Grey Knight

Rik's eye twitched. He glanced around, only now noticing the number of people in the bar. How many of them had overheard their conversation? How many of them would he have to kill? Calamity, this place could turn into a bloodbath on barely a moment's notice. No. He took a shuddering breath and forced back the darkness. It didn't work, not really, but it kept his panic confined to shaky hands and beading sweat on his brow. He could function with that. "Of course, Tena," he said flatly. "I will defer to your judgement in this matter. If it is acceptable to you, I would like to get started on the work. Where do we go to from here?" @Sherlock Holmes

Rik choked on his cider. It only took a moment's thought to extract the liquid from his throat and deposit it back into the cup. It was lucky that he could use his powers so unconsciously, because right now he was overwhelmed with sheer, bloody-minded panic. "This place isn't safe?!" He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Calamity, woman! When you took us to this store, I assumed you owned everyone in here. Not that we were talking business in a dangerous, unsecured location!" @Sherlock Holmes

"That's unfortunate for your finances," Rik muttered. "But I cannot fault your logic. Are we to deal with the looters violently, then? Liquidating them and seizing a portion of their assets, while publicly returning the rest, would be a boon to our public relations as well." He took another sip of the cider and shuddered. The flavors were a terrible mix of too strong and too weak, and its aftertaste was revolting. "Of course," he said roughly, "perhaps that would draw too many eyes to your organization. I'm open to other suggestions. I would also like to hear more about this manufacturing base you've so cleverly hidden from outside forces." @Sherlock Holmes

"Manufacturing?" He took a sip of the cider, wincing at the flavor. "I didn't realize you had an industrial base to work off of. That... changes the calculations." He closed his eyes and concentrated, disguising the motion by taking a long swig out of the cider. The woman's mind was guarded. There was almost no feeling emanating from it. He thought she was telling the truth, but couldn't be sure. "We'll want to establish contact with the bands of looters, I assume?" He winced at the terrible aftertaste of the cider. "If we can get them to hand over a cut of their spoils, it should help with the finances. The ones that refuse will have to be liquidated, of course, as well as any that are too brutal in their methods. We want to control the crime scene, not let it run wild." @Sherlock Holmes

"I am competent in that field," Rik said. He settled down and looked suspiciously at his own cider. He had never been been fond of the drink back on Earth, but this one was far darker than what he was used to. A thick fragrance surrounded it, though not an unpleasant one. "What is the Ghostblood's priority at this moment? Are your assets liquid enough to sustain short-term operations, or are you threatened with total insolvency and financial ruin?" @Sherlock Holmes

"I am an excellent assassin," Rik grumbled. "To my great displeasure. It is a waste of my considerable talents to merely crush a man's head from two hundred feet away. And yet, it is what I have been used for this past year." He hopped down from the roof. "If you have need of an accountant, however, I would consider it an adequate use of my time. There are many powerful creatures who keep poor records of their finances, and I find blackmail via this method to be quite satisfying. Research and development in a proper lab would be my dream, but I'm afraid my master stipulates I must be in close contact with you." He sneers. "They do not appreciate the sciences like we do." He rubbed his chin as he looked around the city. "You may take us to any refreshment spot of your choice. If possible, though, I would prefer somewhere dry and shaded. My constitution is not meant for this intolerable warmth." @Sherlock Holmes

"It is elementary work," Rik grumbled. "Given the correct dyes and preparation, I could easily turn this crude matter into something actually useful. But my talents to not extend to creating drinks out of nothing, Tena. I'm afraid you'll have to get me off this roof and take me to a reputable bar before I can provide them." "As for my work, I'll have you know that back on Earth I was something of a gentleman scholar. Though I initially bumbled about with petty despotism, like so many other Epics, it was never my true calling." He smiled slightly. "I spent many years after Calamity attempting to rediscover the sciences lost in the collapse of society. I wrote a whole book about it. Sent it to Knighthawk Foundry for publishing, but never heard back from the man." "And then... it happened." He spat over the side, face twisting. "A Great Epic found me. My master, now. It had somehow found the Cosmere, and wanted someone expendable to act as its liaison. Pray you never meet it, Ghostblood."

"Of... course." Rik heaved a shaky breath. "Just... a moment, please." His head was pounding now. He felt cold, and worst of all sweaty. This was going to ruin his clothes. "But that window... was boring." He shifted his stance and focused back on the ball of molten glass. It was less compressed now, his grasp having slipped for a moment, but it was still malleable. "Far too sentimental. I will make it better." Shaping the glass was far simpler than melting it. He split it into streams and set it to a spin. The dyes and paints had been burned to ash, so his creation was unfortunately dull and bland. Nevertheless, in a few minutes he was able to set two freshly formed goblets onto the ground. "Once they cool, we can use them to drink," he said. "Do you have a preference for beverage, or will it be waters all around?" @Sherlock Holmes

I would be down to come along, if that works.

So the Rosharan wanted a test of the Grand Magister's abilities, did she? Rik doubted she would be impressed by some brutish display of force. But suspicion rolled thickly off of her mind. A too-subtle display of power would merely disappoint her, or worse convince her that he was-- horror of horrors!-- incompetent. Rik glanced up. There was a small stained glass window above the doors, depicting some scene of battle with amateurish skill. He decided he could make something better. "I will provide you an excellent demonstration, Tenareo." He squared his feet and braced his staff into the ground. "However, it will be taxing in the extreme. If I fall unconscious, do catch me before I fall to my death." Then, he stretched forth his hand. Blades of precisely-directed force sheared the window from the iron bars holding it in the wall. He caught the window it before could fall, gently lowering it down to eye level. "Pressure is one of the greatest forces in the galaxy, Ghostblood. Greater than all other magicks. For example, Pyromancy may claim mastery of heat and cold, but a proper understanding of the sciences reveals that these things come from the movement of atoms, not arcane elements. Pressure, properly applied, can create a void colder than the Stygian depths or a material hotter than the core of a planet." Rik wiped off the sweat beading on his face. "Observe." He clenched his hand, and the pane of glass was crushed into a ball the size of a marble. His vision went black for a moment, and he struggled to keep on his feet. Moments passed, and the darkness slowly receded. And directly in front of him, the ball of glass had turned molten. @Sherlock Holmes

Rik sighed and stamped his foot. The pavement beneath him split, and he floated upwards on a platform of rock. He reached the top a minute later, his platform barely more than rubble from the telekinetic force he was putting on it. He stumbled onto the top of the doors and released his hold, sending the rocks clattering down. "I do not think my master would care very much about your soldiers and assassins," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Though if I thought there was a way you could banish them, I would contract you in a heartbeat. Head explosion be damned." His face twisted in a snarl. "Unfortunately, I am... expendable. Should you reject me and I explode, I believe you would simply see a new face come to you. I have the advantage of not being a boorish twat, which the next applicant would surely be. This is why you should consider me." @Sherlock Holmes

Rik could feel his face twitch as he fought down his sudden surge of emotions. "Tenareo of Roshar," he said, "I do not think you understand. There is a 5 centimeter wide lead-lined cube of nuclear reaction embedded into the back of my head. If I do not join the Ghostbloods right here and now, it will detonate and kill me!" A pause. "As well as you and everyone else nearby, I suppose." He sighed. "Don't bother calling one of your healers, it won't work. I've tried. The bones simply grow around the bomb, and any attempt to surgically remove it will result in immediate detonation. Forget about it, it won't be relevant to our professional relationship. I am Rik Poot, of the aforementioned titles. I didn't find you, my master did, and I am to act as a liason between you and them. "As for skills, I will have you know my magical powers are nearly without limit. Set me a task, and the Witch-Lord shall accomplish it before your very eyes!"

Rik Poot-- Alleycity The Grand Magister of Magic was beginning to long for the sweet release of death. He picked himself up from the street and brushed the dust from his robes of station-- his long leather trench coat, in this case. He glared at the back of his assailant, who was currently crashing into another man in a violent embrace. He could hear their sobbing even above the tumult of the vigil. Insolent fools. Not one person in this city had showed Rik Poot the respect his station deserved, and they were all giants. He had yet to pass a single person his height. This was the third time some star-crossed lovers or grief-stricken mourners had knocked him flat in their unseemly haste to reunite. If only they could show some decorum or modesty, the blatant sentimentality could be tolerated. Instead, Rik despaired for his sanity. The sea of people parted for a moment, and he caught sight of his target. Rik grasped his staff and forced his way into the streets. He only narrowly avoided another knockdown by sending a telekinetic pulse that left sweat beading on his face. But make it he did. He stepped up behind the woman and cleared his throat. "Tenareo of Roshar," he said loudly. "I, Sorcerer of the Mississippi and Weaver of the Arcane Arts, have come to join the Ghostbloods." @Sherlock Holmes

For organic augmentation, I was thinking it would be an alternative pewter, so to speak. A minor strength and speed boost to himself, maybe to others? Only if he's concentrating on it, though. As for long range, I was mostly just thinking of "within normal eyesight". And he doesn't have very good eyes