[NPC] Pyra Morrigrin's Story

Ophelia based the black flagstone in front of the main doors to her academy, ignoring the four individuals who stood across from the glorious redwood barrier between them and their waiting students. "This will be a tough year. Monstrum's academy evidently has a fine stock, and is growing. We can't let them pull anything, and we can't let up our pursuit for The Mask, even for a day. Artyom, I will need you to get into contact with your CQC team. Ethan, I will need you to keep up public appearances. Jane, no shooting any students. Yet." The two men nodded and saluted - Artyom did so cleanly, while Ethan did so in a casual manner. The woman scoweled but said nothing. Ophelia came to a stop in front of the scantily clad master wizard, pausing a moment before clearing her voice and speaking. "Now. Pyra. If you sleep with any students and it begins to interfere with their teaching, I will let Jane put a bullet in you." This elicited a "woo hoo!" and a fist pump from the teacher of the Soldier field of study.

Artyom shifted and stepped forward as Ophelia nodded at them and circled, standing behind the three remaining teachers, causing them to part. The man in the gas mask reached up to the handle and removed the board that kept the two large doors in place before pulling them open to reveal the students awaiting.

"Dibs on the psychotic looking one"

Anselm had been chauffeured by his church, the priest himself standing behind the young man. His ragged coat still having blood stains in it from his first kill, a wide-brimmed hat slanted down over his eyes, bloodshot from many sleepless nights. His white hair dangles down from under the hat, bleached by the ravages of the creature's venom. Around his neck a crucifix hangs on a silver chain. Anselm trembles, his bloodshot eyes fixated on the academy. The old man reaches to comfort him but finds that he's actually... chuckling. He withdraws, furrowing his brow with a quizzical look.

"Worry yourself none, father, I ain't worried or nothin'. Quite the contrary really." Anselm says in a raspy voice, taking out some painkillers and munching down on them. The residual toxins chronically making the inside of his body feel like it were on fire. Despite best efforts the doctors could not drain it out of his blood entirely. "Best be headed along now, father, I can m'self from here, yer flock needs you n' all."

"T-try to behave yourself my child." The priest says in a strained voice, hesitantly patting Anselm on the shoulder before heading to his car. As he heads to the car he waves the sign of the cross and mumbles, "May Lord have mercy..." When he gets into the car he waves his driver to leave immediately. As he drives off the priest pulls out a canteen and begins downing its contents.

"Now, can't be mak'n promises I can't keep." Says to himself while taking off his hat, a grin across his scarred face. "That would lyin', an' it be a sin."

The shadow shall pause and break before the path of the righteous, those made animate by rage and faith. And where I walk, there is no evil. The large, Humvee-like vehicle jostled over a dip in the road. Half the inside had been torn apart and turned into a few more seats. Some safety features were removed to make more room for equipment, making it more like a personnel transport. Next to her, a man swayed with the motion, his shoulder bumping into hers accompanied by the characteristic sound of leather whispering across fabric. She did not open her eyes. Though the trees of deceivers rise above and blot out the sky with their sick, black leaves, I do not falter. There is no path I will not follow if commanded. There is no cave I will not explore, no danger I will not face. There is no time I would not give my life if my superiors command it. The great enemy hides and lies, but where I walk, there is no evil. The breathing of so many people in such a small place fogged up the windows, condensing against the rain-cooled glass. The rumble of the engine overcame the sound with ease. Duty is my whip. Faith is my shield. Rage is my sword. And where I walk, there is no evil.

"Scribed Kayha." Her eyes snapped open and focused on the woman sitting in the passenger seat next to the driver. She held a clipboard in her hand. A list of names meandered down the page, names of academies crouching near them. "We have nearly arrived at your destination." The mage crossed Kayha's name off the list. Earlier in the journey, the vehicle held nine people. Seven crammed in the back, and the two in the front. By this point, only the one-eyed Flesh-Scribed and two people remained. Soon, it would be the two. Even though seats emptied up and the space increased, each of the three steadfastly remained in the seat they'd been assigned.

On her right, Jorin signed "This is it." She nodded slightly in response. "If all goes well, we might see each other again in a few years." Possibly. Unlikely, but possibly. Kayha almost nodded again, but Benjamin on her left reached across her chest and gripped Jorin's hands, effectively muzzling the blond-haired, sentimental guy. After a few moments, he let go and leaned back in his seat, eyes closed. Though there was no spoken rule about keeping quiet during this final ride as a cadre, they hadn't spoken to... lessen the impact. More likely than not, these few who grew up together, trained together, excelled together, and watched their friends die together, would never see each other again after that day. It was how The Inquisition liked it. It was, by extension, how the Flesh-Scribed liked it.

The vehicle slid to a stop. It was time. Smoothly rising from her seat, Kayha climbed over one of the seats and crouched in the back, grabbing her things. Though she only had a small bag for personal effects - little more than clothes, a package of Altoids, and some polish for her false eye, her 'suitcase' held much more interesting items. Her gun, built and engraved by The Inquisition's magician gunsmiths. Though it was not enchanted, the weapon could be loaded with varying kinds of ammunition deadly to the horrific side of the world. Her armour, in pieces, also rested within the case. As she strapped her two greatswords to her back for easy transport, the Flesh-Scribed had the strangest feeling that she wouldn't be using it often. Popping the back open, she hopped out and dragged her two bags out with her. Shouldering the one full of clothes, she dragged the wheeled suitcase full of everything else behind her. In the drizzle, her jet-and-aquamarine eye shined brilliantly. The aquamarine's hard facets refracted the diffuse light, while the smooth jet almost glowed white where the light glanced off it.

Already a few people stood outside. Teachers, most likely, and some students. Pulling up short behind one who had a hat of some kind, Kayha's stance turned stone-solid and cold, her face equally as uninviting. All her training dictated that she wait to be addressed by an authority before doing anything, but some of her cadre's pack mentality remained, making her feel less uncomfortable when standing near others.

Behind her, the Inquisition vehicle drove off in a spray of water.

Kain stared as what seemed to be an armoured transport stopped near where he was standing. Out came a woman, taller than he, and visibly....are those scars? He did his best to compose himself as he walked up to the girl, noticing what looked like a case. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he greeted. "Would you like me to carry that for you? It seems quite heavy, and I don't have much of anything to carry."

There was only one explanation for Kain actually initiating conversation; he was uncomfortable. He lived most his life away from an actual society, and so this was beyond unfamiliar to him--it was alien. Unknowing of what he was supposed to do, Kain thought it best to rely on those who did, and to learn. Learning, and adapting, to what was going to be his life would be the most important keystone in his survival here. And while this girl seemed new as well, she definitely wasn't inexperienced, just based off of seeing that transportation of hers. She was his best chance.




OOC:

Color for speech: #4c0404
Color for interaction or mention: #044c4c

Sophia Rosendahl
Sophia sat in the back seat of the principal's car as they drove along down the twisty and turny roads of the mountain, Ms. Scott carefully reading the directions she had been sent along with Sophia's admission letter - "Turn left" Sophia interrupted Ms. Scott's internal thoughts, "Yes, I know Sophia" Ms. Scott replied in her as-usual teacherly tone, "Turn right" Sophia said, "Yes, I kno-" "Turn left!" "Sophia! BE QUIET!" Ms. Scott shouted, Sophia sat back in her seat and grinned, looking out the window as Ms. Scott continued on driving up the winding path of the rocky mountains, mumbling the directions under her breath in obvious confusion now that Sophia had successfully gotten her flustered.

Eventually the two ended up at their required destination, Ms. Scott put the car into park and peered out of the window with a slight tinge of worry on her face. Sophia was already out of the backseat, violin case in one hand, suitcase dragged along behind her in the other. There already seemed to be a crowd of a few others outside of the gates, "Hi guys!~" Sophia chimed, addressing the whole group regardless of gender despite having called them all 'guys'. Ms. Scott trotted after Sophia in a hurry, struggling to breath as she got to where Sophia was standing and placed her hand on Sophia's shoulder, "D-don't run off like that, Sophia" Ms. Scott wheezed, then attempting to cover it up as she saw the others whom Sophia was talking to, "Oh. Uhm. Hello." Ms. Scott gave a weak smile and pathetic wave to the group, which made Sophia's eyes roll, she would have argued about how 'un-cool' Ms. Scott was making her look in front of everybody, but she was distracted as she heard a clanking and a creaking of the gates being opened. From beyond the large gates, Sophia spotted what she assumed to be the teachers and in front of them, the principal. A wide grin spread across Sophia's lips, she couldn't wait to start using her magic more and more, her mind got lost in thought of how awesome her time here was going to be - so much so that she didn't even hear Ms. Scott say her goodbyes, and to get annoyed when she assume Sophia wasn't listening. Ms. Scott then proceeded to shake her head and turn, walking back to the car and getting in it to drive off, somewhat relieved to finally be rid of Sophia.

"Well, we're here now. Patraeko." The deep, monotone voice of the aged hunter spoke out. Leaving the old, beat up truck as he did so. He was equipped with a large amount of technological weaponry, surrounding his body to the point that his dark grey clothing could only just be viewed from underneath the equipment. Following him was the particularly young hunter-in-training. The Russian cyborg known as Patraeko Payemyndii. Wearing his usual attire of a black trench coat, left unbuttoned to reveal his white shirt and black trousers underneath. Along with his sheathed silver longsword clipped to his belt. His metallic hand reflected seemed to glow as the rain bounced off the structure.

"Well, this is a... Good place. I guess. Could do with some freshening up." Patraeko replied, not really caring much as he glanced around at his fellow students. His organic red eye darted around as the double zig-zagged shaped pupil expanded and contracted, measuring the energy of all which surround him. His other eye, cybernetic, glowed blue, the single darker-blued strip of a 'pupil' moved side to side.
"It still looks the same as when I attended this place. Brings back some good memories. You better be good." The hunter continued, crossing his arms in the process as he scanned over the teachers, hoping to recognise any of them. Of course he didn't, it's been such a long time since he graduated after all. "Anyway, I better get going. I think I left the oven on. You have a nice time, be sure to contact me when you can!" The final words from Patraeko's 'guardian' was spoken before he climbed back into his truck and drove off, in a rush, of course. Same as always...

"Yeah, I might need to talk to you about demonic energy." Patraeko replied to himself, muttering under his breath as he stared towards the white haired student, his "The Will" manifestation in his eye allowing him to see the energy held within and around the character. "Let's hope it's just a power-hungry asshole."

The Acolyte personal wing was just as Simon had imagined it, nearly wall to wall bookshelves that were no doubt overflowing with magical tomes and grimoires. He was also a bit perturbed by his new teacher, at first he thought she was just putting on an act but it seemed as though she was just like that. As someone with a strict adherence to etiquette he found her forward nature to be quite gaudy and unprofessional. He sighed to himself, his breath coming out in a short cloud of steam despite the fact that he was out of the cold, a byproduct of the magic he practiced.
Looking around the room, or rather labyrinth, he wondered if there were specialized areas for magic practice. He couldn't imagine a good outcome should some fire mage decide to show off their skills in what would quickly become the equivalent of a forest fire. Perhaps training could wait for later, after all there were still fellow students he had failed to introduce himself to.
He walked over to the white haired boy he had seen earlier. holding out his hand he made his introduction: "Good day sir, je m'appelle Simon Dupont. I hope we can be good friends or at the very least tolerable classmates".