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Kiske Kirill

A man of many words, poor tastes, and an infinte supply of cosmetics.

0 · 479 views · located in Tegea

a character in “Age of Alliance: Serpent's Call”, as played by Gray


Court Jesters

"Discount surgery! Get your discount surgery!~ Now, watch as I do it blindfolded. "

"My name's Kiske. Clown first, surgeon second. Freelance magician somewhere in between.

"Boredom, plain and simple. I had lots of it, and your cause offers less of it."

[B A S I C S]
Nicknames: Blue Bloodletter Kiske.
Gender: Male.
Age: 30.
Race: Human.
Origin: Airedale.
Voice:Typically high pitched, and a bit whimsical.
Class: Mage.
Offensive/Defensive: Offensive.
Magical Affinity: High.

[A P P E A R A N C E]
Hair: Kiske has red auburn hair, it's a family trait which has been passed down. He loves it! Wouldn't trade his frumpy locks for the world.
Eyes: His eyes are deep set, though it's hard to notice behind a fortress of makeup. The color is unmistakably dull green, with a set stare that has seen plenty of death.
Complexion: He's honestly a bit pasty. Kiske doesn't care too much about his "natural beauty," insisting everything and anything can be fixed by adding more powder.
Height: 6 foot. He's tall for a human, but so are most in his family.
Build: Kiske has the build of someone who was sentenced to life in a damnable prison. He's muscular, although it was mostly for show, and to keep others off his back in the pen.
Weight: Somewhere close to 180 pounds.
Body Markings: Enough make-up to make a princesses seem like common swine.

[P H Y S I C A L L Y ]
The circus is in town! Or would be, if there were any make-up left! Kiske can be easily spotted from a mile away. His bright red hair and flushed face, which would normally make any person stand out in a crowd, are completely overshadowed by the fact that this human likes to be noticed. Clowns are a popular profession for those seeking attention from nobles, and it's easy to see where Kiske's comically over-application of cosmetics comes from. Kiske typically starts with a white base, which completely seals off his natural complexion. If it weren't for times spent bathing, this would never be removed, and as elves are the sole practitioners of tattoos, Kiske can't get it stuck on permanently. While the garish makeup is the first thing that people notice, it is not the last.

Kiske's wardrobe looks like an art student had given up on the design halfway through. Sure, some things match, but it's largely lost by Kiske's fascination with hot pink. In short, just looking at Kiske is enough to give most people a migraine. This isn't remotely helped by the rather large smile which crowns the clown's face. It hangs there, just beneath the tip of his nose, in the most obnoxious and annoying way a man can smile. It mocks anyone and anything that is within walking distance, begging for a nice slug in the face. However, it is a clean face, and a clean body for that matter. Kiske enjoys bathing. He never smells of anything other than that annoying Byda perfume, and his nails are always short and crisp. His teeth are perfectly white, evidenced by the lack of contrast between they and his pearly countenance. Perhaps enviably, he stands out even among other clowns.

Strangely enough, for a mage Kiske doesn't seem to carry anything magical on him. He holds neither wand nor staff, and many would probably assume he's a hapless jester who walked onto the wrong battlefield. A warrior would know differently. He stands proud, his waist rail thin but certainly muscular; it's the kind of muscles people develop when they're used to carrying their body in delicate situations. He possesses grace with each step, and his movements have a flow of calmness to them not found in a civilian. Sure! Some see the clown paint and get the heebie-jeebies, but a true warrior sees something different that gives them the chills: his body language. Kiske carries himself as if nothing in the world could touch him, as if he were immortal. Neither fear nor hesitation are present in his step, and there are times that some would find this disconcerting.

Moral AlignmentChaotic Egocentric.


[P E R S O N A L I T Y]
Ever have that guy who gets on your nerves all the time just by existing? That's Kiske. There's just something weird about him, aside from his appearance of choice. Kiske has a rather untrustworthy nature, apparently at the wrong place at the wrong time all too frequently. Fights occur around him more than they should, and if he were in a bar, he'd be the center of attention while the entire place devolved into chaos. Again, weird. What's also bizarre is the fact that he seeks this like the queen bee in school; Kiske loves drama, chaos, and more specifically, Kiske loves a challenge. Raised by a noble family that wanted the world in their hands, Kiske gained his father's rather severe sense of drive. It's as if he weighs two choices in his head, and always picks whichever one is more difficult to manage.
Kiske also is commonly seen around dead things. He doesn't much care for gore, or splatters, or guts; just the dead. Their calm, tranquil state would stand at complete juxtaposition to the madman with his gaudy smile and beaming eyes. If anyone wanted to make him happy, they'd probably just have to bring him some recently dead flowers and he'd be chipper as a woodpecker. The man also loves flirting in addition to his instigations. Male, female, whatever genders orcs happen to be; he'll flirt with them and make them redder than his rosy cheeks.

Friends? Kiske doesn't have them, and probably won't get many. It isn't as if he actively discourages them, or is too broody or moody for them, or anything silly like that. Simply, most folk don't prefer the company of a perceived loon. But that's just the thing! Kiske is far from crazy! He's intelligent, quick on the uptake, and composed. Sure, most people wouldn't walk around town with a "punch-me" sign glued to their faces and call themselves sane, but he does because he's a rampant narcissist. Kiske also prefers to "baby talk" once in a while. He finds making words more fun makes his life more fun. He'll probably never stop, much to the dismay of everyone around him.

[F E A R S]
There aren't many things that terrify this man, but bats are one of them. They're disease carrying rodents that fly, bump into you, and bite you. Fucking freaky.

[Q U I R K S]
  • Juggler: If there are three or more of any alike object, Kiske will juggle involuntarily. This is a skill most certainly beat into him by the head clown at the royal palace. Oftentimes, the clown will not realize he is doing it.
  • Makeup Addicted: Kiske must have perfect makeup at nearly all times of the day. He will stop in the middle of battle to reapply it if he must.
  • The not so killing joke: Surprisingly enough, Kiske isn't very good at telling jokes. He's pretty awful with the delivery, and while he might be humorous to some naturally, he's no master of punchlines.
  • Slight of hand Any good magician knows slight of hand. Kiske's natural grace and fluid movements make him an expert at tricking the eyes into falling for old parlor tricks.

[E T H I C | V A L U E S]
Slay all those who stand in his way, befriend everyone else.

[A G E N D A]
Entertainment. Getting out of jail was up there, too, until recently.

[L I K E S]
    • MOTHERFUCKING TOYS AND SHIT! Ever seen a child in a toy store? Ever seen a full grown man, dressed in full clown attire, eerily peering through a toymaker's window, maximizing the view and staring longingly?
    • Kiske is an entertainer at heart. He involves himself heavily in pranks and slapstick comedy on a regular basis. The problem usually arises that the clown never seems to tell his audience in advance that they're going to be part of his stints. He finds this hilarious.
    • Believe it or not Kiske is a Kirill, and as a Kirill he is incredibly knowledgeable. How'd he get that way? Books of course. Kiske collects books to a fault. As his story goes on, he might get exhausted from all the books he collects. However, he normally is fine just browsing them. This trait does come in handy though, because Kiske can read, he can also understand maps, and typically knows answers to problems which a layman would not.
    • Shoes. Most importantly, princess shoes. Those curly, dainty, silk, impractical shoes are Kiske's favorite. And, as they're impractical, princess shoes tend to wear down quicker than a sturdy pair of boots. This causes Kiske to procure more shoes, and leads to an endless cycle of shoplifting purchasing all of his fine footwear.

[D I S L I K E S]
    • Dull knives. You know the sound--nails on a chalkboard? That's a dull knife to the clown. A dull knife as useless as it is grating. The way it can't cut shoestrings, the way it fails to open a package from the post. It's irritating, and it makes life so damn hard. Kiske will cry about this. Big crocodile tears.
    • Frail things. Strong things. See a pot, break a pot. See a strong thing making life too easy, break a strong thing making life too easy. Basically if you're on either end of the spectrum, there's a fair chance that Kiske hates you. Kiske likes to live life on the edge, it gives him a satisfying rush. That sort of thing can't happen if he's too busy babysitting or getting his hand held. "Well, what about frail objects?" you might ask. Kiske will always have a sense of loathing for them.
    • The skin on fruits. Living in the lap of luxury means that Kiske has never (and will never!) peel his own fruit. Unfortunately, this also means that Kiske refuses to eat fruit with the skin on them. It just tastes so icky, ya know? So... he's probably gonna get scurvy. Sucks bro.
    • Boredom. Yep. Like being eternally trapped at your mother-in-law's house.



[N A T U R A L | T A L E N T]
  • Flexible git: [Average] - ★★★☆☆☆ Ever seen a man who can bend his body like rubber? It's an old entertaining trick: the contortionist. Kiske is incredibly flexible. This becomes rather annoying for things that try to hit him. He can bend his body in all sorts of ways, and its enough to turn a stomach just by glancing at him. Kiske finds it rather exciting to see how far he can twist his body. It's better than most, and certainly better than anything wearing heavy armor. This skill allows Kiske, who otherwise isn't exceedingly fast, to dodge techniques which are close or far rage pretty reliably.
  • Spiritual sensitivity: [Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆ His widdle secwet: Kiske is highly spiritually aware. This adds for some interesting changes in his life. First, he can see the recently deceased. He cannot talk back to them, but he can hear them. Secondly, he can sense when there is death in an area, or otherwise a gathering of spirits. Like a moth to a flame, Kiske is drawn to their presence. This means very little in battle, but he can get a sense of what ambushes might lie up ahead, or how something died by the way they appear to him.

[C L A S S | S K I L L S]
  • Smoke bombs: [Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆ Smoke and mirrors are an entertainers best friend. As such, Kiske is proficient with the former. Kiske can create incredibly potent smoke bombs which blind the eyes, sting the nose and mouth, and fill the air with the most obnoxious smoke one can witness. The smoke he typically uses is so intense it can fill entire rooms in a flash. In its undeveloped state, it is a thick powder, when plied together it becomes a perfectly round sphere, a little smaller than a ping-pong ball. When crushed or otherwise broken, it fills rooms quicker than the slash of a sword or the movement of an arrow. This powder comes as a byproduct from mining ore. It's incredibly cheap to obtain, and is found in almost every city. A canister no larger than an barrel would easily consume a town. Kiske prefers to add a few additions to his smoke bombs to make them especially obnoxious. Firstly, the smoke produced is thick pink. Secondly, he adds his favorite annoying Byda perfume. Lastly, he adds just a hint of pepper powder. This weapon can easily change the flow of battle, as the smoke hangs like a thick fog, rendering sight, smell, and taste pretty useless save for a tiny area around those inside of it. It also lasts quite a while, making escape or moving the smoke the only real options for getting rid of it.

  • Muscle reading: [Average] - ★★★☆☆☆ A well trained eye can guess how a ball will fall from a hand, an even better trained eye will know how to catch it before it lands. This is the basic principle behind Kiske's muscle reading ability. Basically his attention to detail and the human form had come together to give him something of a predictive edge. He can utilize this with his flexibility to quickly dodge, or his knife skills to counter, or throw a well placed blade. It's a useful skill, and one learned through endless monotonous meditation and people watching.

  • Instastitch: [Competent] - ★★★★☆☆ Perhaps, Kiske should have been born a surgeon, because he certainly has the capability. Instastitch, or Crazy String, as Kiske affectionately calls it, is probably Kiske's only self-created technique. By saving up a bit of magic, Kiske can turn pure magic into a ball of string, single strands or many. From there he can use the arcane art to seal up any wound, set broken bones, reattach full limbs, and although he's never tried it, Kiske believes if he acted quickly enough he could reattach a severed head. The string can be any color, or no color if he chooses, and since it is magic it seemingly bends or outright breaks the rules of traditional medicine. With a simple cut, Kiske can force his instastitch into the hole and the skin will be bound together. This will leave no scaring of any kind, and the pain will all but vanish. For a deep tissue wound, or organ damage, Kiske can send in a heavier dose of magic which will bind all of the pieces correctly together in their place. This will fix a deep wound in around five minutes, and stop bleeding immediately. Pain will stop around the three minute mark. It's about the same for a broken bone, or crushed bone. The string goes into the body, connects the pieces, and then tightly wraps itself around the broken bits. For a severed limb, partial functionality will return within the first few minutes. Full functionality restores in around three days. Pain can be stopped within an hour or two.
    But healing is only half of this skill. The other half is a bit more twisted. First, Kiske's stitching can be incredibly flexible, rigid, sharp, or soft. It can extend for as far as Kiske has magic (which is quite some distance) but is pretty useless without Kiske seeing or imagining where he put the string. Typically, he keeps it colorless, and lays it loose, attaching the ends to the tips of his fingers. When snagged, Kiske can cause tension on the line and use it to slice through armor, or create enough torque to snap limps and break shields. Kiske has also been known to sew enemies legs together, or their limbs to one another. Kiske utilizes the wire for all sorts of traps, preferring to make a battlefield a literal maze of his creation. The string can lift human weight with ease, as well as stop falling objects,or incoming baddies if there were enough strands lined closely together.

  • Illusion: [Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆ Reinforced by Kiske's natural slight of hand, Kiske's illusions rely on those he's fooling not knowing he has an illusion active, or not realizing there was more to an otherwise harmless action. His illusions can be used to make objects out of place, or hide his instastitch. Far more regularly, they're used to change the color of his garish clothes to something more unsightly. However, he can also use them to expand a smoke screen, or hide a knife in an open looking hand. While Kiske isn't as powerful as some master illusions, he's learning, and it's the craftiness of his illusions which are undeniably better than the illusions themselves. Like all illusions though, it's mostly smoke and mirrors. Kiske's illusions have some serious draw backs, for now they're limited to a single target. They can be dispelled through pain, or realizing that it's simply a parlor trick. This is mostly the reason for Kiske's craftiness and good placement of his illusions.

  • That's not a knife...: [Competent] - ★★★★☆☆ Oh but it is! Kiske has trained under professional sword swallowers for years to learn this trick. By expending some of his magic, the clown can summon a knife out of thin air, or any other orifice of his body. Kiske has been known to shoot a knife out of an open wound before. So far, his knives come in one flavor: a dirk knife with a straight blade and handle, and a ring at the bottom of the pommel. The dirk is a perfect weapon for slashing and stabbing. Knives can be summoned quickly and cheaply. Normally they're used as projectile weapons, however if given a close quarters fight, Kiske will use them just as effectively.

[W E A K N E S S E S]
  • Running speed: Kiske wins no medals in regards to running. His love of silk princess shoes shows, as he refuses to wear anything else. They aren't made for all terrain, and his refusal to find more adequate footwear means he's ultimately quite slow.
  • Quite weak Kiske's body, while imposing, isn't all that tough. Someone used to dodging probably can't take more than a few blows. He also can't punch very hard for this same reason. His muscles were built from building roads and lifting rocks, and he has no formal combat training.
  • The path of most resistance Kiske plays life on hardmode. He'll normally give the enemy a handicap if he can afford to. There's just something fulfilling about a hard fight, and Kiske likes to feel fulfilled.


[A R M O R] None.

[C L O T H I N G] Noble clothes, dyed more colors than fine art.

[I T E M S] Smoke bombs, and a single claw-blade knife.

[T O K E N S] His treasure is a single, perfect hand mirror that he has kept untarnished through his entire prison stay. A gift he would appreciate? A wand or staff. Maybe he can learn magic properly that way?

[P R I M A R Y | W E A P O N]
Weapon Name: Round-cuty.
Weapon Type: Claw-shaped dagger.
Length: Six inches.
Weight: One pound.
Origin: Kiske found that this dagger can circumvent armor, when going against bodyguards. Typically he hides the sheath and blade in the sleeve of his clothes, and will pull it out as a last resort.

[O T H E R | W E A P O N S]
Weapon Name: Smokey the Bomb (only you can prevent eye-sight!)
Weapon Type: Smoke bombs
Length: .5 inches.
Weight: .05 pound.
Origin: These are crafted daily, to ensure that he has more than necessary. They're incredibly easy to whip up, and can be made even in the heat of battle.


[M A R I T A L | S T A T U S]
Single, making Kiske a sad clown.

[F A M I L Y | T I E S]
{ -100 | 0 | +100 }

    | Roman and Jeneva Kiske| [ 100 ]
These might legitimately be the only people who Kiske cares about. As their only son, he loves them, and prefers no one knows they exist. It's no secret that he's a great shame, but if anything were to happen to them, Kiske would ensure that consequences were dealt out.

[O C C U P A T I O N]

[S O C I A L | R A N K]
Ranges rather drastically, but usually he's friendly enough. Still, he looks like a weirdo, which can make his presence come across as unpleasant.

[O P I N I O N S]
  • Humans: Nothing wrong with humans! They have an easy anatomy, they're mighty different from one another, and they are his own.
  • Elves: Pompous, unusually rich, and seem to have enemies everywhere? Sounds like Kiske's family. He has no hatred towards this race.
  • Orcs: Kiske has never met an Orc. But he's also never met one he didn't like.

[R E L A T I O N S]
{ -100 | 0 | +100 }

    | O r c B r o | [ 70 ]
Oh captain my captain! Kiske knows this man controls the ship, and it's in his best interest to ensure that ship stays on course. Thus, Bo is going to be seeing a very good side of Kiske. On a sidenote, Pastor Bo seems to be the shepherd to all of the Orc ladies around here. That's no good.

    | A d r i e l | [ -100 ]
Hates. I'm not your friend anymore. With your dumb spiky hair, and your stupid lightning magic. Why do you have to be so competent? I thought this was a death sentence!

    | G r e t c h B e t c h | [ 85 ]
Besties for life! Who else could appreciate the loveable clown other than someone who hates everything?

    | T a n e| [ 20 ]
Do we have to have him? Could we leave him at the next townsies please? With all that armor he's going to take so much damage defending us all. Oh and he's SO sweet. Cheeky git.

    | K i r | [ 98 ]
Ya know what, I like his style! He's asfierce as a lightning bug He's fast!at running away and he's stealthy. Hide and seek world champ! Let's have fun, kid.

    | L a e t y a | [ 60]
Oh, she's lovely. Could do with a bit of makeup though. Oh? She's whose cousin? Never mind, no longer interested.

    |E z r a | [ 1 ]
No. No. No. No. No. I refuse. Where are you finding all of these competent people for a suicide mission? Plus he's too fucking pretty. He's prettier than me, and Gretchy combined. Who did his hair? Magicians? Adriel? I'm going to steal that damn comb.

    |B e r l i o z | [ 80 ]
I could get lost in his eyes, and he's kind of in love with his sister. Plus the elf seems annoyed that he's got magic. I like him. I'll be his bride.

    |G u l f i m | [ 50 ]
She's scared of strangers! OH NO! This is exactly what I didn't want to happen today. Think she could use a new bff. Hrm? Why's Bo watching us like that? Abort mission, abort mission!

    |A r a y e l | [ 80 ]
This girl really plays with the Kiske strings. Hopes she likes balloon animals and puppies! Oh and she casts shame on all of Elven kind with her wittle dark market empire? I love it. I embrace this concept.

    |A u r i l e i t h | [ 30 ]
Oh? A healer? She's quite normal isn't she. She can arch, she can heal, but she takes all the funsies away from everything. I hope she and Adriel get married, settle down, and have little elf boys and girls so I don't have to deal with their nonsense.

    |I l l e r e n | [ 40 ]
Surprise, surprise! Another elf? What are you all multiplying or something? Look we get it, I'm sure you're way better than you should be, and will make this whole "nature walk" too boring, but I'm sick of it! I just wanted a satisfying blood bath with my bestie Gretchie, and you're ruining it! I AM POUTING, MISTER, IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?

    |V a s h a | [ 45 ]
Ohohohoho this one is interesting; he breaks and comes right back together on his own! Like the humpty dumpty of the elven kingdom. I want to take him apart, over, and over, and over again. But for now, I'll just stick to healing the elf.

    |K i s k e | [100 ]
Look at this beautiful man. Part butterfly, part flower, part elephant, and part clown. He is a piece of history, a man who will be remembered for eternity. He's a man who will one day rule the lands of Airedale, and have a massive harem that can squash that of the Rhiosan king five times over.

[B I O | H I S T O R Y]
One would be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't heard of the Kirills, the large noble family of Airedale with more money and soldiers than the rest, the ones who takes what they want from other nobles, be it possessions, land, political power. And why not? The Kirills had amassed a sizable army, and enough bloodthirsty soldiers to fend off the King if they really had to. Technically, the Kirill house should be 16th in line for the throne, which makes them very powerful and very arrogant. But what you’ve probably never heard is that the Kirills have a son.

Born into a life of prestige and luxury, the Kirill's only son was named Kiske. He was a smart young lad with a somewhat weak constitution, which kept him out of the public eye. This was to be expected for most nobles; living a life of luxury is something that softens the body. However, Kiske, by all accounts, was a pretty normal boy. He attended large parties, making friends with some of the nobles, and some of them had even considered marrying him into their families when he got a bit older. Kiske was polite, friendly, and most of all, well-liked. His manners were impeccable, his poise was precise, and he always was fond of making both children and adults laugh. If there was one snag in his life, it was being born a Kirill.

The Kirills were well-hated. Their family line was considered “new money” by all the other noble folk, and their initial power had come through piracy, taking merchants money and goods, and killing the sailors aboard the ships. Kiske’s great-great-grandfather was apparently a hell of a pirate, as he was able to not only accrue a vast fortune, but get away with it too; settling down and become a noble in a country far away from his exploits. The trail of bodies would eventually wash up in Airedale, when the Kirills would continue the family trade on land, this time as highwaymen, still robbing merchants and nobles alike. As their wealth increased, so too did their power, eventually they had a standing army.

For the most part, the Kirills employed bandits and anyone else willing to join an unofficial army. They were put to good use, too, taking lands from noble houses. Eventually, enough gold, land, and power was attained that a contract was struck and the Kirills managed to marry into the royal family: his great-grandfather managed to wed himself to a duchess, which gave them a legitimate--albeit distant--claim to the throne of Airedale. While all of this information might seem useless to Kiske, who was several generations removed from the long deceased butchers ravaging the other noble houses, the old wounds suffered by the lords and ladies who were currently in charge still seemed very fresh. Tainting their opinions were stories told by their grandfathers about the horrible, ruthless Kirill house, and revenge was fresh on their minds. Of course, none of them could do anything about it. The Kirills had the largest army, the most money, and were known to devastate houses which tried to mount any kind of attack.

It was the Queen of Airedale who would eventually come up with a plan to humiliate the nobles. Sure, they could have executed the entire family, but for crimes long past? The peasants who the Kirills lorded over might rebel, as all things considered, the Kirills had become decent lords.

Every few years, the reigning King graces all of those with claim to the throne, no matter how distant, with a chance to make something of themselves. For some young lords and ladies, he gives them extremely good positions in the government where they have room to grow and flourish. The most coveted of these positions was the role of an adviser. Because young lords grew into these positions, it kept the nobles close, and away from fighting one another. Most nobles accept these positions in an instant, as good fortune comes to those who send their only heirs to serve the reigning king. However, the Kirills seemed to be in a bit of a bind. Their only son, Kiske, was starting to show signs of magic at the young age of eleven, and word quickly reached Rhiosia that a noble of Airedale was graced with "the gift." As with anyone gifted with magic, Rhiosia sent an offer; "Join us in our magic academies, and your son will live a life blessed with prosperity," he said. It was a tough choice. Serve the king of their nation, or send their son off to become a very powerful mage?

They chose the former. Young Kiske was off to the capital of Airedale and couldn’t have been more pleased. With the public knowledge of his magic combined with and his intelligence, he was a shoe-in for an adviser role. When he arrived, however, he found that the King and Queen had chosen a different role. Kiske was to join the circus: an interesting spectacle, a menagerie of entertainment held in the city. This was Airedale’s new and improved coliseum, an event of entertainment so large that the entire population was entranced. It kept the masses under control and entertained, and kept their love for the monarchy at high levels. At first, Kiske believed his job would be to oversee the circus. That would have been a difficult job, which would involve managing multiple shows, finding new creatures for amusement, and learning to appease crowds; a task both suitable and crucial to every lord should know. This vision would be shattered on his arrival.

ImageThe circus was held in the largest tent Kiske had ever seen, large structure composed of yellow and red cloth near the outskirts of the capital. It was so large, it made the castle seem tiny. When Kiske arrived, wearing his best smile and clothes, he was sent around to many people until he reached the head entertainer. Kiske had everything wrong, it seemed. He was not to manage the show, or find new entertainment, and he was certainly not going to find new animals or learn to appease crowds either. No. He was to be in the show as a clown. It was the ultimate disgrace for any noble to be made into an entertainer, a job composed entirely of peasants. Of course Kiske had tried to vouch his own status, tried to deny the job he was given, but his servitude was guaranteed for years to come. The jobs doled down by the King were set in stone until one reaches adulthood, to ensure that any noble learned skills that would help in their later life. With this position, the monarchy had ensured that the only heir to the house of Kirill family would be lost to obscurity, and the house would fall with him. There would be no chance to meet a noble girl working as a peasant.

The worst part for Kiske was that there was to be no chance to learn magic. Magic was a sought after gift in Airedale, let alone the rest of the human civilizations. If any family were to possess it, it would make them extraordinarily powerful in the coming years. Upon his first day of clown training, Kiske would witness the antics of these people, which were strange and unfunny. Big shoes, colorful faces, and silly feats like juggling were all so simple they were used to entertain the peasantry, and in no way could be entertaining to a group of people like nobles. After his first week, things began to change. He learned the basics of face painting and how to sew. His first month, things began to change even more when the clowns became his friends. They were simple peasants, and when they realized he was a noble, they were expectedly enchanted. It was even more surreal when they found out Kiske had magic, but as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one.

Many peasants possess magic, usually discovering it later in life. Tricks that are done in the circus are often done through magic. The tightrope walker dangling in the air attached magic to his feet so as to never fall. The lion-tamer was using an illusion to calm the creature, and make it think of her as its mother. When Kiske joined their flock, he began to learn all that they had to teach him. The performers were not only able to teach him arts which were distinctly his, but taught him arts of their own, and began the process of teaching him ones that he could develop over time. His true magical gift was that of mystic strings: impossible to break and infinitely useful, Kiske quickly learned to use them to patch up the injuries his friends sustained. He became their doctor, and over time, he’d become quite competent. He also studied under a sword swallower. As it turns out, the man could create the swords and dissolve them. The sword never went down his throat at all, simply vanishing before it touched his tongue. It was very unusual for someone to pick up three spells in such little time, even if he hadn't yet mastered them, the performers were quite impressed.

As his passion for magic and number of friends grew, so too did Kiske’s passion for the show. Kiske was beginning to love being a clown and mesmerizing the audience with his performances. And really, he was good at it. His skills with makeup and decision to use smoke made him a class act, and for nearly fifteen years Kiske forgot he was even a noble. While beneath the canopy of the tent, Kiske felt he was a God, soon snatching the title of star of the show, the clown and contortionist who had card tricks, knife throwing, sword swallowing and beast taming. He could do it all.

All dreams must die eventually. On one occasion that the royal circus was in the capital, all those of noble houses were invited personally by the Queen. Those from Airedale came far and wide to see the spectacle which the King boasted of, including Kiske’s parents. The opening night was on Kiske’s 26th birthday. They were entertained by the best, and it was a show which no one would soon forget. At the end of it, the Queen summoned Kiske alone onto the stage. Then, she asked him to wipe off the paint on his face. When he obliged and looked out at the crowd, there were faces of laughing nobles all around… and the two horrified faces of his parents in the front row.

It was then that Kiske realized the depths of depravity which the throne had sunk. They had planned this, all of this, for the one night where they would humiliate Kiske’s family in front of all of the other nobles. While the clown stood there smiling, a fire burned in his chest. To see his family’s hearts break in that instant was enough to send Kiske over the edge. When he retired to his room, he began to formulate a plan. Kiske would get revenge on the King, and all the other nobles in his path. Since Kiske was 16th in line for the throne, he’d aim to shorten that number. He would make those who’d embarrassed his family know what loss meant. For losing his chance to go to the world’s best magical academy, and he would take revenge for the life that never came to be by killing all 16 nobles which stood between him and the throne.

Not that his goal was to become king of Airedale; simply, he would make his great-great-grandfather proud. Cause enough of a loss in assets to have a new charter drafted. Perhaps his eventual son could become king. That night Kiske left the Circus with two oaths: The first was that he’d cut a path of blood between himself and the throne, and the second was that he’d never again remove his face paint in front of others.

Kiske was en route to two noble houses that very night. As their sons studied for tasks the King had assigned to them, Kiske moved in behind them. With his unbreakable threads he hung them from their balconies. Investigations were slow, as it looked like suicide. Kiske would manage to kill eight others before the month was up, with each one becoming more and more gruesome. Some would find their bodies riddled with knives. Others were driven insane his illusions bashed their heads on the walls. It wasn't long before he earned the name “Blue Bloodletter,” the mysterious rogue who was murdering all the firstborn noble sons and their families. In total, nearly forty bodies were scattered in his wake. It was his attempt on the ninth in line that would get Kiske caught.

His capture was simple. As he entered the manor, Kiske was swarmed by Silver Knights with drawn blades. Kiske tried hard to run from them, but clown shoes proved mediocre, causing him to trip. Having never been in so much as a physical argument, Kiske was unable to put up a fight, and was sent to a tower in Autumour.

It was the worst prison in the three kingdoms, and it was where he would await his eventual death. Guards watched his every move. Yet prison, as it turned out, was a lot like being born into nobility. There was little freedom, and your path was chosen for you. One meal a day was guaranteed, but it was quite easy to beat someone with a brick for two more. His job, too, was chosen for him, and Kiske was assigned to the monotonous task of breaking rocks in Rogland Quarry. But it wasn’t the worst that could have happened; his body got a bit bigger, and his intimidation factor increased.

The clown’s execution was set for ten years from his incarceration. At first, the hazing was ridiculous, and early on Kiske had his first time slaying a man with a plate. While his magic was subdued through specialty wrist cuffs and bars, he learned much watching the anatomy and mannerisms of his fellow inmates, and his ability to aim through throwing knives came in handy. Fights ended quickly, and while the clown still couldn’t punch through a paper bag, Kiske could certainly make use of a weapon's edge. Ten years was eventually reduced to seven, and it was only after six of them that Kiske finally found his way out. A town crier making rounds was loud enough that even he could hear the news from the top of his tower. [i]“All those daring to combat the Pestilence! A new band of men wish to seek out the cause and destroy it once and for all. Any crime will be forgiven, any sin will be resolved! Go to the Ebony Bridge in a week's time.”

The boredom was the worst part. Kiske had never been bored before. After only two years, even the toughest criminals came to avoid him. He’d become too bulky to try and bully, and he was flexible enough to avoid most of their blows. Perhaps new this organization could provide him a challenge. He summoned a guard at once, and explained that he wished to speak with someone representing this order. He expected the initial hostility, but within a few days, an elven woman awaited him. She was his test, a woman those favor he needed to win, in order to escape the dreaded boredom. And oh, he'd had quite a bit of experience winning favors. Yet the elf, "Celeste," he soon learned, seemed unamused with his offer, but nonetheless she waited to be impressed.

She asked Kiske to show her his powers. Once his cuffs were removed—not without reluctance from the attending guard--he demonstrated just that. He could attach and reattach his own arm. Summon daggers and create illusions. The clown insisted that he would be useful as a healer, just as he'd done for his troupe before, and that any wound could be healed with his magic. He explained that he would be dead in a year if he wasn't released today, and he would rather spend that year giving back to the world. An attending guard protested that he was a psychopath, one who clearly “craved power” as he’d killed many in the line of succession. However, Celeste decided the human would be useful. Now, mere footsteps remain between Kiske and the Gathering.


[F L A G S]
Kiske's one and only flag is that you must go on a date with him. This is open to anyone of any sex or race! It has nothing to do with romance, or how much you particularly care for Kiske. You will have a great time.

So begins...

Kiske Kirill's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn
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After helping Aura back to her feet and turning back to see Vasha jettisoning out of the Nidhogg's gaping maw, covered in sludge and mouth-grime, and for a few breaths, Arayel... Gully's sword dipped lower and lower until she opted to extract the only clean piece of cloth on her person to wipe her blade off and slip it back into it's scabbard. The Nidhogg had slumped onto it's oozing face—dead, clearly dead. And Adriel was already moving into the cave to deal with the rest of it's crabbing fledgelings, sizzling them to little more than twitching limbs and ash. She watched as everyone gathered their wits and shook themselves off. They were a smelly, putrid mess of dripping Nidhogg-matter and blood. A simple twitch of the nose was the only indication that it bothered her. Instead, her bright eyes glanced across them. She, too, counted their losses, quietly bowing her head and whispering soft-lipped prayers. A send-off to their spirits.

As far as she was concerned, they were the lucky ones. She did not fault Adriel or Bo for the deaths in the quarry. Future battles would always wage fatal stakes. They would live to see another day, and those who'd died did so bravely. Whether it was simply a test of will and strength or something much more complicated, honourable deaths occurred on battlefields. If she were so lucky to die with her blade in her hands, she would have no qualms and no regrets. Knuckling some of the grime from the bridge of her nose, Gully straightened her shoulders and finally slicked her fingers across her neck. What she'd presumed to be the Nidhogg's blood revealed itself to be a yawning flesh-wound. No more than an inch deep. Probably needed stitches. Another scar to add to her arsenal. Another thing making her less woman, more beast, she supposed.

Watching Adriel wrench the blade free from the Nidhogg's pustule-ridden back and toss it over to Gretchen—who was slicked and nearly covered from head to toe with much, much more blood and ichor than she'd imagined possible, caused her to pause in her steps. She'd seen her during the battle. Not quite frothing at the mouth, but wild in posture, wild in action. Eyes like wildfire and rage and teeth-gnashing fury. A torrent of energy contained in such a small body. Beastly, in nature. And very human. She watched her for a few more moments, tilting her head owlishly. A curiosity. Gully cleared her throat and quickened her pace until she staggered herself beside Laetya and Ezra.

As much as the others might have found the trek to Barkmere uneventful and dull, Gully enjoyed the brief spurts of silence. Even the accompanying chatter between her new, blooded companions did not bother her as much as she'd thought it would, and if it wasn't for the awful smell wafting behind them, it might've cut a wholesome scene. Her stomach still fluttered and flipped whenever someone directed any questions her way, but for the most part, she tempered a thin-lipped expression onto her face and bobbed or shook her head in response. For the most part, they trekked in silence while she mutely counted their footsteps to keep herself busy. She swore that fighting the Nidhogg had been the easiest part of this journey—but now, faced with idle conversation and knocking elbows with strangers, Gully floundered on dry-land.

Instead of relying on her staggered repertoire of non-wit and sly remarks, she admired the scenery leading up to Barkmere's nondescript town and noticed Bo and someone else she did not recognize waiting on the rise. A ghost of a smile twitched at her lips, and slowly died as they made their approach. There would be no time to assault Bo with the flurry of questions dancing on her tongue—not now, anyhow. He was already giving them further instructions, and she had to agree that scrubbing themselves clean of the smelly grime caked on their skin and armour was far more important than skipping off to their next order of action. Tending to their wounds, as well. The yawning wound at her throat had already congealed and now, thumped dully. It was the idea of bathing with the others in an open chamber that plagued her thoughts. Any amount of internal preparation would not suffice. She inclined her head and headed into the inn with the others.

Battling against scaly slime-bags with multiple limbs, all slavering to feed on their sorry corpses? A simple enough affair that involved pure, unadulterated strength. Huffing down the ranks and remaining at stiff-spined attention while scarred Orcs screamed in her face? Terrifying but still manageable. And juggling the responsibility of keeping her home-bound companions alive and well while leading them in and out of Kyoshel's many scuffles? A thrill in comparison. Bathing with people she hardly knew? An awful reality that lent her little bravery. Her legs were anchors, and she, an old ship destined to remain adrift in dangerous waters. It was simple really. All she needed to do was reach for the door handle, let herself in, and continue her business as everyone else did. Yet every time she raised her hand to undo the latch, Gulfim's heart hammered until she pressed it back to her side, lips smothering down in a frown.

She did finally make it in, however. Weighing her options, she decided that it would be far more embarrassing to explain what she was doing standing in front of the door—not doing anything besides staring at it. She'd painstakingly removed her armour and set them aside, folded meticulously atop one another. Soft sighs, irritated grumbles, and light conversation drifted from the large tubs. And here she was, already sweating from the warmth radiating through the chamber and steeling herself to round the corner and sputter out her introductions. Instead, Gulfim slipped from her dirty underclothes while grounding her teeth together and controlling her muscles and movements to make herself as quiet as possible. Perhaps then, no one would hear her enter and she could mould herself into the wooden slats, clean as a whistle. Perhaps, she wouldn't humiliate herself by saying I am Gulfim Gragba and y-you're naked no no no don't look I'm not ready. She inhaled far too sharply, and counted one, two, three.

Fortunately, Gulfim survived her first shared-bath experience with little more than a bloom of embarrassment stippling across her ears. She wasn't sure if she'd grown closer to the women from seeing them completely naked or frightened herself even more than she'd been initially. Either way, she was clean. Mission complete. She also had time to scrub her armour clean and apply a fresh coat of mink oils to the leather segments. While the others donned soft, comfortable clothes, she'd opted to slip back into her armour. It contained her apprehension, squeezed it in a confined space so that she could manage it far better than if she were to go without. Some of the others wore far stranger clothes than she was used to. Ezra in particular, she'd noticed, had chosen an odd tunic that dipped low across the chest—and while she did not observe her father's telltale sign of human-fangs and beastly qualities, there was hair. She quickly averted her eyes and levelled her them back at Bo, focusing on his words, and resolutely attempting to ignore the itchy feeling of wanting to look at the other people surrounding her.

Ladies first, Illeren had said. And then pointed out Ezra with his blade (which was unusual enough). From what she could tell, Ezra was not a woman. The issue was moot. Gulfim was ready to receive the serpent's bite, after all. She did not joke as Illeren did, though she did admire Ezra's willingness to volunteer himself first.

It took her a few moments before her bright eyes widened and a giggle rippled out from her lips, soft as bells, clearly before she had the chance to smother it down with the knuckles of her hand.

Ah. It was a joke.

Gulfim slightly approves of Illeren's humor +5
Gulfim secretly approves of Ezra's chest hair +2
Gulfim approves of Bo's clarity +5


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Kiske Kirill Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Ezarael

The realization that she had been caught off guard didn’t occur until Laetya had been planted flat on her back, a respectable flurry of dust settling on the ground from where she had skid. This Nidhogg was a hell of a lot faster than she expected. Just had to go tryin’ to make conversation in the middle of a life or death battle with a monster . . . at least I’ll know better next time. It almost seemed like the massive beast was aiming for her again when a brilliant flash of steel came crashing down on its head, followed by a deafening crack. Before she knew it there was a heaping mass of steel standing in front of her, Tane, advising her to stay behind him. ”Yea, thanks for the advice as you so kindly have the creature’s attention focused right on us.” Near life-threatening experiences made her a little snippy at times.

Most of what happened afterwards was rather blurry as the orc found it somewhat difficult to focus until the beast was dead and gone. People rushing left and right, some dying horribly and others not so much, and finally their fearless escort joined the fray, squawking about killing or whatnot before she finally found another reason to dislike the stuck up bastard. Another filthy magic user, they were just all over the place weren’t they? As if being a foul-tempered elf with his head stuck up his ass wasn’t bad enough, he had to be a magic user. Things could be worse though, at least he didn’t seem like a hypocrite. It wasn’t long before they were on their way to meet Higoht at Barkmere, one of the first towns she visited after leaving Kyoshel. While some of the group seemed to get side-tracked, or maybe they died earlier who knows, Laetya began lagging near the back of the trotting champions of the Gathering. The bruises on her left side were being a literal pain in the ass as the trek continued.

Their arrival at the city was less than triumphant, being greeted primarily by the sound of gagging citizens throwing up their hands to cover their mouths and noses. Higoht greeted them briefly, and quickly ushered them towards the baths of an inn he had reserved for their sakes, she would definitely need to find a way to thank the big lug for his act of generosity. That or ask him for some coin seeing as he was doing so well nowadays, anything besides Elven liquor and grub would probably be more expensive in a damned border town trying to mark up the price of their goods. Bastards. Her first mission though, was to quickly make her way to the bath and soak for as long as possible before the evening’s proceedings, expediting the scenario by waving off the orcish medicler Higoht posted near the baths. She wouldn’t mind having his hands on her for a bit, hell she would probably return the favor, but her wounds didn’t seem that bad, all things considered.

By the time she had made it to the meeting room, Laetya was positively seething at how the night’s events had turned out thus far, having made a fool of herself in front of both Gulfim and Higoht. She had decided to stay dressed in, her thankfully clean, under-armor, hoping to feel secure in some fashion given the turbulent evening. The room itself made her extremely uncomfortable, dark and crowded as their group attempted to placate themselves while seated at a round table covered in a tablecloth that was much too nice to be here. To top it off the chairs themselves weren’t made for orcs, which was to be expected, but this forced the already perturbed Reaper to stand behind her chair instead of being seated, leaning over the furniture with her arms crossed over the top of its back, her back and shoulders shaking slightly as her foot tapped up and down furiously. At least the white-haired elf was singing a merry little ditty that helped calm her fury a bit, and her current position most definitely gave her a marvelous vantage point of the curious elven female’s revealing bodice.

It wasn’t until everyone arrived that her cousin decided to show up and tell them exactly what the hell else could go wrong with the rest of the night. Tired? Check. Concise? Thank the gods. Congratulations? Better be booze. Proud? Fuck you. Adriel? You wish. Uhhh Bo? That’s when he finally caught her attention in full, bringing up the Styx snake. Of course she knew what the hell those were, dangerous worm-looking bastards you stayed the hell away from with a ten-foot Qundo if possible. Hmm, immunity to the Pestilence or NOT be bitten by a damn snake . . . yeah, really tough choice. I’ll take my chances with turning into a vicious cannibal. Of course it was all a little dull after that. Childhood bite? Old news. Hellraising experience? No shit. Adriel killed a man? Must’ve insulted the hair. Official member, loyalty, respect blah-blah-blah. Then, there it was again, that damnable hook taking her mind off the more important things in the evening, like where the good booze could be found. Just the thought that Ezra might be able to make a moral decision for the group left Laetya mortified. Maybe she was right when she said Higoht’s brain had been fried by the Styx venom all those years ago.

That’s when the waiting game began. She had wanted to go first and get the damned thing over with, well maybe not so much because fuck getting bit by a snake, but still though everyone kept jumping at the damned opportunity to get on with their night. The white-haired elf goaded the gaudy Ezra, with that sickening chest-hair showing shirt of his, while the chesty elf decided to just go ahead and get it over with. Then followed Bandages, the lunatic who charged the beast earlier and won’t stop eyeing her Qundo, the bossy elf, the white-haired elf, Ezra, and finally Tane. Enough was enough, it was getting late and watching everyone come up looking like they had just seen death incarnate was not helping her prep for this little ritual at all. Before anyone else could climb up and volunteer to go Laetya charged forth and stomped down towards the basement lying below. Snarling at the trio of men waiting for her, ”Hurry up and strap me down so we I can get this the hell over with.” With that she laid back and clamped her eyes shutting, hoping that not seeing the snake would make things easier.

She couldn’t have been further off the mark. The bite itself didn’t seem all that bad to be honest, she had probably felt more painful pin-pricks, but when she opened her left eye to try and make sure they weren’t tricking her something very wrong was happening. A creeping haze was working its way from the edges of her vision, blurring and blacking it out. A frigid chill descended upon her prostrate form and the air dampened, thickening heavily until her breathing became laborious. The tightening around her heart sent a pang of panic through her system, the thought of being jammed into a cramped box flashing through her mind’s eye for a split second. ”Ok, I’m good to go, you can hurry up and let me go now,” she growled in frustration, with just a hint of desperation in her voice, if there was anything she feared most in the world it was being chained and caged.

The orc bucked against the restraints as hard as she could, hoping to break the bonds as silence pervaded the still air around her. No one was there. Why were they doing this? The sickening chill in her chest began to burn like a ferocious winter, the biting cold creeping through every fiber in her body. Laetya struggled against her bonds even more fiercely, ignoring their bite into her exposed flesh, the heat of her blood searing against the icy chill permeating her body. Then, as suddenly as the horrifying experience began, it stopped. Like a tidal wave crashing over her, all the unpleasantness of the situation merely disappeared, leaving a frantic look in the orc’s emerald eyes as she finally caught sight of the three in the room. The silence remained between them as they waited to undo her restraints, wanting to make sure that she had truly finished the initiation. After Laetya sat up and began rubbing the areas where the restraints had cut into her flesh Juyo made a move to heal her wounds, and a powerful crack echoed around the dark chamber as she ferociously slapped his hands away. ”I swear if any one of you tries to touch me again tonight I will cut your hands off so that when I break them you can’t heal them afterwards.”

Then she marched out, simmering furiously as she stomped through the room where the few remained who hadn’t taken the initiation.

By the time the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon Laetya was already drenched with sweat and panting furiously. Her night did not go as planned. She started off by finding the last flask of liquor in her pack half-full, and after quaffing it quickly she began to argue vehemently with a rat who had made residence in her room. Ok, maybe she was arguing with herself more than the rat, but everything was directed towards her. The affair didn’t carry on for very long, only a couple hours, but it was enough to get her blood boiling more than slightly. So naturally she attempted to calm down by drawing in her sketch book, but to no avail as her hands were shaking so intensely from the rat affair that everything kept coming out fuzzy and jittered. Finally she resorted to something she hadn’t done in a very long time, practicing martial arts.

Her family wasn’t renowned for their martial styles outside on using the Qundo, but they knew the basics of hand-to-hand combat, as any warrior should. And there she was, outside the back of the inn, tossing her hands and feet willy-nilly as she attempted to recall half-forgotten moves and improvising when she couldn’t remember. It was much more exhilarating than she recalled, and the mental processes involved served to greatly distract her from the previous day’s events, calming her in a much needed fashion. Laetya was fairly sure the noise she was making might be attracting undue attention in the wee hours of the morning, but it seemed either no one cared, or they didn’t want to bother an angry orc who looked ready to snap more than a few necks.

It wasn’t until well after the sun had risen that she decided to meet with the rest of her companions in the inn’s lobby, she had neglected to bathe after training all night, instead merely tromping upstairs to bring her belongings down. Higoht had said there would be more fighting today, so she might as well be ready for it, and a bath might not do more than relax her too much. While she could feel the first tendrils of exhaustion creeping through her body it would take more than one sleepless night to keep her from performing at her best. That’s when her cousin introduced the group to their newest companion, a very strange and unfortunate sight indeed. The fellow had more makeup on than most whores, and his clothing made even the gaudiest of them look plain by comparison, what’s worst is the fact he was yet another human. While she wasn’t exactly thrilled to be working with a high-profile killer, there wasn’t too much to do about that fact and most of them in the Gathering might be labeled killers depending on who was talking. Still though, this Kiske guy was a really creepy looking fucker.

Whatever the case though, there was another mission it seemed. Shortly thereafter they were marching their way to some small town nearby called Merrilville, a miraculously quick jog from Barkmere in all honesty. As soon as she caught sight of the town creeping over the horizon Laetya could tell something bad had happened there. While the half-chewed bodies could be blamed on scavengers, there weren’t nearly enough to justify any type of bandit, or even slaver, attack on the village, and the relatively massive walls said such an alternative was also highly unlikely. Once they were coaxed inside gate and towards the town center she kept near the edge of the pack but stayed a healthy distance from the treacherous alleyways that peppered the village. She wasn’t sure, but the shadows weren’t moving like they should have been.

As Higoht cautioned them, as group of inhuman beasts emerged from the lurking shadows. Laetya had never seen the plague-ridden with her own eyes, but she had heard more than enough stories to verify what was before them. They weren’t the ugliest things she had ever seen, but this first contact still left her stomach in a slight knot, maybe just a half-hitch. She let her pack, hanging from her left shoulder, drop down to the ground with a soft thud and assumed an aggressive posture. With a sideways twist of her head she looked back at the rest of the group, turning towards the nearest alley, ”Never been the best with time, but I’ll be seeing you all when I get back.” Without another word she took off to face whatever dangers lay in wait.

Laetya disapproves of Adriel’s magic. -10 approval

Laetya approves of Gulfim for being the same, but not. +4 approval

Laetya approves of Higoht for being the same, but not. +4 approval

Laetya approves of Illeren’s singing. +3 approval

Laetya questions Ezra’s clothing. +/- 0 approval

Laetya doesn’t question Arayel’s clothing. +6 approval

Laetya disapproves that Higoht might let Ezra make moral decision for the group. -7 approval

Laetya approves of everyone who made it through the initiation. +15 approval

Laetya disapproves of everyone and anyone after the initiation. -3 approval


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin
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“Eh?! WHAT NOW?! WHAT THAT?!” Illeren woke with a start, sitting upright from his bed, his sheets tossed every which direction and half the pillows sitting across the room from him. His eyes were half open as a mighty yawn escaped his mouth as he simply sat there for a moment. He slowly made his way off the bed, practically dragging his feet behind him as he made his way to...where the hell was he going? He stopped, peering around the room once more. He needed to wake up before he could do anything, but apparently his body was already doing that for him as a massive headache and familiar sensation in his stomach forced him into fight or flight mode. He shoved a hand to his mouth as he quickly peer around the room and spotted a bucket. He dropped to his knees, shoving his head into it and letting what felt like his entire stomach empty into it. He heaved more than a couple of times, finally peering up and wiping what was left of his supper or lack thereof off his face. “Nevah again...I swear...I’mma give up drinkin..” Illeren peered to his left where a dresser sat, and on the edge was a flask of some sort. He reached up for it, uncapping it and giving it a slight sniff. Whatever it was, it was strong...and strong was good. He placed his back against the wall and took a nice long drink from it, releasing it with a sigh of content followed by a rather loud belch. “Tomorrow...I swear...I’mma give up drinkin.” He stated to no one in particular.

He took another couple of long swigs, feeling his headache starting to subside now that the alcohol had been reintroduced to his system. There wasn’t enough left to get him right and properly drunk, but just enough to stave off hangover symptoms. Once he finished the small flask, he tossed it on the floor and let his head hit the wall behind him lightly, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. “Right…” He said lazily as he got up from his sitting position. He looked around for a bucket of water, customary for a morning wash up in these places as a slow look of realization hit him. He looked down at the bucket, noticing that it was nearly full...he hadn’t thrown up that much. He grimaced, reaching a hand up to his hair and feeling the cow licks that had it flowing every which way.

“Welp...time tah dunk mah head!” Illeren stated as he made his way to the door and quickly exited, looking down the hall and noticing a single caretaker looking at him. They looked at each other for a moment before Illeren thought it was getting awkward. “Dah fook yah lookin at?!” Illeren stated, thinking that the human was some kind of racist. The man simply pointed and Illeren looked down before giving a nod. “Right...well obviously that’s a reason to stare. I’mma get some pants!”

Illeren smacked the side of his head, trying to get the last of the water out of his ear as his slightly matted down hair proved an indication of what he had just done. Ran into the bath, literally dunked his head in, and ran off laughing like an idiot.

Good times.

Finally his ear popped and the last of the water drained out. Finally. Illeren thought to himself as he double and triple checked the straps on his armor as he walked through the halls. Illeren couldn’t claim to be responsible about...well anything, but when it came to his armor and weapons, you would be hard pressed to find a fault in them. His armor was tightly put together to the point where it made virtually no sound as he walked. A by-product of his time as a cavalier he supposed, and his weapon was already sharpened and ready for the day. He passed by a couple of people on the way, his hand reaching quickly and grabbing a carrot from their basket as he passed with the couple being none the wiser. Once they were out of sight, he chomped down on the vegetable, munching loudly as he walked in on the gathering of heroes.

Bo explained what they were doing today while Illeren enjoyed his breakfast like some kind of ADD rabbit, his eyes constantly darting every which way looking for something to supplement the carrot with. When he got around to introducing their new addition though, even Illeren paused as he looked at the man, finishing off the carrot and swallowing just enough to make sure his words were somewhat understandable. “Well what tha fook is that thing? I mean, look at this guy!” Illeren swallowed a bit of his carrot between words. “Are we ‘irin’ court jesters now?!” Illeren pointed at him with a small piece of bread. “Cause this fooker looks like ‘e face fooked a wet tapestry!” Illeren paused, looking at his hand.

“Oh ‘ey!” He exclaimed as he munched on the pastry like a happy child.

The trip to Merrilville was relatively boring as everyone still seemed to be in their own little world. Illeren managed to fill the time with more of his own little folk songs which, despite their vulgarity, actually sounded better than his natural speech as he actually spent the time to form his words.

“So what do yah do with a wonderful whore? Yah take her upstairs and lock the door! Yah bounce, yah plough, yah get turned around! Yah hump, yah squeeze, yah enjoy the sound! Until it comes, the time of payment, and ya’ll are left sayiiiiiiiiin...Yah don’t have the coins, after bustin yah loins, so ya’ll just ain’t payiiiiiiiiiin!” Illeren pretended to play some drums, making the sounds to go along with them. “So they scream, and they shout, which would be swell...if yah weren’t askin…” Illeren stopped for a moment. “Damn, what’s that smell?!”

Illeren looked around at the carnage that was surrounding him, having not even bothered to notice it through his little illusion of happy revelry. The air and people around him were silent as the signs of death and destruction hung over everything. Illeren grimaced, mainly due to the stench and sight rather than the thought of what happened. Illeren didn’t bother commenting this time, leaving his humor somewhat detached from the situation as the signs of what happened here became more prevalent when the corpses started showing up. Illeren crouched near one, lifting up a flap of skin and recognizing teeth marks, too big to be a wolf or something along those lines. “Fookin’ ghouls.” Illeren stated, grabbing his sword from its sheath and spinning it a couple of times.

They made their way farther into the village, Illeren twirling his sword every so often but not necessarily walking in a ready stance. He was more than fast enough to deal with anything that came at them, he was more or less trying to see what exactly they looked like. No sooner did he think this when three ghouls appeared in front of them, screaming and making a beeline for the group. Bo stepped forward, fending off all three with a mighty push of his weapon. He barked out orders for them all to spread out, search for survivors and eliminate the plague ridden. He pushed one of the creatures down the well, hearing it scream all the way down. Illeren looked off in a couple of directions, hearing screams come from nearly all directions.

Immediately people were starting to do whatever it was that they did. Laetya took off in a direction and Illeren contemplated following...for more than a couple reasons as he tilted his head before shaking it and reminding himself of the current situation. Gulfim seemed to chase after her for a second, and he was about to watch her leave too, but then she stopped and seemed to hesitate, much to Illeren's dismay. Why's she stoppin? Maybe If I smack her on the tush she'll run off like a bronco! Illeren gave it some more thought before deciding that would be something to save that idea for the future, if only because the situation could rapidly deteriorate into him getting a face full of sword.

He watched as Berloiz charged in magnificent fashion towards another group of the plague ridden, and Illeren bust a gut laughing as he walked over to Ezra and nudged him with his elbow. “Oi...oi oi oi…” He pointed at Berloiz with his sword. “We totally ‘ave to call ‘im Thunda Thighs now…” Illeren laughed harder as an arrow flew past him and into the waiting head of a ghoul. Illeren looked back towards the archer with a penchant for overindulging in face gear and gave a sigh. “FINE! Alright! I get it! I’mma go kill things now!”

Illeren strode forward, looking for anything to engage and decided to pick a path at random, jogging at a steady pace down a street until a group of four plague carriers came running on all fours towards him. Illeren gave a smile, grasping his sword in two hands, slowly wrapping his fingers around the hilt. “Ya’ll my first challengers! Oh! And this time, there’s no silly thing like ‘eights to get in tha way!” They simply snarled and screamed in response, Illeren’s smile was practically beaming, readying his swing as the lead beast lunged at him.

“Ooooooh...What do yah do with a wonderful whore...”

Illeren slightly approves of Bo's strength +1
Illeren slightly approves of Laetya walking away +1
Illeren slightly disapproves of Gull's hesitation -1
Illeren slightly approves of coming up with a future plan regarding Gull's hesitation +2
Illeren approves of THUNDER THIGHS! +5
Illeren slightly approves of Kir getting his ass in gear +1


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Kiske Kirill
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#, as written by Jäger

Vasha was greeted by the bald suit of armor on the last few steps up the stairs. Friend? I’m not your friend. Ah, right. Small talk. The giant’s friendliness seemed awfully out of place for such a hulking creature - consequently irritating him. Luckily, the pain high still blanketed his euphoric brain and a giddy energy had begun to grow in his legs. Best to ignore the hulk’s idiosyncrasy for now. Plus, that drink looked helpful. “Thank you. I wish you luck.”

He entertained the notion of mingling for a moment but almost immediately dismissed it, realizing that his body needed rest. Socializing and barrel experimentation would have to come tomorrow.

The room he found himself in was surprisingly luxurious. Plush, gilded sheets and ornate furnishings. Vasha was happy to find that his window overlooked the cluster of barrels he had so tactfully hidden his own in. He finished off the rest of his drink and retired for the night.

Well before the others woke up, Vasha slid his eyelids back into their sockets. He stood, cracking the joints of his neck and the small of his back. A new day had begun, slightly more exciting than the last.

Good god. He was more excited. Not by much, but it was undoubtedly noticeable. How long had it been since he actually looked forward to a new sun? When he didn’t sleep excessively to the point of being nearly late to everything? When he wasn’t a walking husk? Granted, there was a very special barrel outside with his name etched in stench but he wasn’t one to split hairs. Something good was happening.

He packed his things and left the inn. One of the she-orcs was already outside, beads of sweat dotting her like ornaments on a Christmas tree. She struck the air in what looked to be some kind of flimsy training regimen, so focused that grunts of movement escaped her regularly. Vasha had never encountered such a mountain of a woman. Disorientation and attraction fought each other for a lasting conclusion. In the end, attraction scraped by, the victor.

So far, she hadn’t noticed his approach and he intended to keep it that way, skirting around to the backside of the inn. Awaiting him was his, for the most part untouched, barrel. Some claw marks indicated that an animal had found the smell desirable but a lack of thumbs prevented its entry. If he had more time, he would’ve sat in wait for the creature, curious to see what could find such an odor enticing.

Retrieving the sac, he scoured the city for a long forgotten place. A deserted barn sat in the sparser parts of town, ashen scorch marks licking the wood. Vasha took up residence within and began his incisions.

Some hours later and in desperate need of another bath, Vasha returned from his makeshift laboratory. He’d learned some interesting things; just as he suspected, there were similarities between Nidhogg young and other pack-like creatures. He had yet to learn why they disbanded their protective unit as they grew though he fancied it was for the same reason territorial predators fought to keep their lands free – food. He’d have to deduce if they were cannibalistic when he came across another pool of teenagers.

A quick wash, careful to avoid wetting his hair, and he was ready to go. The walking, talking flower arrangement they were supposed to be allies with made Vasha’s nose scrunch more than even the most foul parts of the Nihogg dissection. What in all of creation was it? A cross between a butterfly and vomit, a repulsive collage or rainbow shit spewed out of a unicorn’s ass. Vasha had heard of these ‘clowns’. He just never expected all his visual nerves to be assaulted upon sighting one. Surely, this one was on the extreme side?

Nevertheless, the affront to any sliver of fashion sense was so offending that Vasha had trouble defining how he actually felt towards it, him, whatever the fuck it was. Deciding that it was preferable to not stare directly into the sun, Vasha directed all of his attention to Bo, miffed that bits of the creature occasionally bled into his peripherals.

To make matters worse, Vasha became acquainted with Illeren’s yowling on the way to Merrilville. It wasn’t the tune that gave injury, rather the accent of insolence added to each high note, like a seagull dropping white bombs on your head or a squirrel nicking your ice cream cone.

Thankfully, the trip was short. Devastation greeted them in wafts of decay. Apparently a staple of their journey would be foul smelling vacation spots – not that Vasha minded overmuch. Better than no vacation at all.

Bo led them through the wreckage, alert and tense. Sounds of life could be heard here and there, guttural moans and footsteps. Vasha would soon find out that it wasn’t life at all that shuffled towards them. No, the creatures hunting them were suspended somewhere in the middle, an altogether fascinating concept to Vasha. As the first few appeared, some of their number engaging them head-on, Vasha felt his lips curl into a smile. Oh, he couldn’t wait to bring home some samples.

Vasha sightly approves of Tane's alcohol contribution: +3
Vasha approves of Laetya's muscular frame: +4
Vasha disapproves of Illeren's musical inclinations : -3