Sorana

Sagitta took in his words, noting the way he called the continent his Hopearaa. "I'm nothing but a merchant's daughter." She replied, eyeing the sword again. Maybe one day, maybe she would pick up a weapon and fight again, but for now - someone had to help her mother had to make sure business was going well. And there was no need for her to fight anyway. Their borders were safe and despite the ongoing war between Tühine and Cahaya Ta'e'ilo was a rough, but a save place. "Who are you?" She wondered loudly and a frown crossed her face quickly followed by worry. "Why did my father allow you in my bedroom?"

Temeria frowned at the explanation, sighing when program lost her after the first sentence. Similar to stormlight. So it was powerful and she could probably use it in combat. She gave a slight shrug to indicate the she had no idea what tapping into the connection or what aspects he meant and lifted the ring. Mac had slipped it on his finger and something had happened. She could simply do the same and see what changed. "What symbols do you -" she started to ask when the spren interrupted her. It was staring at the unlit candle in obvious frustration and she found herself smiling, despite the silent dread waiting for her in each shadowy corner. The house was quiet, apart from her steps when she walked over to the table, carrying her lit candle with her. She touched the flame to the wick and then set it down once both candles were burning. "Better?" She asked the spren, and tried to ignore the fact that she was talking to a spren. They were mindless, and although she couldn't remember meeting a talking one before, she had never really paid attention to them. You didn't pay attention to a plant, and you didn't really pay attention to a spren. And you didn't talk to spren, just as you didn't talk to plants. This was bordering on crazy and she knew that she was trying to distract herself, to pretend, when in truth - Swallowing she balled her hands to fists, concentrated on the spren. He was a little piece of home that was strangely soothing, and that it was obviously was intelligent enough to express frustration, or joy made it easier to pretend. And she could pretend. It was here. That had to be enough for now. She reached out for it, fondly touched it's small body, at least moving her fingers in the right place. "Maybe program can tell us if that ring allows us to light a fire using that connection. Would you like to try?" @Voidus

@kenod

Lena inclined her head in agreement at Zym's words, but still started to follow the space marine. This would end in a complete failure if they didn't do anything, and that soon. And she hated to return home without even a little thing to take with her. "We can take a look at their defenses." She suggested. "Maybe they have grown lax around here, and we can grab something easily." Eve was in, but still, Lena smiled at them encouragingly, although she knew that it bordered on her usual wide grin. "We're here to scout. If it looks too dangerous we can leave. But we need to take a look." @Grey Knight

Sagitta frowned at the question. "Yes, of course." She replied. It was obvious where she was, she couldh ear her mother singing in the kitchen while she was baking bread. The savory smell of tonights dinner was creeping into her room and made her mouth water. She had to make sure, she had cleaned up in time. You weren't late for dinner. She left her eyes on them, her hand reaching out for her sword and touching nothing but plain air. She was home. She hadn't fought when she was still home. The dream shifted slightly, adapted without her really noticing. Her father's weapon was lying close by on her table. She had asked him to take a closer look, had wanted to learn to judge the quality of the steel and of a shard edge. "Why are you here?" She asked, sitting down on her bed. She never minded having people over, but still. Something about the uninvited guest irked her.

Temeria bent forward, her stomach lurching uncomfortably when they changed places again. She felt slightly sick and leaned against a wall, tried to calm her breathing and her stomach. It was disconcerting to travel like this, to be hurled around to different places. That moment when everything vanished and then suddenly appeared again - she closed her eyes and suppressed a groan while she waited for her body to adjust. Rest. It was tempting to ask the construct to wait while she slept a bit, to curl up on the ground with it watching her. Maybe she could ask it to keep an eye on her person. A shivver crawled along her spin when she realized that nobody else was here, that she had asked for the one place that was empty. The program was a program, and the spren - she smiled when she watched it try to lighten the other candle, tried to push away the fear that reached out for her. Alone. But no, she wasn't alone. Program was here. She clung to the thought, used it as some kind of life line and wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. Leaning her sword against the wall she turned back to construct, holding up the ring again. "How does it work?" She asked, hated the quivvering sound of her voice, they way it shook slightly from the suppressed fear. Inhaling deeply she forced herself to remain calm and in control. Program was here. She wasn't alone. If she repeated the words often enough, maybe she would start to believe them at one point or the other.

Mike stood, his back pressed against a wall and listened, not-listened to the exchange. He was pale, felt as if the whole room was shaking, as if it was spinning around him. Another lab, another place where they would rip him apart. He could nearly feel the scar in his chest where porcupine's spike had been, before he had ripped it out. He should have ripped them all out. Run. His limbs twitched when his brain tried to get them to move, to leave but instead he remained frozen in place, unable to leave, unable to move at all. He stared at Xanas, eyes wide open, the words tumbling out of the man's mouth making no sense to his fear ridden mind. He flinched, whimpered in fear when the grey something flickered around the man's fingers the crytal shattered on its own. "Please." He begged, the word tumbling out of his mouth. "Please let me go. I know nothing, Ko'Tiel never explained." He fell to his knees, tears streaming over his face and he continued to go on, words tumbling out of him, unable to be contained. "I won't speak about you. I won't tell anybody." But it wasn't about speaking, about telling. It was about something else. "I've got them under control." he added, hoped that this was what the man wanted to hear, that this was what he needed to hear to let Mike go. Salmon's cool scales touched his hands and jerked away from the slimy fish, immediatly disgusted. Scales formed on his skin, but he didn't notice. Nor did he notice when they vanished again after a few seconds. "Let me go." he repeated, his voice slightly blurred by the sobs in his throat. "Please, use someone else, anybody else, but let me go." The man, Ttlarek, returned, held something out to Mike, but he moved away, covered his head with his arm. They wouldn't stop. They never stopped. @18th Shard

Great job! I really like the mist and the mood of that one!

Irritation flickers over your face when he starts talking about the artist, but he knows he is off, as he falls silent again, thinking, before he finally speaks again. The 'shining one who heals'. His voice is barely a whisper and yet it causes a smile to spread on your face when you see that he finally understood. "Raphael." You say your own name in agreement and take a step back, turn around to the last door, the last and final secret your are willing to unravel tonight. You chose the name when you woke up one morning, your hair lighter, your eyes different. Your body lean and taller than before. When you opened your eyes after an endless sea of pain, you knew, knew with every inch of your body, that you had changed. And as your body had changed, so had you mind. You looked for a new name, for a new place for yourself for a way to escape the endless tests and the way your father appeared to test you every single second. There were only two options - embrace what you had become or end the farce right here and now. And you decided to embrace it. You stepped up and you started to learn and to study. You know that you are a long journey away from your father's skills, but you are good enough to create fairytales. Soon you will be good enough for the rest. You will finish what your father started, you will take his masterpiece and you will change it. And then, then finally, this body will be yours and yours alone. It won't be your father's masterpiece paraded around for entertainment. You won't be the unlucky heir that burnt to death. You will be yourself. Raphael. You opened the door, push it opened for him to see the next room. Stepping inside you quickly walk around another operation table and standing behind it, facing Sloane you extend your arms in an exxagerated, presentative gesture. On the table in front of you is a man, facing towards the ground. Large, white wings protude out of his back. You closed the skin on his back, but it's still swollen and red, the seam black against the rose and red skin. There are other scars, signs of other operations where you replaced his knee with a new, fresh one, or one on his arm where you corrected an old fracture that never completely healed. You eyes never leave Sloane while you watch him, observe his reactions. This is it. This is the last secret you are willing to part with for today. Now it's time for his judgement.

Wita looked up at him and then grinned happily. "You are right. In the movies people always look for a servants entrance of some sorts." She started to walk around the closest corner, looked for anything that indicated an open door. There was nothing, only a thing stripe of light behind the next corner. And she turned around, waited for the others to join her. She didn't notice the shadow-like figure barely visible next to the strip of light, nor did she pay attention to the muffled footsteps and the quiet whisper of what could have been two persons. @Eluvianii @Ookla the Maybe-Existent

Shana nodded. "We do. And if we can't see any, and their eyes look normal, then we're safe. And if they wear contact lenses, then we might need to improvise." She smiled at him in an encouraging way. "We can do this. Don't worry about it. We are enough to be able to take of several of them, and we are ready for a fight." She set down her backpack next to the front porch and started to walk up to the door. "They have no idea that we're coming."

Hello =) the character looks fine with the changes you made. Hereby approved. A short warning regarding your weakness: there is a high chance that one will lead you to a player vs player conflict. Please keep in mind, that while your character can certainly attack someone else, most people around here are rather attached to their characters. Did you change any of his abilities/ equipment as well, or "only" the backstory and the like? And great job on the character sheet!

Sagitta dreamt. They were training and she had watched Price handle his sword, muscles straining when he tried so imitate what she showed him. She made sure to add some general exercises as well, to build up his stamina and strength, but they still had a long way to go. She knew that he wanted to, but years of soft and easy work had left their traces. She felt sorry for him, incredibly sorry, but either they did this right, or not at all. It was strange, she felt nearly awful for pushing him along, and she saw it in his face, in the way he slowly stopped talking to her. After training her was grumpy, simply turned around and left her standing there. She wished she could tell him to wait, that they could stop, that he would make it, that it was worth the price. But then she remembered the blood staining her hands red and she silently picked up her own weapon. It wasn't worth the price. They should look for another way, no do it like this. There was always a better way than war. She watched him walk away, leave her behind, tried to reign her own anger at his anger in. He had wanted to train. It wasn't her fault, that it was hard, that he would have to sweat. She couldn't go easy on him, or he would die. But to speak up and to explain this to him. She couldn't. He would think that she thought him weak, that she didn't believe that he could make it. And so she stayed quiet, wished she had never agreed to help him. She had wanted to help, nut hurt him. When she walked back inside she was greeted by the familiar sounds of soldiers brawling, shouting and laughing, but she simply walked past them all and finally stepped into her room at home. She didn't question why she was home, was simply glad that she finally had arrived at a place where she was save, where she was far away from the killing and the fighting. Someone was waiting for her and she found herself smiling at their face, glad to see that she wasn't alone, that she hadn't pushed away and lost everybody who she cared for. "Of course." she said smiling and sat down in a stool next to theirs. @AonEne

@Voidus =================== A dull pain at the back of his neck, a throbbing feeling, his hands raw and open, an iron taste in his mouth. Mike sighed when the world moved around him, when it felt as if he was on a boat. Obviously he had fought Norn again. The other boy was a lot taller than he was. Taller and by far stronger. His tutors tended to pair the two of them, mostly to ensure to stay on Lord Ark's good side. Nobody wanted to be caught helping Mike and in the end he had ended in an endless cirlce of pain and more pain. And assignments that were designed to get you killed. With a groan he lifted a hand, touched his face to see if he had broken some bones, and when everything felt alright opened an eye. A grey void stared back and he froze, his body going rigid at the sight. He would never forget that grey void. His eyes darted to the windows and the shadows behind them and while he had probably caught a blow to his head, it hadn't been about training. He had been kidnapped, carried into an alley again. By an old one, so old that he'd claimed nobody would stop him. Fear seized his throat and a lump formed in his stomach when he tried to breathe, tried to form the thoughts tumbling around his head into something coherent enough to be helpful. Instead there was nothing apart from one single thing, occupying everything he was, everything he thought about, only one thought and nothing else. Run. Run. Run. Run. RUN. RUN. RUN. I can't. He was trapped again, chained again, unable to flee, unable to get away. RUN. But his body wouldn't move. @18th Shard

Attayl nodded wordlessly, watched Nerin stride off to talk to Lance. Based on their earlier interaction, she knew that it should be Nerin talking, it was her parlor and there was something else that might work in their favor. Still it felt wrong to stay back. She wanted to help, and as hard as it was. Maybe helping included staying back for once. With a sigh she picked up the bloody box and carried in out into the back yard, unwilling to leave it here for the time being. Walking up into Nerin's room she fetched the bloody sheets and then returned downwards, wrapped the bloody head and carefully placed it in another, clean box. It was easy to leave a little sign on the wall, and she remembered it vivdly, had used it too often before. She added two more signs and then placed a few coins as payment. The head would be gone in the morning, swallowed by the city and those keeping it clean. When she walked back inside she made a stop in the kitchen and set some water to boil after thoroughly cleaning her hands. Then she filled two glasses for Nerin and Brillin, sticking to the alcohol both had drunk the previous day and poured herself some tea. Sitting down at one of the tables she looked at the wall, lost herself in her thoughts. It was a mess, and she could leave now. With Willet gone, there were no ties holding her back anymore, nothing. She could leave, vanish and be never seen again. Staring at the wall and taking a sip of tea now and then Attayl waited, her thoughts whirling around leaving and staying and the quiet wish, that this was over soon.

Wita smiled happily at the pebble and took it in her hand. It was beautiful, swirls of colour covering it and while it was small, it seemed to be heavy for its size. The door was closed and the Van drove away, while she was still looking at it, her attention completely captured by the colours, the beautiful swirls covering it. She rolled it in her hand and lifted it up against a street light. It was solid and she couldn't look through it. Kneeling down she carefully rolled it around smiling again when she found that it was rolling along on the uneven ground just fine. Smiling she picked it up again and looked at Marcel, slowly registering his words. Standing up she nodded and pocketed the marble. "Okay." She replied cheerfully and looked at the looming tower ahead. "Maybe there is a back entrance we can use?" @Eluvianii

"That is an interesting point you bring up." You straighten again, lean against the class of the cage you were inspecting. He is looking at the next door, realized that your true masterpiece isn't waiting in this room. "Does the fact that I use fairytales and myths as inspiration, negate the fact, that they have a kernel of truth hidden in them?" you answer his question with one of your own and make a small outward gesture with your left hand, indicating that you don't think so. "The kernel of truth and what I create can be the same, but there is no need to. Many fairytales are about teaching a lesson, a moral and not about depicting details that can be verified for a hunded percent." Deliberatedly you push yourself off the huge window and slowly walk over to him. It's an interesting question, but at the same time it forces a connection, where none exists. In fact you doubt that any of the creatures existed natively in the regions where the story was heard off first. "But it leads to another question, that is maybe even more interesting. Imagine one of them would return to the place their tale originated from." You stop in front of him, turn slightly back to the cage and smile. "I would need to ensure that they can reproduce and survive without external interference for longer periods of time. But if these parameters are met, I could be the one who adds to the truth of each tale." A fascinating thought, although you know, that it's unlikely. These creatures are your training subjects. To ensure reproduction alone would take you years. You take another step towards him, a thrill running through your body when you stand close again, as close as you stood on the street. But this time he is here, deep down in your lair. He isn't afraid anymore, staring at your creatures in fascination, although his attention is drawn by the next door shortly. You know he suspects that something even greater is waiting behind there and you lift a hand, attempt to run a finger along his scar. Crude work, that one. You would have done better. "What do you know about my name?" your words are quiet, nearly too quiet to be heard, but you suspect that he will understand them anyway. It's a last hint, the last clue before you will turn around and open the last door.

When the bus neared their stop, Shana felt her mobile vibrate and pulled it out, checked it for new messages. Ben. He would be coming along. Relieved she started to type a quick answer, still typing while the bus slowed down and she got up, without really looking at the way out. I'm glad you're coming. She nearly walked into a handhold, when she checked some other chats as well, but then she stood outside. It wasn't far from here. The house should be a few blocks down the road. @Ookla the Maybe-Existent @Lunamor @Eluvianii @Wyndlerunner

You incline your head at his words, follow his eyes to the next door. An interesting man. Coming from Sloane it sounds like a compliment. Spreading your arms as if standing on a stage you turn around, wordlessly thank him for the compliment and walk over to the door. "Let's talk about fairytales." You open the door and step through. On the other side is a hallway. To your left a huge glass wall separates several cages from you, to your right is your desk and shelves full of your notes and details of what you've done. At the end of the hallway is another door, heavier than the two you passed through so far. In the first one, a beast that at first glance resembles a lion has rested it's head on it's paws and looks at yout two through the glass, follows your every moment. A scorpion tail rests on the ground behind him, twitching a little, as if readying itself to struck at you. You walk over to the wall separating it from you and reach out for a folder waiting for you on a shelf fixed to the glass. Up close you can see the aons glowing softly, strengthening the cages to prevent any of your creations from breaking out. You pretend to give Sloane some room and see for himself. But still observe him out of the corner of you eye. Each of the cages contains a different creature, all modeled after a being you first saw in a fairytale or discovered in other myths. None of them are human, and when you return the folder after checking on Taron's notes on the lion you walk along the row, take a look at each of them. A little salamander you combined with a bat to resemble a dragon looks more of less good, but sadly the snake with its two heads doesn't even move when you stop in front of its cage. You supress a sigh and don't even bother to check what Taron wrote down this morning when he checked them over. You will have to start anew, maybe change the species until you figured out how to combine everything correctly. The moment another head is involved things end up complicated. Your attention slips away from Sloane when you squat down in front of the cage and take a closer look. Your stiches look fine, there is no outer sign of an infection, and you know that even if Taron had missed it, you wouldn't. So maybe it's simply the issue with the additional head. Maybe you should try to add another pair of legs first.

Lena nodded. "And that plasma reactor - " She grinned at Alask. "They have to have something we can steal and sell for some money. Maybe they even have tools we could use." Excitement made her grin and took out another box of pancakes held it out to the others while bitting into one herself. "We should follow them. We are supposed to head to the entrance anyway, so it won't be that obvious."

Attayl nodded in agreement and but her knive away. She looked at the blood for another moment and then reached out for the box, pulled it over. It was heavy, and the blood covered her fingers and hands, coloring them a bright red. She had seen these packages before, different sizes, different locations, but usually they all contained something of they same category. "I doubt this will a pleasing sight." She warned the other two and then turned it around, searched for a way to open it. It wasn't a pleasant sight. Glassy eyes stared up at her, hair coated in blood and plastered to the scalp, too pale skin. She knew the man, knew him better than she would have prefered. "Willet." She announced and closed the lid again. The carton was soaked, threatened to rip apart beneath her fingers, but for now it would hold everything together. More violence. As if violence would solve it, as if violence would stop it. Maybe it would. If they were all gone, if nobody was left to fight anymore, then maybe, maybe they had a chance. She looked at the box for a while, unsure what to feel, how to deal with that. Willet. Sorrow crossed her face, followed by relief that he was gone, that this tie had been cut as well. "Maybe we should talk to him again." She suggested. "See if we come up with a plan to turn their attention away from the parlor. If they stop using it as a battlefield, you could simply continue paying the one who wins the conflict." @ZincAboutIt @Ookla the Maybe-Existent

Shana grimaced. "I'm not sure if that is true for fifteen-year-olds as well." She forced a smile on her face. "I agree that he will understand. Everything else-" with a vague gesture she shook her head. "I doubt he will be too happy. Especially given the fact that I already ended up on the list for 'problem-students'." The bus started to move and she looked outside at the landscape passing by. She was silent for a while, before turning her head back to the task at hand. "We could ring ther bell together. Ask if we could use their phone maybe?" It was a weak excuse, and she frowned tried to come up with something else. They were supposed to be in school, so they needed an excuse that fit that part as well. "Or maybe not." She sighed and looked to them, hoped, that they had a better idea. @Ookla the Maybe-Existent @Eluvianii

Your eyes rest on his scar in the brief moment its visible and then you turn towards your own stack of cloths and unbotton your shirt. The movements are familiar, but today there is something else swinging along with them. For once you aren't alone going through this routine, you have a guest. You can see that Sloane is uncomfortable when he crosses his arms and stacks his clothing in a corner, leaving his weapons behind. You didn't ask him to, but it's nice to see he thinks along. Somehow his uneasyness transfers to you and you focus on changing, hand each piece of clothing to Taron to take it away. You make a mental note that he is most likely burning tin, or at least that he did until he stepped into this room. It's interesting to know and you reach for the reserve still resting in your chest. You didn't use it, there has been no conflict between the two of you so far and while he most certainly is a threat, you hope that you won't need to use it later. Looking over at his weapons you know, that if it comes to a fight, there is no guarantee you will win. Not even with Taron backing you up. Strangly you find, that you care anymore. Sometime between the second glass of wine and inviting him here, you accepted that risk, simply enjoy the thrill and the excitement it brings along. Walking to the basin you clean your hands with alcohol while Taron opens the next door. You gesture to Sloane to wash his hands as well, not commenting on the scar or his allomantic power. Both are interesting facts, but right here and now, they are close to irrelevant. This is about something else entirely. Stepping through the door you end up in a larger room with a large operation table in the middle, more bright lights and racks full off tools, saws, scalpels and bandages. On a second, smaller table next to the wall, you have set several jars full of medicine and anaesthetics as well as syringes and other means to apply them/ get them into the being you're working upon. Just like the room before it is clean, and obviously ready to be used at one point in the future. "This is where I work." You offer in terms of explanation, although it should be easy to guess. "But the nextroom is by far more interesting to you." You gesture towards another door, leading out of this one your eyes never quite leaving his face. He knew you are a doctore, he guessed you are a surgeon. There should be not much surprise here.