I think I am here.

Avanti trails behind with his head lowered, watching Pikes convince the noble to follow him as the guards are distracted. As he ambles forward Avanti finds himself staring at the noble with wide eyes, dark thoughts working their way in his mind and he shuts them out, walks to where the noble was standing, next to the carriage. He looks at Pikes and nods. Breathing out more stormlight he takes a good look at the noble and replicates his appearance. It doesn’t take too much stormlight, Avanti already has a base to work with and he isn’t using brand new stormlight, he’s merely reworking the lightweaving that was already disguising him. The end result is clear. Avanti’s old disguise bleeds away, revealing fanciful clothing, and a body and face that match the nobleman’s. He stands up, straightens his back and tried to assume an authoritative stance. He didn’t hear the nobleman speak much, and Avanti was very never good at being in the spotlight. As long as the guards don’t ask too many questions, the lightweaving should work, he thinks. @Ricocheting Windrunner

The door opens and I take a deep breath, take in the surroundings as I step forward. He makes a preventative gesture I see the attraction. I know it’s importance from the setup, from guessing the meaning of Raphael’s name, from how no other door leads out of here except the one I came from. This is the end of the path. The core, when I’ve peeled all of the other secrets away. When was the last time I’ve investigated something for my own sake, my own curiosity? I can’t remember. I’m not getting paid for this, and yet the reveal seems so much more satisfying than any amount of dollars could be. Well, not any amount of dollars... The Archangel Raphael. I can see it’s relevance, staring at the being before me. Human testing. Involuntarily I find myself hesitant as I step forward, realising the extend of what Raphael’s done, and I stuff my hands into my pockets to hide the fact they’ve begun the slightest tremble. Wide-eyed I see all the healed lacerations, the swollen skin and seams, that hold this creature together. The test subject, an innocent man? I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The red stands out, a bloody contrast against the white sterile environment. He’s taking humans. I blink again. Taking humans, replacing their parts, changing them up to make them fit his artistic vision. His vision of perfection. Or, as close to perfection as possible. I walk around the table slowly, observing every part of this experiment. This... angel. Our conversation seems to small in comparison to this. I almost feel like laughing, a knee-jerk reaction. Of course. He wants perfection, and what is more perfect than an angel? The contrast between divine perfection and human error seems so prominent now. The wings fused to the human flesh, the other scars where I can only imagine Raphael has done his own perfecting. But, it will never be perfect. It’s a human attempt, a caricature of true divinity that lies on that bloody operating table. With hesitance I look at Raphael and smile. It’s almost like I can see through him, see through the mystery that drew me to him in that bar. It’s messed up, I know that. This whole situation is messed up, but I’ve seen ‘messed up’ before. I’ve seen mutilayed corpses and while this is a special case I don’t feel any disgust, or horror. He did say he was a doctor. I look at him. A body that is not his own. Surgically altered, but it would have to be incredibly changed for him to not consider it his own body. Incredibly changed, and yet no scars. No precise marks of any sort, like I see on his angel. It’s almost perfect. I know it’s not his own body and it still fools me. I’ve been thinking that he operated on himself. But while his angel is impressive, his own body seems to be crafted more skilfully. Someone else? “Why show me?” I ask, my smile dimming, turning fully to his direction. I take a step forward. “Why invite me here, to see your work?” I entertain the idea that like the common serial killer, he craves attention, but obviously that’s not it. He’s operated with secrecy for a long time, I know. So, why me? Time to take a stab in the dark. “And where is the other surgeon? The one who...” I nod at Raphael, gesturing to his body. Either I’m wrong or I’m right. @Sorana

“When am I?” Price asks. “You mean, when am I free?” He looks around to see if he can find a time piece but can find nothing. He’ll need to remember to ask a scribe to get one, it’s too easy to have days drift by, but everything seems so far away. As if it’s only Price and... it, the only ones in this room, this whole Facility. Of course, that’s impossible. ‘Why, I’m free now.” He looks to it. “Unless you mean, what time am I in? What year, perhaps? An odd question, to be sure. What can I call you?” He gets his pencil and ledger ready.

Pikes. That was his name. My colleague, Pikes. Avanti turns back as Pikes appears in his view, never fully taking his eyes off of the noble. It’s always hard to stay focused when there’s a noble or other authorities around. Avanti faintly remembers the hushed warnings his spike could fracture his mind, and as he fixates on the noble, wondering all the ways he could tear him apart, he nods to Pikes. “I can do a distraction,” he says, his voice quiet and determined. Keeping his head down Avanti never stops staring at the noble, stormlight spheres in a tight pouch at his hip. Breathing in the Investiture he turns and brainstorms possible diversions for a moment before deciding on something. He looks to a particularly crowded spot not too far away and breaths out, channeling the stormlight into a lightweaving that’ll hopefully distract the guards. It’s a lightweaving of a voice Avanti remembers from long ago. It’s of a woman screaming. The sound is loud and shrill. It would take too much stormlight to recreate a full person so hopefully the sound and crowded area will be enough of a diversion. @Ricocheting Windrunner

Rob hopped out of the bus and followed them. He placed his bag next to Shana’s and nodded. “Exactly. And they have no reason to believe we’re anything other than normal kids.” Unless they were the spies. Then they would know Rob and the group were Radiants. And they would attack. “Either way, keep your stormlight pouches close,” he said. “You never know.”

Price didn’t have too many dreams, but when he did it was of his research. Symbols, writing, forms and ledgers. Instincts, weaponry, the applications. Scenarios made their way in his mind, concepts for things he would only half-remember when he woke up. Mixings of ideas, a jumbled up mess that made sense to his dreaming mind, made from the carcass of a thousand failed ideas and a few successful ones. Papers, scribes, numbers, money, ideas and violence. An abstract melting pot of testing. Price was writing it all down. He found himself on his desk, within his favourite testing room. The walls were close and the chamber in front of him was almost empty. His mind didn’t ask why or how he was here, but here he was. He had found so many discoveries in this very room. His office and testing space. Where he had all the power. But something was off. Someone else was here. Price didn’t know who or what they were but they sat across from him and asked for a moment of his time. He tapped his pencil —now for some reason in his hand — onto his ledger and peered at the person but no details could be made out. “Sure,” he said. “But quick. I’m...” Busy, he was going to say. But busy doing what? “I’m free for a moment, yes.”

Avanti keeps his steps quick and light. He clears a path into the crowd, and while he can’t spot any guards yet, life has taught him to never let down his guard. He’s covered in yet another lightweaving, the stormlight flowing from him into a disguise, his eyes now a light brown, his hair lightweaven to be dark and inconspicuous; Avanti can’t remember the last time he’s let anyone see his true appearance. He walks ahead, through the crowd, only for a moment barely remembering he even has a colleague. He looks back to try and find his partner but it’s hard through the mass of people, and every time Avanti thinks he’s found him it’s someone else. It doesn’t matter where the other guy is, Avanti thinks. I’m sure he’s not too far behind. What was his name again? @Ricocheting Windrunner

His name. My wind whirs with everything he’s said so far, trying to process the input. Truth, fairytales, questions, morals, and yet everything snaps back into place when he asks that question. I focus on what he means, breathe slowly as he walks close to me, don’t move as his finger touches the shoulder where my scar lies. Raphael. “The old painter and architect, from renaissance times.” It seems fitting for Raphael to refer to an artist who shares his name. But what else meaning could it be? I remember the surgical tools, glance back at the animals and their mixed parts. For a moment I wonder why? Why someone would want to change an animal like that. But I stop, that comes close to breaking yet another rule. Never try to understand the perps. Do that too many rimes and you might become one. Raphael. I search my mind for anything that could work. Replaying conversations, gunfights, alleyway brawls. Raphael. Then it hits me. The surgical tools, the fact Raphael is a doctor. I glance back to Raphael and try my final answer. “The ‘shining one who heals’,” I say, barely a whisper, remembering a sermon from long ago, back in my home alley. “The archangel.”

@Ricocheting Windrunner

An option specially for me? I’m flattered.

Is there any way to vote no without calling you a weirdo?

“Thank you,” Marcel said as the doors opened and he stepped off, the breeze of the night chilly on his skin. Faith smiled and waved back to Wita, reaching something out of her pocket and holding it out to her. A small rainbow pebble. “You’re very welcome.” Marcel began to say something but stopped when he saw it was nothing dangerous. He nodded at Lewis as he stepped out of the car and switched his attention to the looming tower in front. Big Ben. Marcel checked his watch. Almost time. “We need to be quick,” he said.

It’s hard not to stare as I enter the hallway, peering at the monsters through their cages and the massive glass wall that separates us. Fairy tales. The topic is a memory from our conversation on the upper floor. Fairy tales. I knew they had to fit in this somehow. And surgery - how could I not put two and two together? I watch the creature with a lion head and a scorpion’s tail, and I vaguely remember some children’s story with a beast of a similar description. One by one I stare at the beats, each seeming to be a marvel of surgical skill. “I have one question, Raphael,” I say, ideas forming and combining with other thoughts as I grasp this truly new piece of information. He makes myths. Takes animals and melds them together to make creatures spoken about in fairy tales. He’s no mobster, I realise, the hypothesis now coming to a certainty. He works alone, in secret. And now he’s let me into to the fray. Taron said I was the first one to come here. “You said you thought fairy tales had an element of truth in them,” I say, but don’t keep my glance off of the creatures. The doctors where I come from can cure some sicknesses, can mend a wound and leave a scar if it’s surgery, but that’s the extent of their abilities. I feel like I’ve been trying to see beneath Raphael’s surface, and now I’ve just discovered the first layer. “But here, you’re creating the fairy tails. Which means the fairy tales are lies. And you’re making them into truths.” But there’s something more, isn’t there? I can tell it from the secrecy, from the fact that Raphael’s actions imply more than even mixing animals together. They imply danger, serious crime. I can tell it from the heavier door at the end of the hallway. My eyes dance off of the glass and burning tin only slightly I spot him observing me secretly. He’s cautious. It’s remarkable. He’s creating new animals. But such dedication, and yet I see no humans. Surely after whatever he did with himself, working on himself, he never thought to practise on other humans? Deliberately I move my eyes away from the cages and towards the heavier door. @Sorana

They’re character points. You gain character points for certain skills and Investiture and lose them for weaknesses. We use them to score characters to make sure no one is too overpowered. You can find the scoring index here. The process goes that someone from the Alleyverse mod-team (such as me ) scores the character and approves it if everything is dandy, or suggests ways to change it if it is above score limits or whether parts of it are missing (like weaknesses). Scoring can be done by anyone, though. Then, it gets added to the big list at the beginning of this thread). Now, let’s see your character. Steel Feruchemy - 50 Tin Allomancy - 35 I feel like the strengths and weaknesses of tin-savantism cancel each other out. Total: 85 points (the limit is 150 so you’re good). Character approved

This sounds fun I’ll have a character with one spike, giving them light weaving, if that’s alright? @Ricocheting Windrunner

Rob nodded. As a last resort. Of course, no one wanted to have a battle. But if they did... then Rob would make sure none of his group died because of the Voidbringers. Hopefully this whole issue could be solved with no fighting. As he stepped into the bus he listened to Shana and understood. No knife. “Let’s hope Doc doesn’t get mad for us skipping class.”

Let’s see. Fear of pretty much every animal and nonhuman is a solid weakness, though other than a few occasions I can’t see too many animals being in the RP anyway. Obviously it depends how much fear he has towards these things. Hemalurgy effects the character and will effect his interaction with other characters, so I’d say it’s worth more as a weakness, same as being physically weak and having a limp. I’d give all weaknesses together about a score of -20. Which gives your character an over score of 15. Well within point limits I’ll add it to the list.

Alask watched the Marine appear before them, and nodded quickly as Lena answered the behemoth’s questions. The Black Crusade was here? Alask watched the Marine enter the other room and speak about something with the professor. Lightbulbs began to click in his head and he looked to Lena and Zyn. “I think we just found a target more lucrative,” he said quietly and cocked his head towards the Marine. “They seem to be taking residence here. Security, maybe?” @Sorana @Voidus

I wash the grim off of my hands and enter a larger room. Out of sheer habit, my eyes seem to scan it almost against my will. Like a computer I notice the operating table, examine how everything is kept, how the tools are kept clean with the slightest marks of being used often and how the jars are laid out. The light colours feel unnatural and not for the first time I am reminded how much Raphael is my opposite. A part of my brain clicks — suspicions confirmed. He is a surgeon, if that wasn’t obvious enough. A skilled surgeon, who takes pride in the craft. But with every light there is a shadow. A dark side. And it lies behind the next door. I notice Raphael observing me and I turn to him, before my eyes flick to the door he gestures to. “You are one interesting man, Raphael,” I say.

“Agreed, a book would certainly exclude most of the... nuances of Atium Feruchemy,” Lusk said and smirked. He mulled over her question in his mind, and turned to her. What would he do if he never found another Ferring like him? For the last 30 years he hadn’t known if another one even existed anyway. “But it’s the only other option. Maybe if I’m feeling up to it I’ll record some videos, then lock them in a cave for eternity and set up some ridiculously complicated puzzle only someone with Atium Feruchemy can solve... or not. I get lazy sometimes.” He shrugged. “But a book would have probably been the direction to go. Just explaining some things about extrapolation, combat techniques. Can’t say it would have the special ‘Lusk flair’, though. Eh, I guess I don’t have to worry about that now.” He looked to her. “That’s your problem now. But I’m sure you’ll find another one some time in your life. There are others out there, it’s just that most people don’t have access to Atium, and Scadrial only knows the metal from mythology. But technology is improving all the time, so who knows, maybe it’ll be easier for you than it was for me.”

Brillin followed the both of them until the box came in sight. He’d heard Attayl, and he wasn’t keen on leaving them behind either. Even if the box ended up to be dangerous. And from how the pool of blood looked, reflecting a streak of lantern light, that’s what it seemed to be. Dangerous. Brillin stepped forward and squinted, tried to read what was written on the side. Serial killers sometimes delivered body parts in packages as intimidation. Was this that? Brillin swallowed and looked at the blood again. Bombs didn’t bleed. So, this couldn’t be a bomb. Which meant it would be safe to open up without the risk of being blown up. “Who do you think it’s from?” He asked.

The light blinds me as I enter and I remember to extinguish my tin a second too late. I stagger against a wall and cast a hand over my eyes. A trap. I knew it was a trap. But nothing happens, and shapes become clear and evident as I blink a couple more times, finally seeing the basin, Raphael, the white tiles and the cold glare of the light that hangs over us both. I look to the clothes he’s pushed over to me. He doesn’t want contamination, and he seems like a different man now. I know it, that I’ve penetrated into who Raphael is. Into what he does here. One look in those eyes tells me he won’t listen to any protests of mine. I stand up straighter as I take the clothes, looking into his eyes. He saw me blinded by the light. He’s seen weakness. Time will only tell what the outcome of that is. I slip off my pants and shirt and replace it with the medical garb he’s given me. For the briefest moment the scar on my shoulder is visible, small but messy from when my doctor had to patch up a stab wound. The clothes fit well enough, but I feel out of place. There are no shadows to hide in in here. Just the whiteness of the tiles. I cross my arms and pile my clothing into a corner. It occurs to me I’m leaving my gun and knife behind in this in-between room. But I’ve got my hands should anything wrong. I haven’t practised unarmed combat in a while, and I hope I won’t have to use it tonight, but it’s always there. And besides, maybe he will get the trust my action implies. We are both at risk, I know.