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Val

"Oh, hello there. I am Val. I am... how you say? Driven."

0 · 181 views · located in Valderia

a character in “The Magic Hunters of Valderia”, as played by Sabremagus

Description

"Oh, hello there. I am Val. I am... how you say? Driven."


Name: Val. No last name, his village was not fond of them.
Gender: Male.
Age: 22.
Race: Kindred (Badger)

Physical Description: With a stocky build and a height of around 4'2''(Tall for a badger, not for a man), Val is hardly an imposing figure, or a muscular one. He has terrible short-term stamina, but regains his wind quickly enough and has enough endurance to make it through a couple weeks of hard marching, and a day and a half without sleep. He is covered in white fur and has markedly blood-red eyes on account of his albinism.

Fur Color: White (Albino)
Eye Color: Blood-red (Albino)

Occupation: Wayfarer, highwayman when opportunity knocks. No real marketable skills other than magic and herbology.

Bio: Val grew up in a little village called Eldan by its inhabitants, nestled somewhere in the outback woods of Sylvana, and somehow mostly untouched. The village is, like many of its kind, dogmatic in its traditions-- most specifically, a devotion to pure bloodlines. The elders allow no sort of "corruption" into their lines. As a result, those who leave are banished, and those who visit alienated.

Then came Val.

Val was born of wedlock, and his ill fortune did not end there. He was born ana albino, seen as "unpure", to be exiled or killed before even given a chance to grow. Val remembers, late one night, his father came into the hut his family lived in with a machete in hand to do the deed himself-- and only Val's mother stopped him. Val has fond memories of his mother-- in fact, his mother is the only one in the village he talked to, if he could help it. And so, instead of being killed, Val was exiled from Eldan at the age of eighteen.

Alone in the woods, Val had little to fend for himself with. Nobody in the village had taught him to survive, to read, nothing. They'd assumed he would die before it became an issue. Now Val walked in the woods alone, not even knowing where he was going. That was when he'd called the spirit, recounting something he'd heard the village's shaman say in a ritual once. Its name was Korvan.

Korvan gave Val power, and as he wandered their bond grew stronger. With Korvan's magic, Val had something to work with, something to survive with. Korvan is a spirit of nature and air, and gives Val the ability to weakly manipulate air (enough to deflect arrows, dodge slightly faster, and push things, but not enough to use razor wind and kill), as well as plantlife and wood (minor woodshaping, entangling roots, etc.). With Korvan's magic, Val found his way to civilized society, where he found that...

...well, he was disadvantaged. Eldan's language, while somewhat similar to the common tongue, was alien to him. Mannerisms were the same, the closeness of village life replaced by the society of the cities. Over the years, Val learned the language and mannerisms of the land, working as a hedge mage and using his newfound knowledge of herbs (gained mostly from trial, error, and hearsay) to make a sort of living. Inevitably, he suffered from his lack of language skill-- which still persists, to an extent.

For three years, Val lived this way. He wandered the Heartland, sometimes working honestly, sometimes stealing from lone travelers-- he knew almost nothing of modern laws. Passing through a town, he heard of the GMHO, and decided to strike off for one of its Parties, to prove that an "impure breed" like him can succeed far more than his isolated village and its dogmatic restrictions.

Hometown: Village of Eldan, not that he cares for it.
Home country: Sylvana, technically.

Personality: Usually avoids people, and is timid until he knows the person well. After you get to know him, he is a steadfast friend, though sometimes morally ambiguous. Always roots for the underdog.

Likes: The woods, the sky, the open road. Spirits and their magic. His mother.

Dislikes: Cities, complex society, restrictive dogma, interacting with people

Skills and Abilities Knows how to survive with almost no supplies, knows herbology. Learned a bit about stealth from "working" as a highwayman. Not much else.

Equipment & Weapons: A walking stick, a rucksack and bedroll, emergency supplies, herbs and bandages (for poultices), a mortar and pestle, a couple bottles for any herbal concoctions he makes. Keeps some tea handy, too, he's grown fond of it. Drab, torn clothes, patched in some places but hardly protective.

Magic: Korvan is his spirit, and he has a lot of control over Korvan's magic. It falls mainly into two categories:

Nature Control (Major)
Entangling roots, thornspikes, branch walls, etc. Dependent on the flora in the area. Useful in natural areas, nigh useless in cities and areas devoid of plantlife.

You could totally kill someone with this, choking them with thorns or roots or surrounding them in nigh-airtight branches.

Obviously, this is nigh-useless against magic incorporating fire, ice, and in some cases lightning.

Wind Control (Minor)
Strong enough to push humanoids of around 200 lbs (90kg) as hard as a strong person shoving them. Can deflect arrows and bolts, but not bullets. Augments Val's agility in minor ways, aiding his dodges in melee combat. Can propel projectiles (except bullets) to fly faster than usual, making makeshift thrown weapons (i.e. rocks) a viable weapon.

Can backfire when used against lightning, as it attracts lightning to the user.

Not strong enough to create razor wind and slice people, to explode people's bodies, to suffocate people, or to murder people in any other horrible way you can think of that involves wind.

So begins...

Val's Story

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Character Portrait: Val
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Val usually didn't like cities very much. He hadn't been raised in one, and everyone there spoke with strange accents and unfamiliar customs. He'd come to this festival to find some place to peddle the herbs he'd brought, which were useful in stopping bleeding...

... but it looked like he'd need to use them, instead. The shouts of battle barely rose higher than the screams of the dying, but that was no matter to Val. Most of the cultists were engaged in combat with one of the now-noticeable fighters and mages that dotted the square, fighting off the cultists that remained. Meanwhile, Val tended to those who still had a hope of living, those dying but not dead, using his herbs to help, as his magic could not. He went from wounded villager to bloodied townsman, applying poultices here and there, and at least knocking unconscious those he could not help, to lessen their pains. Hopefully, someone with magic of healing was here, because poultices only delayed the inevitable.

Val glanced around, hearing a cultist run towards him. The madman had a heavy-looking blade, rusted and notched, covered in gore. As the cultist swung Val sidestepped, assisted with his wind control, and hit the cultist in the back of the head, stunning him for a while-- enough time for Val to get his walking stick out, knock the cultist's legs out from under him, and run. Close combat did not favor him, so it was best not to stay. If only there was more nature here...

Setting

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Val
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#, as written by Subtle
The puppet show was about to start, when Spotface felt a wave of cold air ripple through his beard and rags. A rush of chatter followed the cold, along with a few shouts. The stuffy discomfort he'd felt moments ago long forgotten, he stood frozen in place as sharp chills ran quick down his spine. Oh gods, something is wrong.. Something is really wrong. Looking over at the commotion by the Senate building, the his stomach turned as the magnitude of the situation dawned on him. People scattered in every direction as black forms fell upon them, with gore and cries of terror erupting everywhere at once. Every fiber of his tiny frame screamed for him to run, and yet, he remained rooted to his spot, staring on into the swirling, screaming mass in front of him. Spotface saw the leg coming, but it wasn't until the fleeing merchant sent him flying that he regained his senses.

He picked himself up, pulled out his grapple shots, and prepared to aim for the nearest roof, when he saw a cultist dashing straight at him with a manic gleam in his eye. Spotface faltered, shooting one of the grappling shots straight into a nearby cart. He barely had time to curse his bad luck before the cultist was on him, gibbering gleefully and slashing wildly with a wicked-looking butcher's knife. Spotface skittered away from the first few chops, and with a zip and a thump he flew into the cart by retracting the grappling shot. The cart was thrown back with the force of it, too, sending Spotface tumbling into it. After wrenching at the hook, to his mounting horror, he found it was stuck fast in the side. No way this cart is coming with me on a roof... Seeing the cultist was not far behind, he lined up his second shot at a spot across the square. As soon as the shot had landed--in a lamppost near the center, it turned out--he and the cart were zipping away.

The cart bounced and clattered at first, barely staying on its wheels and bowling over a few people--from what he could see, two cultists and... their meal... yuck--as it went crashing and skidding through the square. As it rattled along, though, Spotface was able to wrestle control over it. Leaning this way and that, he crashed headlong through a few cultists and narrowly dodged 'round what looked like a badger-man before reaching the lamppost. At some point, the beard must have flown off, but that didn't really concern Spotface much right then. Never liked that thing anyway.. Looking around, he saw that his stunt with the cart had attracted the attentions of a number of cultists, who were making their way to him quicker than he'd have liked. Now that he had a handle of how to steer the cart, though, he realized that there was no way these blood-crazed lunatics could catch up with him, if he played things careful. Seeing some wounded civilians trapped in a corner, he was decided in seconds. How many civilians could he whisk away with this cart? How many cultists could he hit and run? His terror melted away, and he strapped on his goggles with a growing grin. Spotface had a game to play, and all was right with the world again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fea Rainglore Character Portrait: Seraphina Celosia Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Maleki Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: Valar Karackson Character Portrait: Elant Weisand Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Lucious Marder Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve Character Portrait: Morgan Taylor Character Portrait: Val Character Portrait: Lysandra Tyaelly Character Portrait: Alumaruk Ugak
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Fear, blood, flesh, and chaos. Truly this effigy and orgy of violence should appease her. The three cultists relished themselves in the moment as they approached the closing gates. The guardsmen unleashed a hail of gunfire to slow their advance as they desperately moved to close the massive gates. With a loud clang the gates were sealed and the remaining guards men beckoned their comrades on the top of the gates to let down the escape lines. Panic quickly turned to desperation as the three cultist showed no signs of stopping, even though they should have been very dead. The center cultists smiled and stopped his brethren, “Leave these pathetic mortals to me.” The other two stepped back and smiled as they watched the blubbering guards screamed for their comrades to save them.

The cultist’s eyes began glowing a deep red as the flesh under his skin began squirming. The pain from his bones realigning themselves was gut wrenching and he could feel the skin strain to contain the rapidly growing muscle. The cultist unleashed an ear piercing cry which was drowned out by rising blood as the skin burst open to make way for his new and terrifying body. He was now a large and bulky testament to limitless strength and raw flesh with arms that were twice their original size. The guards trembled in terror as the crimson mass charged through their new hail of bullets unscathed. The hulking beast tore them apart as if they were made of soggy tissues and disposed of their mutilated bodies in his gaping mouth.

The behemoth wiped the blood from his mouth and turned to face the massive steel crucifix that occupied the center of the city, “Do you think there is more flesh to consume near the ground zero?” “Of course, now lets get there before the others eat more than their own share.”

They were oh so close, but the pack must have caught their scent. Just one more block to the crucifix and to the rendezvous point. Brutus shoved the shotgun into the cultist's mouth and unloaded both rounds. The cultist's head exploded, releasing a torrent of blood and brains. Brutus reached into the opened head cavity and ripped out a strange throbbing organ. Brutus stared at it for a short while and crushed it in his hand. The body of the cultist suddenly burst into harmless green fire and all remnants of the cultist vanished without a trace. Brutus smirked and turned turned to his personal kill team, "Make sure you destroy their synapse or they won’t stay dead for long.”

Brutus ejected the two shell as he walked up to the cold and bloody steel crucifix that towered above him. “It’s a damn shame, he was the better man. He deserved better than this.” One of the remaining veteran hunters ran up to him, “Sir the city has been sealed and word is that the purge squads are already on their way.” Brutus scowled as he reloaded,

“Well is the train company holding true to their word?” The veteran nodded, “The Eleven O’clock will be fifteen minutes late, but it will it still arrive. They said that the longer we can hold the station the longer the train will wait. But chairman, are you sure about the deal with the governor, he could use go back on his word and prevent the train from leaving the city.” Brutus smiled, “I doubt he will, after all he will want us alive to fulfill our end of the bargain. Where’s Tellus? We need to hook up to the city broadcasting system.” The veteran hung his head, “He’s dead, got nailed by a bone spike.” Brutus’s eyes widened, “They’re already shifting? Well god damn, they’re getting better at mutating themselves. Well is the radio still intact?”

The veteran nodded and handed Brutus the microphone, “Tellus hooked it all up before he bled out, he said that we needed to get the message out.” Brutus sighed, “Let’s not let his death be in vain,” Brutus turned to face the remaining Hunters with him, “Remember guys the survivors won’t be the only ones hearing it, so lets be prepared for the worst.” Brutus raised the microphone to his mouth and waited for the operator to give him the go ahead, “Attention all living members of the intelligent races,” Brutus paused to listen his voice being echoed and projected by the city.

“Due to the presence of a dark cult the city has been sealed off and placed under quarantine. All gates have been sealed and a magical barrier has been placed around the city preventing any other means of conventional escape. That being said there will be an escape vessel arriving at the central train station within thirty minutes. Due to the violent nature of the cult the train will not be able to stay for very long, that is why we recommend that all survivors make their way to the central station as quickly as possible. To all hunters and contractees, protocol twenty-four has been invoked and the Solarians will be handling the extermination. Utmost caution is recommended against all cultists and it is best to avoid to engagement. And remember, it isn’t dead if the body is still there.”

Hugo quickly gathered his things and hung the heating mechanism on his waist. Felix hopped off Morgan’s shoulder and stared at Hugo, “So what’s the plan?” Hugo inserted a mana canister into the the heater and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. “The main goal is to get out of the city and not die.”

Hugo pulled out his grenade pistol and picked up one of the supposed corpse. Hugo shoved the pistol into the mouth of the cultist and fired, completely destroying the head. The body soon dissolved into a green flame and Hugo put his away the pistol,

“Hope you folks were paying attention, cause shit just got real. For those who aren't familiar with the concept of quarantine and or the significance of protocol twenty-four allow me to explain. It means that the whole of the designated area will be sealed off and due to protocol twenty-four, the entire hazard area will be deemed a dead zone and all living organisms within the dead zone will be made dead.”

“Usually the GMHO takes care of the extermination, but unluckily for us the Solarians are taking charge. Which means we have to get the hell out of this city. Of course you can test your luck and stay. But in the end you will have make a choice. Do want to be eaten alive or do you want to be incinerated. But hey if dying a horrible death is really your thing then fine by me, I ain’t gonna judge. But for those of you who want to live I recommend that you listen to my every direction. The central train station is about ten blocks from where we stand, we will be able to get there before the train arrives if we don’t attract too much attention. It’s best to leave now this area now while the cultists divert their attention. Gather your things and make sure we’re not leaving anyone behind, after all there is safety in numbers.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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As Val dodged through cultists falling to the ground, then reforming into more terrible things, he heard a voice from somewhere, talking about some protocol or another. That part didn't really make sense to him. The shouting man afterwards, telling them all to get to a train station, was more clear.

Val had already had to leave the civilians behind, the cultists were too numerous for him to stay anywhere for long. As the cultists became larger, hulking masses of flesh, Val became more nervous. He hadn't faced anything that large before...

Korvan hopped into his head, snapping him out of it. Val put his staff on his back and began to run on all fours towards the train station, trying to weave through the masses. He passed a great many of the fighters in the square, and ended up on a slightly clearer street. Had he looked up, he would have seen a goblin and a man with a penchant for "fan service". However, Val was not going to look up, focusing on evading the cultists (and failing to remember that he had no idea where the train station was).

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Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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Val kept running. Past the cultists, towards the people, the people who probably knew the town better than him.

There was blood all around, civilians still getting cut down as they flocked down a thoroughfare, screams still hanging in the air, cackling still piercing through Val's ears, and-- though faintly-- the sound of gunfire and battle ringing through the streets.

Val kept running still, nearly stopped by a monstrous cultist. With no way to draw his quarterstaff in time, Val ducked to and fro, then pushed past some civilians to escape, unable to deal with the threat of the cultist himself. He felt sorry for the deed, but he would not die here for some other humans he didn't know.

Eventually Val ran towards a heavily armed man, clad in leather and firing away with a powerful looking gun. Figuring it was safer to stay with someone who could fight, Val took a moment near the man to catch his breath-- or at least to slow down, as there was no stopping the flood of people heading for their only chance of escape. Still breathing hard, Val called up to the man, who must have been a couple feet taller than him. The cultists followed, relentless.

"You look like fighter. Need help?" Val called, taking out his quarterstaff. Val didn't know his way around a fight in a city like this, but he could try.

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Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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Hugo was in the middle of stabbing a cultist in the head rapidly with its sword when the badger man approached him. Hugo tossed away the body and the weapon as it burst into flicker fire. "You look like fighter. Need help?" Hugo paused and smiled, “I’m not in particularly dire circumstances,” Hugo quickly drew his grenade launcher and fired a round into the mouth of a rapidly approaching cultist, “But there is safety in numbers!” Hugo set down his bag and pulled out a complex map of the city. “Now, I’m going to be honest with you, I’m not in need of a fighter, after all fighting takes up time and right now we don’t have much time.” Hugo fingered the map to pinpoint their current location,

“Now I’m happy to have you come with me, but be prepared, we are not going to fight anything, that is if all goes to plan.” Hugo smiled, rolled up the map, and turned to a nearby covered man hole. “I hope you don’t mind the smell of excitements.” With a simple wave of the hand and a little mental focus, Hugo sent the iron cover flying into a nearby building. “Of course you can avoid the smells, and try your luck against the robed menace, but its your choice.” Hugo slid down the ladder and entered the dimly lit concrete atrium of Kergstien sewer system. In the center was a large pool of sewage that flowed into four separate tunnels, each marked with their own cardinal direction. “Hey Badgerman! If there is anyone else up there you can tell them that they can tag along if they don’t want to be turned into flesh capes with rhinestone patterns!”

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Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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Val watched as the gunner leapt into the manhole, map in hand, and wondered what to do next. For his own sake, it would be best to simply follow, but... best to call others, as well. He didn't know how he was going to raise his voice over the din of the battle, but he tried.

"There is other exit here! Come! But do not let cultists near!" Val shouted, hopefully getting the message across in his accent. Cultists getting into the sewer would be their greatest concern within, as the low light there would make fighting hard, and they needed no distractions in escaping the town. As a cultist came near the manhole-- and Val-- Val used his wind magic to sidestep a heavy blow, then managed to trip his foe with a hit to the head. Then he clambered down after the gunner, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to survive for any longer on the surface.

As he slunk after the gunner, he heard the slink of something climbing down the ladder into the sewers. He knew not what it was.

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Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Morgan Taylor Character Portrait: Val Character Portrait: Lysandra Tyaelly
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Hugo strained his eyes to see the approaching figure. “Oh, it’s you berry boy. Did your lover ditch you?”

Michael nearly fell over with exasperation. "For the last time, he's my br-" But he never got to finish that sentence.

Hugo smiled and lowered the revolver, “You best stick with us, unless you want to get your throat ripped out.” Hugo pulled out the map and quickly looked it over, “Now the exit should be close, its just a manhole away.” Hugo rolled up the map and tucked it away, “By the way, I heard lots of splashing, do you have friends with you?"

Looking back, Michael couldn't see anything coming from the passageway behind him. "Well, I did hear someone entering the manhole earlier. But there's a cultist in here as well. I tried sealing him in stone, but he might break out. We should probably get going soon."

It was quiet near the southern barricade. Sure they could hear the chaos up ahead, but they couldn't quite see it. The approach to the barricade wound through tight streets and the two hunters hadn’t seen or sensed anything come close. The smaller of the two hunters twitched as a small impulse reached his head, “Something’s coming.” The two hunters drew their weapons as they readied themselves. "Don't shoot! We ain't one of them!" screamed one of two rapidly approaching women.

The two hunters looked at each other and snickered, “Shooting people with axes. That’s rich.” The larger of the two set down his axe and smiled, “So how’s the approach? You guys are the only living things to come near this barricade and it has to been at least fifteen minutes since the message started playing.” The smaller hunter quickly looked over the two girls wrists and nodded to the other guard. “Looks like you guys are clean, and don’t worry. You fellas are safe now.” The nearby manhole cover suddenly catapulted into a building. The guards quickly lifted their weapons and prepared for battle,

“SURPRISE!” Hugo shot his head out from the sewer system, “How ya folks doing.” Hugo pulled himself, the badger man, and the very berried haired boy out as well. The two guards kept their weapons up and Hugo quickly pulled up his sleeves to show his wrists. “Look see, I’m clean, ain’t got an ounce of infection on me.”

“What about them?”

“They’re clean too.” The two guards glared at Hugo who rolled his eyes. “Well I’m sure you can already see the badger’s wrists and I’m sure the pink haired boy would be happy to show you his wrists.” Promptly, Michael rolled up his sleeves and removed the bracelet on his left wrist. There was nothing of interest on them. The two guards sighed and lowered their weapons, “I know it’s protocol, but do you really think the blood cult is going to start infecting people with the plague? ‘Cause it would be like them tainting their own meals with a dangerous poison.” The two hunters shrugged, “Well whatever, you guys are good to go.” “Damn right we are.”

There was an eerie and quiet drone occupying the train station as Hugo passed the small groups of survivors who were waiting to board the train. A small troupe of veteran hunters blocked off the cars saying that the train had to finish unloading.The train was a brass masterwork from the Aulrailian golden age. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Hugo nodded in agreement with the engineer, “She’s a brawler class locomotive mech. I have seen her do amazing things in my lifetime. Shame that she’s been reduced to manual labor.” The train groaned and steamed as it slowly unloaded large black boxes that rocked and moaned from the car behind.
Supervising this was a man clad in a long bellowing robe that seemed to glisten in the sun. He looked like he was his mid-twenties, but his eyes looked like they had live a thousand lifetimes. His right hand tightly clutched a large metal staff that was mounted by a large mechanical eye that shifted and searched for all things evil. "Tick tock hunters, the cargo is getting restless."

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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June 21--10:54 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire

Thomas glanced at the glider wings and shook his head. "It's not light enough for that, unfortunately. But we can certainly get there first, if you have that. Can you carry me, in that case?"

Then, he had another thought. "Hm...though, perhaps we can get my brother to help. His earth powers might help us lose those cultist bastards. I'll try calling him...you think of something else, in the meantime."

--------------------------------

Michael watched the locomotive automaton unloading the black boxes from the train. "What's with those things?" he murmured as he saw them shake and rattle. "It's like there's something alive in them..."

Fastening his bracelet around his arm, he waited until he thought no one was paying attention to him, before gazing intently at one of the boxes. His left eye flashed orange, and he tried to sense its magical signature...but a cold feeling suddenly enveloped him with only a glance, and he quickly shut the power down. "Whatever's in there...I don't think I want to know," he muttered to himself.

Just as he turned away, his bracelet flashed, signaling that Thomas was calling him. "Yes, what is it, Thomas?" Michael asked, raising the bracelet to his face.

"Michael, are you okay? Because I've got a really big problem. My puppet box is still in the central square, but there are giant titan bastards around here. I need you to come help me get it. Can you make it?"

"What do you need to get to the puppet box for?" Michael asked skeptically. "You can just make more puppets."

"You don't understand, Michael! THAT puppet is in the box! My trump card!"

That got Michael's attention. Oh, dear. I forgot he keeps it with him whenever possible. "Um...well, in that case, I'll see what I can do." Shutting his bracelet down, he turned to the Huntsmaster and the badger with whom he had gotten to the train station with. "I'm sorry, you two, but my brother's encountering some more trouble. I need to go to Central Square to help him. Could you help us, please?"

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Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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Val looked at the boy, and his urgent look. "I'm sorry, you two, but my brother's encountering some more trouble. I need to go to Central Square to help him. Could you help us, please?" The boy said.

Normally, Val would have turned down helping a stranger... but this boy seemed to have quite a connection to his brother, and it reminded Val of his mother's kindness and concern. His mother had been the only one to notice him back in Eldan... the only one to help, before he was exiled.

"I will help, boy. Lead on." Val said. "But know that I am poor fighter, and cannot do much to cultist beasts."

He looked at the gunner man next to him, wondering if the man would follow the two of them as well. It would certainly make things easier-- not only did the man seem to know the city better, he could also fight well without some sort of restriction. Val would be left to his quarterstaff to fight, and he could hardly keep himself alive with that and air control alone, much less another, seemingly less experienced fighter-- the boy. Hopefully, the man would accept, and they would travel as a group. If not...

Well, the boy might lead him to an early grave.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fea Rainglore Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Morgan Taylor Character Portrait: Val Character Portrait: Lysandra Tyaelly
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~Fera

Fera had no idea as to what the hell had happened. One minute there was peace in the city, and she was now a Huntress, this gave her something to do, and the opportunity for food. The next, the whole city went to hell, and she was told to flee to a train that was leaving soon. What a nice day, isn't it? As soon as Fera gained her bearings, she fled towards what she knew was the train station. Never once until the next moments, was the little Kindred happier that she was a rabbit Kindred, rather than being a fox or something. She moved gracefully, and quickly away from the hell-zone she was standing in. She drew her bow, for safety as she ran, evading as many persons as she could. Yet she noticed something, rather bad. A huge amount of cultists were in front of her, this made her blood crawl as she stopped on her heels. She fired one arrow hitting the one that may have seen her in the eye, a lucky shot. Before she could even see if the cultist died, Fera disappeared. She landed into what she presumed was the sewers. Nice. Immediately her ears picked up sloshing echoing in the isles, and then a familiar voice, the man from the table. Fera felt a little safer if she were close to him, thus she darted in his direction, the water slowed her down quite a bit, but she was fast enough to catch up within a few minutes of the sound. At least, she hoped that she could.

After a decent time of running she had caught up with the man, she slowed now, not because she was close, but from exhaustion. Soon Fera spoke towards the voices, hoping that she wouldn't be killed immediately, "I-I'm here... Sorry... For being a little... Late..." she said, her cloak hiding her fully, though her bow was sheathed over her torso and her staff was on her back, not like that would do anything anyway. Slowly, Fera approached the small group rather calmly, hoping she wouldn't have to run farther.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fea Rainglore Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve Character Portrait: Val
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IMPATIENT NIGHTBLAZER

June 21--10:56 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire


The puppeteer lowered his bracelet arm, having finished the call with Michael. Just as he turned back to the goblin, however, he suddenly saw one of the giants reaching up and gripping the side of the building. His mouth only formed half of a warning cry before the building they were standing upon was reduced to rubble, sending Thomas flying to the base of the building.

"Shit!" Thomas gasped, before leaping to his feet and dashing as close to the wrecked building as he dared. "Hey! Goblin! A-are you there?" He was instead treated to the sound of the giants roaring as they raced towards him. Biting his lip and cursing bitterly, the puppeteer turned on his heel and started running away, fully aware that he could not hope to run away from the giants like this.

Central Square was only one block away. Thomas' muscles were screaming, and sweat soaked his elegant, pale yellow clothes, but all he could think about was the goblin he had left behind. Just a bit further. I just need to get my puppet box back, goblin, and I'll show those bastards for what they've done to you, me, and everyone here who came just to enjoy this festival.

(OOC: Spotface was miraculously ignored by the cultists after the building collapsed, so he only has to worry about digging himself out. Of course, considering how long I waited before posting, I figure you've lost interest already.)

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Michael nodded to the badger man. "Thanks for your help," he said with a polite smile. "Now let's go!" Ignoring the Huntsmaster in the black trenchcoat and the bunny girl who had just come out of the sewers behind them, he ran towards Central Square, making sure the badger could keep up at all times.

They raced past the guards, despite warnings being shouted at them, and dashed into the adjoining streets. Michael slowed down at each corner, peeking out to make sure the coast was clear before running down each alley and avenue. The last thing they wanted was to run into those cultist monsters. The attack had been taxing on everyone, and Michael knew how suicidal this was.

As he peered around another corner, however, he suddenly saw a figure in a yellow poncho walking in their direction. At first, Michael prepared to respond with an attack, but then he heard the whirring of servos and grinding of metal parts against each other. With a second glance under the hood of the poncho, he realized it was the robot he had been fighting alongside earlier!

The robot was in horrible shape. Its plating was charred and blackened, and it was stumbling along while dragging an ax on the ground, behind its back. Most of the left arm had been completely ripped off. "Oh, no..." Michael looked him up and down, before clearing his throat. "Erm. Glad to see you're alive--ah, I mean..." What was he supposed to say? It was a robot. Never mind. "Anyway, the train station is that way. Just a few more blocks."

After a slight pause, he asked with a more worried tone, "Also, are there still too many cultists now? My brother is still out there."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve Character Portrait: Val
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While Val was being dragged along by the kid, they stumbled upon that robot again.
He looked damaged, but Val knew nothing of healing robots.
He wondered briefly if the robot could use a splint to help itself move... no, wood would be too weak for the metal frame. Nevertheless, Val silently offered his staff to help the robot walk-- although it was probably too small to assist.

They were close to their goal, that fair-like place that Val had largely avoided before.
Val saw another diving past cultists, who looked similar to the boy. Perhaps this was the brother?
Either way, they were close-- with cultists ever closer, and Val's wind magic barely keeping the boy and him safe.
Time was definitely running out.