark, selfish, or aggressive as people think he is, Quinn. His actions may speak to the contrary, but you have not seen his heart yet. Not like I have. He nearly gave his life to save mine, proving that even he, a being corrupted by a Demon's presence, could and would willingly make the ultimate sacrifice for a life not his own... And that's why I fell in love with him." She said.

She reached for Quinn's hands which still gripped the darts, taking them gently in her own and placing her other on top of them.

"I love him... I will always love him... And it is because of my love that it was supposed to be me who ended his life if it came down to it. The burden would be mine to bear, and mine alone. I know him now better than anyone, and I would know when the time was right to end it permanently via the red dart, or simply put him out with the others." She said.
(Still going, hold up)
"I have halted Roda I'l Lousta three times in the past. Twice just two years ago, and once the year I met him, using these darts here." She said, pointing to those not marked in red.

"You will have roughly ten seconds of vulnerability where Shadow and the Demon wrestle for control. During those ten seconds, both are occupied and cannot react to the outside world... It is then that you must strike. These three darts will induce a comatose-like state, rendering his body unusable. Without a usable vessel, the Demon's power vents to the outside world via the black aura you've seen before. During that time, Roda I'l Lousta will be active. Once the aura dissipates completely, leaving not so much as a shred left hovering above his body... You will have stopped the rampage and Shadow will return to his normal self." She said.
She closed her eyes once again.

"It was supposed to be me... Shadow's goal is to save this continent from the tyrannical wrath of Te'i Sai. If you thought Egruus was bad, Te'i Sai is infinitely worse. And what's worse than that? They don't even know that this is their agenda. Their orders are disguised as orders of peace and balance, and so they willingly become the monstrous combatants they are today for a purpose they don't even realize is guiding their every move." She said, opening her eyes and looking up at Quinn.

"Quinn... Please... Promise me that you will use the comatose darts before reaching for that which will kill him. So long as even one of them pierces his flesh before the true Demon takes control, you will have stopped Roda I'l Lousta."

Her face became desperate and her grip on Quinn's hands tightened with fresh tears flowing once more.

"Please Quinn....... Promise me... You can stop Roda I'l Lousta without killing him... Please... Let that be enough." She begged.

Quinn listened to everything Linde had to say with deadly intensity. Her brow nearly shot off her face when Linde declared her love for the... Demon, however.

And then, as Linde continued to speak, it all made sense, and Quinn felt incredibly, irredeemably oblivious. But this discovery was dwarfed by every next word.

At the end, as she begged Quinn to not kill him, Quinn's piercing gaze flickered bright with a passion.

"Killing the demon," she stressed through gritted teeth, "Was always going to be my last resort." She leaned closer, caught up in the elation of this moment, "Know that it will always be a possibility, but trust that I will not take his life without exhausting every possible option. He is important to me too." She caught her words, face going red and contorting with horror, "In a very different, professional way!" She pulled back from Linde, sitting on her chair as she clutched the darts to her chest like precious treasure.
"... But," she spoke up again, as the excitement was dying down once more. Suspicion's clawed hand raked down her back, "I don't understand." Her hands fell down on her lap, facing upwards on her lap, the darts displayed upon them. "It was supposed to be you? You have another of these darts for yourself, yes?" ... Her expression. That was a...

"Why are you doing this?" Quinn demanded, voice soft but laced with urgency, "This is more than a display of trust, Miss Almna. I won't - I can't believe that you trust me this much. For how long had you carried this notion, that it must be you? To just - just pass the duty to me? I haven't done enough to make... To make you trust me this... Much..." She shook her head violently before glaring Linde through, demanding answers. "What is happening here, Miss Almna?"

Linde's desperate face relaxed into a relieved sigh of contentment when Quinn said that killing him was always a last resort, and that he was important to Quinn as well despite her immediate protest that it was professional and not personal.

Linde's head dipped, almost as if bowing in gratitude, before she looked back up to Quinn with soft, almost apologetic eyes.

"Despite our differences, I have always trusted you Quinn." She said gently.

Linde relaxed back into her seated position and set her hands in her lap, keeping her eyes on Quinn the whole time.

"Trusting you has been far easier than trusting him. Even after he saved me, it took a while for me to process what happened fully and learn to trust and love him." She said softly.

She closed her eyes.

"He entrusted me with the secret to killing him, but out of love I created a way to simply subdue him. And these secrets, and the responsibility which comes with them, I now pass to you..."

In the corner of her left eye, a single tear fell.

"Quinn... I am..." She began, opening her eyes with that same apologetic smile.

"I have... Decided to return home... To Cre' Est." She said after a few long seconds of silence.

Things went quiet for Quinn.

“... No..."

“No. Linde, don’t you dare.”

“You have the responsibility of protecting us,” she said in a low, furious voice, “From the Demon as much as Te’i Sai. Linde, do not run away. I can’t control him.” She stuck out her hand with the darts, “I can’t waste one of these whenever he harms somebody on our side!” She gestured wildly to the tent’s entrance, “And Miriam’s current state is not one that would grant her victory over a Master Assassin! I am not so stupid that I am blind to your worth! Even now, at your weakest!”

Linde's smile never wavered as she watched Quinn with her tearstained face.

"... I failed you, Quinn." She said quietly.

She looked down at her lap, her hands sitting there with her fingers gently interlaced together.

"I failed all of you. And..."

Her eyes closed.

"I failed him." She concluded.

She opened her eyes and looked at Quinn.

"He asked me to protect you all. And I failed... My usefulness has run its course, and it's time for me to step away with what little dignity I have left." She said softly.

As she spoke her voice was calm, confident, and filled with an almost ethereal sense of self awareness.

"Quinn... You are a strong woman with even stronger character. You don't need someone like me who is having trouble identifying who she even is anymore." She said.

As before, one tear fell from her left eye.

"You need to surround yourself with people who know who they are, what they represent, and who are willing to lay down their lives for a good cause regardless of other priorities they may hold in life such as blind love." She said.

"I'm sorry, Quinn... But it is time for me to leave." She concluded.

The tremble in Quinn’s hands finally stilled, but her firm resistance did not leave her gaze. But even so... she clenched her fist around the darts, and nodded. She could not comprehend Linde’s alien reasoning, but, she understood that she was a woman who had made up her mind. That much, she could recognize in her. With a deep breath, she snatched up her umbrella and began to take slow, deliberate steps towards the tent’s exit, pausing when she reached it.

“Linde Xe’ Almna,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder to give Linde one final glare, “You have to stop crying.”

Then she left.

Linde's tears silently flowed freely as Quinn exited the tent.

"... Good-bye... Quinn." She whispered.

The tent's entry flaps settled down and stilled, and all that remained in that tent was a note tacked to the pillow where Linde once rested her head. A note addressed to the Maiden of Revolution, which read the following:

To my dear Maiden of Revolution, and to my comrades in arms whom I was fortunate to meet along the way...
It brings me no joy to part company with you in such a way, but I realized not so very long ago that I lost something very important in the time I've spent with the Red-Eyed Demon. I have chosen to make my way home to Cre' Est in hopes of rediscovering what I lost, and regaining the identity I left behind.

My Maiden, you are a strong woman of even stronger character. I am proud to have spent time with you despite our differences. And though I leave your company, I do so by leaving behind two gifts.

My first gift is the gift of the Red-Eyed Demon's preferred name. It may not sound like a gift, but it is name given to him by the first person ever to trust him and treat him like a real human being. That name, is "Kyero." If you address him by this name at any time, he will instantly recall the memories he holds of this individual and calm himself if he is upset, as well as be more likely to tell you things he otherwise would prefer to keep secret. He cannot maintain an aggressive or deceitful mindset if this name is spoken aloud.

Secondly, I refuse to depart without leaving you in even more capable hands than my own. By the time you read this, I will have sent word of your quest to two of my closest friends who have also spent time with the Red-Eyed Demon. The first individual is called Taira, the Silver-Haired Goddess of Triveila who is empowered by the serum and has been so even longer than I have. The second individual is called Drake, a private and powerful mercenary of the people of Gweynura who is almost as large as Sieg, but every bit as strong and capable in combat... But who has a much less aggressive and duel-oriented temperament.

Both of them are every bit the warrior I am as individuals, and together work so well that you will never find a better tag-team despite Drake not being empowered by the serum. May they serve you well in my stead.
... And one more thing.

If we ever meet again, my Maiden... I will not remember you.

Once I reach home I will employ an ancient technique applying pressure to key points on my skull to wipe my memory of all that has transpired over the last two months or so of my life. I will forget meeting you and all the others. I will forget advocating torturing the boy. And I will forget leaving you with the tools to subdue and, if necessary, kill the man I love.

I will leave myself a note reminding myself that I have lost something important. And if we do meet again, may haps by the grace of the Gods, you may see me for who I was before I met the Red-Eyed Demon. Someone worthy of your trust and respect. Someone who has regained her humanity, her sense of right and wrong, and her heart.

Thank you for everything, my Maiden.

~ Linde Xe' Almna

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When Miriam found herself away from Quinn, she pulled out the painting. Staring at it, she let out a sigh. "Why did you ever leave her Mira..."

Miriam was about to tuck the painting back into her armor when she noticed something else had been pulled out with it. It was a simple drawing of blue and silver armor in the style of ancient Triveila. On the silver breastplate was a shark with a trident gripped in her jaws. Miriam looked at the armor and the painting...

"Maybe it's time I change... back to what I once was..." Miriam sighed.

Miriam tucked away the painting but kept in her hand the drawing of the armor as she made her way to the forge.

Meanwhile, Marcus watched Jeanne as she scampered off to the forge with glee. All things considered, he was glad that their farewells had not been as final as they had expected. And not just because of their friendship; the revolution sorely needed people with her kind of skills. As the thief browsed the smithy’s wares to pass the time, he noticed Miriam slowly approaching with some kind of note clutched in one hand. When the gladiator drew near, he gave her a nod of recognition.

“Long time no see,” he remarked, his eyes on the slip of paper in Miriam’s hand out of curiosity. “What’s that you’ve got there? An order for the smiths?” It was only just now that Marcus realised that he had barely spoken to Miriam directly in all the time he had known her, if at all. Did she even remember him?

Miriam narrowed her eyes at Marcus. "Yes... long time. I have to admit I was surprised to see you again... and in one of Quinn's little hidey holes of all places. But to answer your question, yes this is an order for the smiths... an armor design based on the armor of the ancient Triveilans." Miriam paused, looking Marcus over. "Now I have a question for you. How did you end up with the rebels after you aban... left us?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at Miriam’s order. “Trivellian armour, eh? Don’t know if the smiths know much about ancient foreign armour, but if you have something for them to work from then I don’t see why not.” Then came the inevitable question, though perhaps not quite the one Marcus was expecting. How did he come to work with the rebels?

“Well… I live in Veilbrand. Even before I met you and the others, I was involved with the revolution in some way.” He gave shrug. “Hard not to, I guess. Been helping out with, what’s that fancy word for it… logistics? Helping them get the stuff they need so the revolution has a fighting chance.”

"So you're a smuggler then..." Miriam said with a smirk.

She gave him a look over. "So you and Jeanne... What's the story there?"

“Me and Jeanne? First met her on the streets, we did a couple jobs together, and we ended up working together well enough to form a partnership out of it.” He narrowed his eyes, wary of what little he knew of the pit fighter versus what she now knew about him. “But enough about me, what about you? How did you come across the serum? And what brings you all the way out here from Shaharan, anyway?”

Miriam was silent for a moment before sighing.

"Chance and curiosity. I was in my birth land of Triveila. I had just lost my mother and was coping the only way I knew how... seeking a fight. I was beaten by a woman known as The Silver Haired Goddess. I wanted to know how she beat me... she sent me to where I met the Demon. I thought he would kill me... but we just talked... and I guess I impressed him enough for him to offer the serum. After I took it I was in Linde's care until the change was complete. Then I just kinda got swept up in the flow of things after that. Now I'm part of this all... part of this team of misfits Quinn has gathered up."

The mention of the Silver Haired Goddess caught Marcus’ attention. That very same woman was on her way to Veilbrand right now, at Linde’s request. If she was as capable a warrior as the letter said, then they would have less to worry about if Te’i Sai decided to join the fray. The thief held out the faint hope that this so-called Goddess was more mentally stable compared to practically everyone else enhanced by the serum he had encountered thus far.

“So Te’i Sai saw you with Linde and decided to target you too, huh?” Marcus mused. “Oh, you wanted to hand that order over to the smiths, right?”

"Somebody's got an order?"

Earnest had approached to greet the visitors at precisely that moment in the conversation. He barely gave Marcus a glance over before looking to Miriam, specifically her dented armor and the twin blades secured at her hips. His eyes brightened with hope to see them, then widened with recognition.

"You're one of the outsiders that came with the Maiden," he said, loud enough to catch the attention of his sister who looked over from the workbench she shared with Jeanne. "... The one that took Teyren in one hit?" He shook his head in bewilderment. "Thought you'd be bigger. Sorry. Earnest Atwood, head blacksmith." He recovered from his astonished mutterings by sticking out a dirty gloved hand to shake, while he eyed the paper Miriam held eagerly. "What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, I'm Miriam..." Miriam barely got out before the blacksmith was shaking her hand. "The order is an armor of Ancient Triveilan design with a matching helmet as well," she said, handing him the drawing.

Earnest's face practically shot off sparks as he looked at the design for the Triveilan armor. He plucked the pen from his bun and darted over to a small table near the entrance, far from the forge, covered in stained papers sketched with inky designs.
"You got any details or specifications you want? Leather or plate?" he called back over his shoulder, already sketching with Miriam's original design beside his hand. "I haven't been commissioned a custom armor set in years."

Two angular, amber eyes peered around his back at what he was doing, and the woman they belonged to gave a huff and an, "Ahem."

Liz turned with her hands on her hips to Miriam, eyes narrowing at her attire. "You've got a decent set of armor on you now. Why's it so important that you get another?"

Earnest twisted his head around to her, that spark lost and replaced with a defensive glare. The glare of a man whose creative stream had just been interrupted. "Liz, you mind?"

"We have enough work to do without taking on unnecessary orders for outsiders. We have other priorities before them," she shot his way with an equally as defensive look.

"Those priorities are your orders. I have the time to work on this."

"The only reason you have that time is because what you do is useless around here," she retorted, before seeming to recall that they were in front of Miriam and Marcus. She backed away from her brother's side, hands still on her hips. "You can be the judge, Ernie, I'd just prefer that whatever we spend our time on serves the revolution a purpose," she strained, glancing back in Miriam's direction, "Not your passions, and not your pockets."

Miriam listened to the back and forth of the smiths, trying not to laugh at their bickering. When they where finished she spoke to Ernie. "The breastplate is of silver colored plate. The bracers, shin and shoulder guards as well. The blue parts on the skirt and shoulder guards are dyed leather. The helmet is of course plate was well with, uh, whatever the plume is made of," Miriam explained, pointing to each part as she addressed them. She seemed as excited as Ernie was about the armor.

"I have had this design floating in my head for a while now. I guess now I feel like it is finally time for a change..." Miriam said with a sigh. Her tone hinted that it was more than just armor she was trying to change.

Earnest nodded along enthusiastically to Miriam's instructions, scribbling down notes as he listened. He looked intensely at the sketch, mind ticking over the resources available on hand and the construction time, numbers bouncing around his head.

"Standard for a regular breastplate is three days, looking at five with the complexity of the engravings," he muttered to himself, scratching at his patchy stubble. Liz rolled her eyes for the lost cause and trotted away to continue her own work, "Accessories, estimate a day each, helmet more, apprentices on the leather work, dye (mutter, mutter) on hand, (mutter) order something (mumble) plume..."

His muttering faded, and he looked over to Miriam, his boyish excitement swapped out for professionalism.

"We can get it done in a fortnight," he said firmly, "Don't know how long you're planning on sticking around the mines, but if you can give us the address of where you're headed we can have it sent over with Fable to you when it's done. It'll cost you extra, but a custom set of armor like this ain't no small sum. You're looking at..." he did some whispered calculations, "Two hundred silver, for a commission like this."

Miriam racked her brain looking for a way to come up with the money. She had money buried back at her home in Shaharan... but that would be too far to travel and would leave the group without her protection. She was still working on what to say when she heard someone speak from behind her.

"It's on me."

The drawling voice belonged to a man in a brown coat and hat, with voluminous dark curls cast over his face. A man wholly unfamiliar to the woman he'd just expressed such generosity for and, for just a split second, to Marcus as well - in appearance. The moment the thief saw the way the man's hand meandered through the air, and how that wry smile tugged at his thin lips, Marcus recognized him entirely.

He didn't even look their way as he walked forward in heeled boots, while Earnest's stare was fixated on him, thick brows raised in surprise.

"Mister Amaranda," he addressed him disbelievingly, "You're - really?" This sort of kindness from the man was obviously a rare or even unheard of occurrence, from Earnest's flabbergasted reaction, but he forced his brain to wrap around the concept. "Wow. We'll get right on it, then. Speak to Liz when you're ready to get your measurements taken. I'm doing a material check," he finished addressing Miriam and bustled off, the excitement returning to his steps.

Luca, standing just behind and between Marcus and Miriam, lit his pipe and took in a long draw... then slowly released a stream of smoke towards the ceiling... until finally, without even a glance...

"... Hey, boy. How've you been?"

After the initial surprise, Marcus gave a brief smile and a nod of recognition towards Luca. “Not bad, considering. Had a change of scenery for a bit. Wasn’t my own choice, mind you, but at least I got to meet our fair Maiden…” The thief paused, a skeptical glance in Earnest’s general direction. “I’m surprised you’d bother to shell out for something like this, Luca. Why so generous?”After the initial surpris

Luca gave a low hum and a nod, his eyes closed.

“What can I say?” He said, with a wave of his pipe that appeared to be a halfhearted attempt at dramatics, “I have a soft spot for those who desire transformation.”

His deep blue eye slid over to Miriam’s direction, “... Think of this as an investment in my Maiden’s company.”

He then turned his head to Marcus, a narrative piecing together behind his gaze. “And so you met her...” His smirk widened to a grin as everything came together in his mind, “So, you’re the one that kicked this hornet’s nest. You and your...” He scanned the forge to single out Jeanne, “Partner?”

He had a slow puff of his pipe and mused, “You may be quicker on your feet now, boy, but you’re still just as clumsy.” He knocked lightly against Marcus’ arm with the back of his hand, “Bring her over, will you?”

Luca’s head turned back to Miriam as he gave her a charming, almost warm smile. “I’d like a proper introduction to Quinn’s misfits.”

Please Scroll Past: Out Of Character (OOC)

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If you would like some help, then the Scholar team in the Role Play Academy will be happy to offer it.


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And... just like that I got the hang of that something! All good here, thank you for scrolling past and ignoring me! *waves goodbye to... nobody* Ah well.


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