The Phoenix League [IC/Low Fantasy/Semi-Sandbox/OPEN]

[Doughertania]

OOC/Archive

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Ryker Celtigar, Citadel Infirmary
The Seeker picked a good place for a secret headquarters. Nestled deep in the Eisen wilderness far off the beaten path, this formerly dilapidated fortress is nearly impossible to find if you don't know where to look. That, coupled with the denizens of the forest helped give the Citadel ample natural defenses. However, one must take caution when using monsters as deterrents. If they aren't kept in check, then you run the risk of being overrun. That's where Ryker fit in. For most of his life outside of the Iron Guard, he was the Jäger of Morngard, an alchemite monster hunter dedicated to ridding Eisen of the supernatural scourge that plagues its lands. When he joined the League, he embraced the persona further, devoting his second chance at life to the protection of Eisen and the League.

Once he was finished dispatching the monsters and destroying their nests, Ryker arrived at the citadel battered and sore. There had been three nests, much more than he had anticipated. The amount left him worried, but he dashed those thoughts aside. He had dealt with the nests and the creatures that made them; if they came back he'd deal with again. After depositing his armor in his room, he made his way into the infirmary, slowly pushing the door open. The woman inside turned around to face him, sighing when she recognized him. "You know, you don't have to get yourself beat up to come see me." Beatrix Vadoma, one of the League's more adept healers, always seemed to be on duty at the infirmary, especially when Ryker came in worse for wear.

"Sure, but then I don't get to regale you with tails of adventure." Ryker stripped off his shirt and mask and laid them on the polished wooden table before sitting himself down as well. His chest, arms and face were covered with red, tattoo-like burns, but Triss ignored them, having long grown accustomed to Ryker's alchemite imperfection. It was his chest and back that concerned her, which were currently covered in bruises and scrapes. She pulled out a spool of bandages and began to cover his wounds, talking as she did so. "So what was it this time? Looks like you got pretty banged up."

"Endrega nests. The Seeker had me on clean up duty. I was doing fine up until the last one. I had dropped the charges and found a nice place to watch the buggers burn when a warrior came up from behind and bashed me through a tree." Once Triss had finished, he rolled his shoulders and moved his arms, making sure the bandages didn't restrict his movement too much. "Needless to say it didn't get a second chance."

"I wish you'd be more careful." Triss murmured as she put the bandages away. She began to pull out various herbs and powders from cabinet and setting them on the wooden counter below. She poured the ingredients she needed into her mortar and began to grind them to a fine dust, the rhythmic pounding of the pestle accenting her words. "There are better souvenirs than scars and bruises."

Ryker laughed. "Memories fade, but scars are forever. Besides," Ryker cleared his throat and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, his voice had changed to a gruff, rumbling tone. "I'm the Jäger of Morngard, Slayer of Monsters and Bane of Men. I exist to cure Eisen of this infection of darkness. Only then can I be killed, and not a moment before."

Triss rolled her eyes. "Right right. How could I forget." She poured the contents of the mortar into a vial, turning the liquid green. It was strange how different her friend and his persona truly were, and even stranger that Ryker's monologue were all superstitions created by the people of Eisen. Maybe it's true what they say; in the face of despair we cling hardest to our heroes. "Look, all I'm saying is that we've been given a second chance. That shouldn't be thrown away, especially not in our line of work" Triss put down her vial, looking at Ryker with genuine concern in her eyes. "So please, be careful, alright?"

His response was cut short by the sound of bells. Due to the nature of the League, it was nearly impossible to tell where people are at any given point. Unless they had received orders from the Triumvirate to work in one of the rooms, members were allowed free range of the Citadel, aside from a few select parts. As such, a bell system was set up as a way of signaling to all inside of the headquarters, regardless of where they were. Depending on pitch of the bell (high, middle, and low) and the number of times it was rung, any number of messages could be conveyed. This time the chimes alternated from a high note to a low note twice, indicated a summons to the Grand Hall. Once a throne room, the Grand Hall was where the meetings for the League were held.

After putting his shirt and vest back on, Ryker turned to Triss. "So," he clasping his hands together. "You coming?" Although the bell was a summons, it wasn't an urgent one. Usually this meant the Seeker was trying to separate people for missions, which caused some people with more pressing business at the Citadel to remain where they were.

She shrugged. "Sure. Beats sitting around waiting for someone to come bleed all over my table." Triss picked up the potion and held it up to the light, making sure there was no residual powder left. Satisfied, she handed the potion off to Ryker and put the ingredients away. Once she had finished, she walked to the doorway and turned around. Seeing Ryker pick up his mask, she raised an eyebrow. "Are you really going to wear that?" Triss crossed her arms. "You're among friends now Ryker. If you can trust me to see your face, you should trust the others."

"It's not that I don't trust them," Ryker replied, downing the potion in one gulp. He could already feel the familiar pins and needles sensation around his bruises as the brew worked with his alchemite blood to mend his flesh. He looked back at her, a small smile forming as he pulled the mask downward, covering his burned visage. "It's just I'd hate to spook the new blood." Together, the two of them made their way to the Grand Hall, waiting for comrades old and new.

[Free Empire of the Low Isles]

Abu-Bakr Mazin Mikhail
The Citadel

The cold bite of steel on flesh was cruel, and it was something Mazin knew well. He felt it during the last moment of his first life, and it seemed determined to dog him throughout his second life as well. The blade that had killed him came to him in the night, every night, all night, no matter what potions he took or how many methods he tried.

The poor man was always tired, because he was scared of death. And the world of dreams and the underworld were all the same to him.

Mazin sat up for the nth time in a row, sweating and breathing hard. He saw the face of Kheired-Din behind his lids, and felt the cut around his neck. The Crescent stood up from his bed and used the sheets to wipe his sweat from his face and body.

The sun was still down, but from the eerie twilight on the horizon, it was at least nearing day. That was a record for Mazin. He usually awoke from his nightmares at midnight, leaving him hours upon hours of alone time to... think.

He quickly got dressed in his typical attire, a simple robe in the style of his people, and then made his way out of his quarters to the place he usually went in the morning. His alchemy lab. Well, he thought of it as his, as he was the one that used it the most often, but in reality it was the Citadel's lab and resources he used. Now, Mazin didn't exclusively use the Citadel's herbs and reagents; he wasn't that much of a drain. He usually went out into the woods during his restless nights as well and picked a variety of common herbs and plants to supplement supplies, and he informed the people in charge of quartermastery when the lab needed to be restocked on the rarer ingredients, but other than that, he just made potions.

Lots and lots of potions.

This is how he... kept himself occupied when he was awake, so he didn't dwell on his dreams or his other, more depressing thoughts. Mazin was a melancholy man, and thought much on his situation.

Why was he given a second chance?

What should he use this chance for?

Is the League really just? Or are they just another group looking to control the world?

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Things like that drifted into his mind, often, when he didn't have his hands working on something. So, Mazin decided to never be at rest. Never let his hands be idle when he could help it. And it turned out that this was a boon to the League; whether it was great or insignificant, he didn't know or care.

The melancholy Crescent was in his lab, toiling away, when the bell sounded for a meeting. He typically didn't go on missions; he didn't think he was the good of a fighter and would just hold people back. This time, though, for reasons unbeknownst to him, he was interested. So, Mazin finished the potion he was currently making and made his way to the Grand Hall. On the way, he stopped by his quarters and grabbed his sword, a scimitar of average quality and unremarkable make.

As Mazin entered the Hall, he noticed two people he knew... somewhat well. He waved to Ryker, the man who kept the monsters under control, and Beatrix, the healer in the infirmary. She was also the only other alchemist that Mazin talked to in abundance.

He then proceeded to lean on column or pillar and wait for the Seeker to explain what was going on.

[Imperialisium]

Alienor Rhiannon Fian Kyrelleiana

Alienor Rhiannon Fian Kyrelleiana, a beauty if you ever saw one, leaned back against the wall of the Grand Hall. Looks aside she was a capable warrior in her own right. Looks after all can be deceiving and she has the scars to prove it. Though, luckily, they are not in areas which can be seen and have faded with the passage of time. Time as it where, is a physical medium, for the scars of memories long carved into the flesh of her psyche by scalpels wielded by a morticians deft hands can never truly be cleansed; nor, as it where---healed. When she died all she remembered was blankness. Not black or white or anything spiritual. Just---nothing.

Her revival seemed to be simultaneous in her mind. Like she had perished and five seconds later was awake in a fortress she knew not where. It had been an adjustment to say the least. New faces, at first she nearly had cut the first person she saw's head clean off, it was a very awkward moment. The Phoenix League had however been welcoming, the members in their own way, at least in a grundgingly accepted type of way. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go quite frankly, and neither did they it appeared. So she adjusted, socialized, or pestered those who would remain largely silent or passive.

There she was, leaning back against the wall nonchalantly, her armor already clad about her supple frame. Eyes roving intently, gently, and with the hint of playful slyness as befits a fox. She had been summoned, they had been summoned, the members of this isolated castle where to meet in the Grand Hall. Alienor or Aly, pending on preference, was there second aside from Mazin. She did not count Ryker or Triss in her little equation of people.

[Relikai]

Izumo Kaga
Citadel

Her sight was blurry, irises a bare silver. Not the usual golden hue from which people saw life in the girl, but a pale shadow of her former self. Her body was still battered, but from the outside, the girl was completely fine. She has been lying on her bed for the most of her time in the Citadel, her dreams full of nightmares of her life. Her muscles, or what's left of them, were hardly functioning, and it took Kaga a day to finally walk about the room, clutching her blanket tightly around her self. A set of clothes were arranged next to the bed, but the filthy, violated girl had no desire to put them on. Putting them on would equate to her moving about, leaving the infirmary, something which she did not want to do.

Kaga spent most of her time lying on the bed, allowing the red marks on her arms, chest and thighs to heal, to have her body feel freedom instead of bondage. The first day, Kaga recited the basics of her language and Common, a way for her hold on to her sanity. The second day, she tasted food and water, telling herself to chew and bite onto them, nourishing her body and building her strength. The third day, Kaga contemplated escape, or suicide. Death would not be too bad, and when she somehow managed to survive her first death, she was sure her second would free her from the horrors of her past.

Alas, on the fourth day, the call came. Her vision was largely restored by rest and hydration, as Kaga slipped on her skirt and leggings. The bandages around her chest, tightly bound to reduce size for combat purposes, were adjusted as she threw a yukata on, finishing the outfit with a sash to keep them all in place. Her bow and arrows were kept to the side, away from her as Kaga finished off with a small tie to her hair, keeping a signature sidetail as she collected her equipment. Somehow, in death, everything she was familiar with was retained. Occasionally, Kaga stopped, finding a shadowy corner to crouch as she heard her own voices in her head, sweating and tearing up as memories flooded her head. She was going mad with time, and death was her only escape.

Yet Kaga wanted more, she wanted to ensure the honour of her family restored before giving her last breath.

Stepping into the hall, Kaga's eyes darted from side to side. Her hands trembled slightly but she found a corner where she could stand at, not being in the center of attention, and only coming out when the League was formally addressed.

[Yuzhou]

Konrad Solstadt
The Citadel

The peridot under the magnifying lens was a stark olive-green. A perfect stone. And Solstadt took particular joy in passing it through the rays of light that poured in through the window. He had been lucky enough to get a his personal quarters with a view of the surrounding woodland, and the true treasure of this fact was that he could let the sun in by day. This cast the rustic looking room in a bright tone, and it put Konrad in a bright mood. A peridot sort of mood, for a peridot sort of day.

He scooted closer to the wooden desk and with as much precision as he could muster, on account of his left arm, he placed the gemstone in the center of the ring and fastened it in. The aging man then removed his spectacles and wiped his brow with a huff. Now it was time to place the diamonds around the center.

This was how he spent a good portion of his past four months. The Citadel had a surprisingly large stock of stones and casts, and by surprisingly he certainly meant limitless. Why they let him have access to these resources he wouldn't know. Perhaps it was because he turned simple pieces of monetary goods into works of art worth more than their parts. Or, perhaps it was simply they knew it was better to keep him occupied than let him run around unaccounted.

To be fair, Konrad did work for his share of jewelry loot. For one, he took a few days out of his week to help with the accounts. As it turned out, the League needed his financial skills as much as they needed his way with personal decorations. He also went out and established a contact with which the League could trade, though that specific mission involved a whole lot secrecy and false identification. Something he was, needless to say, not accustomed to.

But overall, he had enjoyed his time spent here at this far off place. This mysterious place, where he was sent to live a second chance at life. The very dream all mortals dream. But over the last few months of this dream, he found meaning in his works above all. Konrad the Ringmaker...Konrad the Gem-Crafter...Konrad, King of Jewels
He loved the trade and he loved the image of himself in it. He had no time to practice it during his first life. After he extended out past his initial business, he had to manage his Vendel trade empire. All too straining. Now though, he could focus on those diamonds.

Of which he carefully lowered the last one with the tweezers over it's spot, when...
DING...ding..ding.

He fumbled and dropped the diamond onto the desk. The little stone rolled to the edge as the fading sound of the bells echoed in the distance. Solstadt grumbled. It was a summons.
He hastily lifted the stone back up and fixed it to it's place. The ring was finished right on time. Somehow.

The older man placed it into one of his deep closing pockets and adjusted his clothes in the mirror. For someone who died, he had retained all the expensive outfits he gathered over the years. Well, not ALL of them. But a few.
On his way out the door he grabbed his broadsword, dagger, and the locket he always carried with them. Konrad had to look official for a summons, especially one such as this. His four months had taught him much, and one thing was that a summons like this usually meant an assignment. It was true he didn't have to go, but he had little better to do. Besides, his new ring needed to find an owner.

When he finally reached the hall, he could see he had been beaten by a few people. The most obvious, by design, was Ryker and his companion Beatrix. The alchemite Eisen had initially had little contact with the then new Solstadt. But when a creature of some make and name unknown to the merchant had crept too close to the castle, so close as to be bashing against his window, Ryker was the first to blindside the beast and kill it without issue.

Needless to say, the startled Solstadt was grateful for not being eaten, and so introduced himself to the monster hunter. Konrad couldn't help but smile as he remembered that day. As for Triss...well,the healer had helped the clumsy accountant deal with the many self-inflicted tool wounds he tended to find on his person.

Also in the hall was a Crescent, who's name escaped Solstadt for only a moment before being caught. Mazin, that was his name. Konrad had little contact with the cold potion-maker, but perhaps that was more on Solstadt's side than anyone else.
And the alchemite girl with the fire hair. Aly was her name, or at least what Konrad called her in his mind. When he met her not long ago, he made a habit of calling her by her proper first name: Alienor. Though in hindsight it sounded rather grandfatherly. If there was one thing Konrad Solstadt did not want to sound like, it was grandfatherly.

Even if he was almost old enough to be her grandfather.

He made his way quietly into the hall's center. It would be only a short matter of time before any others arrive. People in the Citadel had a habit of either coming quickly, or not coming at all. They also had a habit of staying to themselves. Which is exactly what the the young foreign girl did in her corner.
A newcomer that Konrad would have missed, had he not looked around for new faces. In fact, her face was very new. He focused on her for a moment. She clearly wasn't comfortable with her surroundings. He debated approaching her, but realized he no longer had much of the charm of youth, so he decided to leave her be.

Konrad continued to look around the hall, hand on his sword. He found himself strangely excited for whoever or whatever may come from this summons. It was a feeling he hadn't felt for decades. It seemed his second life might be filled with more living than the first.

[Bycrest]

Azuma Rinji, Citadel Training Room
Rinji sat in the center of the room, sitting on his knees as he enter a state of Zen. He meditated and focused his mind, projecting a set of enemies in his mind. Keeping his eyes closed, Rinji stood and drew two of his swords and started mimicking attacks slowly. He started speeding up until his blades moved with blinding speed. In Rinji's mind he was taking out different opponents and started moving around the room in a circle.

Taking his exercises to the next level, Rinji threw his right swords up into the air and then drew another sword, continuing his combo without missing a beat. Anticipating when his sword was about to fall, Rinji threw his left up, caught his falling sword, and then threw his right sword again. His rising swords were thrown higher to allow more time with each of the new swords Rinji drew, continuing each strike. With four swords in circulation, Rinji continued to juggle and slice through the air, something that would definitely seem impossible to an onlooker, even more so with Rinji's eyes closed. Rinji was using Huan Shu to transcend his limitations as a normal human and increase his spatial awareness, essentially allowing him to know where his swords were and predict where they would land.

Going even further and faster, Rinji threw his current set of swords even higher and drew the swords on his back. He continued with his normal attack pattern but instead of throwing and catching his swords, he started using his current swords to hit his flying swords back up into the air. The sound of steel resounded throughout the training room as Rinji's training started coming to a close. He juggled his swords once more until his original swords were back in his hands. He sheath those on his right side, caught the two closest falling swords and sheath those as the other to fell blades down. Instead of attempting to catch them, Rinji simple move his head over slightly and the swords fell in their sheaths.

Rinji ended his training by kneeling once again and came down from his Zen moment, his mind still remaining clear. This was a form of special training for Rinji's multi-sword technique that his family created and was incredibly difficult to master, even with Huan Shu. The amount of timing and judgement required was a lot but it was incredibly rewarding for learning the fighting style. Rinji continued to meditate in the solitude of the training room until the silence was broken by the toll of the bell. Rinji's eyes snapped open at the first ring and he got up from his kneeling postion. He put four of his six swords on a display in the room and left the training room, keeping his two favored swords with him. He walked down the Grand Hall to join the others.

[Houyhnhnm Cities]

Lev climbed slowly the stairs to the Aviary. On that high tower, in their comfortable cages, rested all the birds possessed by the Phoenix order. They mostly messenger pigeons, with few falcons for the noble sport of falconry. To most people in there they were just tools, useful instruments for communications and entertainment. To some selected people they were more than that. They were trusted companions, friends almost human for their loyalty and dedication to duty. But for Lev they were even more important .

They were his court. They were his eyes and years in this new, foreign country. It was only thanks to their help that Lev had not been driven crazy by the unexpected situation the days immediately after his resurrection. He was absolutely alone, in a foreign land, his old contact network too far to be useful. The only connection he had left to his country was his Pyeryem. And so he focused on that, day after day.
Of course it wasn’t as easy as it was back home. The animals were dumber without the connection to Matushka, but he made it work. It was better that than dealings with unknown humans more than necessary. Unlike birds humans are unpredictable. Every single one has layers upon layers, hidden reasons and secret motives. Animals were simple, honest. A few treats and some nice words and he created his own winged spies, ready to reveal him every juicy news.

He put the keys in the keyhole and entered the Aviary. His eyes were glowing green already, shining with the blessing of Grandmother Winter.”Hello guys. I’ve bought you food” he said, pulling out from the pockets some seeds from his pockets as he approached the pigeons. The dominant male turned to him and then spoke: “Food good. No eat enough. Other masters too tight”. “Rellly? I think you are the bottomless pit here” He said with a smile, handing him the seeds. “Tell me Light, did you see anything interesting while delivering messages?”Nothing new. Many monsters. Big guy in black armor fought some, the big insects. Got hurt but hurt them more. “That must be Ryker… reckless as ever” Then suddenly a bell rung, startling Lev and pulling him away from his mystical state.

“A convocation, I must hurry” So left all the seeds in the pidgeon’s cage and then rushed down the stairs. He walked quickly, reaching the door of the Great hall in mere minutes. Then he stopped, catching his breath and adjusting his hair. Giving a good impression was still important, he had knew this people by mere months and it wasn’t ready to let his guard down around them. So he straightened his posture and entered calmly into the room.

[Saleon]

A small clack could be heard from down the hallway. It repeated over and over again. A step and then a thin clack. The sound came from a tall but lanky girl. She walked with a stylized cane. The feel of each step, heavily weighing one side of her body on this thin stick had become a familial feeling. Her shoulders arched from side to side in a mechanical fashion as it swooped from cane to foot. That didn’t stop her from feeling a slightly off crack of her feet, but she had come to ignore it. How could she not ignore it? Her lame foot wouldn’t heal any time soon. It merely existed, forgotten how to walk, and resigned to be mere window dressing compared to her cane.

Her hand wasn’t any better. The cane highlighted her right hand, which was covered in steel, nuts, bolts. It was a replacement hand that used to be her main hand, until it was chopped off. She had also gotten used to the feeble replacement. It worked like a normal hand, but it didn’t look like one. She had a distinct look because of it. People would obviously remember the young vixen with the cane and the mechanical arm. She had lost her eloquence to her hand and her cane. You can see the pained movement that had now left her brittle.

These impediments lingered on her like a ghost from her past. They cut through the air like a knife. They were cold, in a certain way. Metal tended to be cold, but this feeling was more disparaging. Crisp. Weak. Lame. Frail. Pathetic.

---

She hated when people called her pathetic. At a time, she might have called herself pathetic, too, but now she can only see the real weakness in accepting that title. Resigning to the fact was the true weakness of character. She had retained a decent portion of her tenacity. Where others heckle her weak composition, she returns to them a piercing confidence that shatters whatever barriers the fools had; she pierced into the eyes and pinned their souls to the wall. Why would she give up because of a bad leg? A lot of people would have given up, lost hope, and for a second she did too, but she refined her other skills. She was already a smooth talker, and she soon became a sharpened shot, which could plague an idiot a mile away with gunfire. She was as stubborn as an old lady, despite her young appearances.

She wore a faded blue dress with lavish lines that mixed a perfect match of class with mobility. It was coupled with a brown belt that also held the holster a flintlock pistol. Of course, she didn’t display the weapon, rather hiding it under the foils of her tan duster which she wore brazenly with the top of it featuring a fur lining. It was pointedly designed to feature an almost hunter-like level of perseverance, despite the lavish lifestyle. She also wore a sparrow’s hat that featured a small birds feather. To complete it all, a red necklace draped over her neck.

Her face was perfectly configured if not for a slight mole that hid itself under her right eye. She did her best to dominate the air around her, wherever she went. That was the first step in her job: never show fear. You’d think her job was dangerous, and to an extent she was, but she never fought much, except for a couple of conversations gone south. She spoke. She worked to wind her way through enemies diplomatically, as does any diplomat. She persuaded others to fight a “middle ground” or at least to provide a much more favorable outcome.

“Idzabella,” a man near her said, “er, Idza, um sorry. We thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m a bit stronger than death can contend.”

“It’s goo—um, We are glad you’re ok,” he said just glad to see her, but then he seemed to pull out a face of regret. His bit of euphoria had blinded him to her appearances, but he just noticed that he might have said something a little insensitive.

“It’s alright,” she consoled, “I know it’s there. You don’t have to dance around the issue.”

---

The clack of the cane came to a brief stop when she reached the door of the citadel. “Bell rang, now let’s see why the seeker is calling for us,” she mumbled. The venerated halls of the citadel were always an odd one. Who maintained this place? She never figured out, but she did know that this place was laid out for the Phoenix League.

The large antechamber at the entrance was a long hallway of paintings from the ages, a sort of memorial, she assumed, to the heroes of the ages, maybe even villains. Anyone who worked for the Phoenix League. There was a rug that lined the path in a rose scarlet. The floor was a white, marble tile. Surrounded by legends, she never knew if she was honored to be among them or felt that she had heavy expectations to meet; it was probably both. There were a couple of statues as well, in pristine marble, kept white as snow. They were either some of their greatest heroes or founding members. She never took to the time to figure that out. Either way, she was one of them, a member of the esteemed phoenix league. Somewhere between a group of psychologically damaged homicidals and the only hope for a peaceful world. Everybody had damage.

That is how you got in: you had to die, and nobody dies a peaceful death in this world. She definitely didn’t get a happy death at least, so Idza knew from experience. Nevertheless, this sense of death and reanimation certainly had a way of making everyone bond together. Each sympathized with each other. Surprisingly no sense of violence in these halls. No real need for rules, usually. There were still fights, just not may in these venerated halls.

Idza walked up and through the citadel. She clambered up the large and various rooms. It was a manic display of rooms, hallways, corridors, all with a purpose apparently. She knew she’d see familiar faces, new faces, startled faces, scared faces. Whenever the bell rang, everybody came to meet the call.

There they were, at the grand hall. “so how is everybody?” she said audibly.

[Galnius]

Not far from the fortress, a man whistled along, playing with a small, golden orb. The tune they rang from his mouth, an old folk song whose words we're forgotten by time. This, however, Dodd not stop the man, Ezekiel, from creating words to fit his own adventures. He seemed to be in quite a merry mood, acting out motions and swordfights, away from any human eye.

When he reached the door, he stopped singing and shouted out. "Oi, ye lazy corpse! Open the door for the returning hero!"

A voice called out from inside, seemingly suppressing an audible sigh. "Survived again eh Ezekiel? I could here you acres away, stirring up a racket. You must do it to scare away the less pleasant creatures, because I see no other reason."

As the doors opened, Ezekiel waltzed in. "Why you should have been there Hugh. Twelve, no twenty!, pirates armed to the teeth. I fought off three, cut off the captain's hand. Why, he didn't like that. They continued pressing me, and I had no choose but to jump ship. I had the prize, though. I got away with it. Add another one to my score. Oh, also, can you bring some food to my room? I'm quite tuckered."

"You don't even know how to tell the truth, do you." Replied the gate guard to Ezekiel's tale. When asked to fetch food, he retorted "I am not your servant! Get it yourself!"

"Ah, but my man, i have seniority", Ezekiel jested back. He closed the door to his room slowly during the action, wearing a cheshire grin.

"By one mon-!" The gaurd was cut off by the slamming of the door. Ezekiel snickered in good spirit. Changing his clothes from a commoners suit to something one would assume be worn by a Duke, Ezekiel also began to wash off a layer of makeup (changing the skin tone) and dye (used in hair).

Once satisfied, and back looking like himself, Ezekiel collapsed upon his bed. However, the rest was short lived when the call came out to gather. "Those blasted bells will be the end of me", he said, rolling his eyes. He lazed around for a few moments more before strolling towards the throne room. "Idzy!" He called out coming in behind her. He was never one for full names, and Idzy was just fun for him to say. "Have you been faring well?"

[Sunken Island of Rhinomuraena]

Shadow sits in roughly the middle of her room, whittling away at a flute. Tiny wood chips fly away as the knife glides through the wood. Carving was simple, but it made her concentrate on something, and right now that was good. She presses the knife too hard, and it catches, tearing into the wood. Shadow sighs, putting the knife and wood down, and picking up the flute she was trying to recreate. Swirling designs cover its surface, and she stares at it for a while, then throws it across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the floor, undamaged. She goes to pick it up when the bells start tolling. Uncertain what that means, but figuring that she had better go. Picking up her mask, she walks out the door, tail making an odd sliding sound as she walks. Otherwise silent, she walks through the halls, looking down and away whenever someone looks at her. Near the Great Hall, she trips, breaking the wooden mask. Worried, she looks at the break, trying to think out whether she should enter, drawing attention from all, or risk not entering, drawing the possible anger of someone in charge. Thinking it best to enter, she quietly opens the door and slips in, staying towards the edges of the room, facing the wall. Better this that punishment detail, she supposed, but... not much better. Arriving last too, or near last. Peering out among the faces, she saw a few she sort of recognized, but no one she remembered the name of.

[The Warriors of the Sun]

A man in chainmail and brandishing a sword stood before the armored Abraham. Abraham could hear the man panting, they were both tired, though Abraham was better at hiding his own exhaustion. This fight had gone on for quite some time, and they both knew it was about to reach its conclusion. The man's clothing rustled against his armor as he took on a fighting stance, he was ready to continue. Abraham raised his buckler, leaving his sword lowered at his side.

The man made the first move, charging forward. When the distance closed he began his assault, each swing pounding at Abraham's defense with more and more ferocity. With each swing Abraham narrowly deflected the blow, with each swing Abraham retreated a step, and with each swing the man became more predictable. One mistake with his buckler and Abraham was sure to be injured, and at this rate Abraham could only hold back a few more swings before his back was against the wall of the square room. But his moment had come, the man's swings were easy to time, and as he pulled back his sword for another powerful blow Abraham lunged forwards. Buckler first, Abraham slammed into the sword arm of the man, using his own momentum against him. The man clearly didn't expect the counterattack as he lost his balance and fell to the floor. His chainlink armor clashed against the stone floor as his sword bounced across the floor with a loud clang till it settled just beyond the man's reach.

The battle was won. Abraham pulled his helmet off as he walked over to the man, still sitting on his bum, trying to catch his breath in his defeated state. Abraham held his sword up, pointed towards the man's face, a grin spread across Abraham's face. "Do you yiel-"

The Citadel's bells rang, a high not then a low note that repeated. Abraham was being summoned to the Grand Hall along with others in similar positions as Abraham. When the ringing stopped Abraham let his helmet drop to the floor as he held his head back with closed eyes and sighed in frustration. He mumbled, "Theus be damned," as two men in similar armor as Abraham's opponent burst out into laughter from a bench at the side of the room.

His opponent, still catching his breath managed to mockingly say, "I do not yield," as Abraham sheathed his sword and walked towards the bench. Abraham shook his head in dismay as he grabbed a small pouch of coins that he tossed toward his opponent. His opponent chuckled as the pouch pelted him squarely in the chest.

"I hope everyone who shares your name will be cursed for all their future days," said Abraham in his disappointment. He couldn't help, but smirk at his own bad luck. It was no question whether Abraham would win the duel or not, the wager the pair made solely had to do with how long his opponent could last. If he could manage to not lose by time they had to be called away, he would win the bet. If nothing unexpected happened Abraham would of easily one a few more coins to gamble away at a later date, these men weren't due at their posts for a few more minutes. But fate would have it that an unexpected meeting was called.

One of the men sitting at the bench got up and helped Abraham unstrap his buckler. The man took the buckler to put it away, likely as consolation for Abraham's unexpected loss. Those few coins were about half of all the money Abraham had left, he was on hard times. Though he was always on hard times, he made a habit of gambling, and also made a habit of losing games of chance. If he won the wager Abraham fully expected to gamble it all away by the end of the week, but now he would have to resort to some cheap form of pleasure to occupy his free time. Though he didn't have free time at the moment, and he was likely about to be sent on a mission.

Abraham left the room, the others still laughing at his own misfortune. He sported a smile as he walked down the halls of The Citadel, even though he lost it was still enjoyable. And while he lost the wager, he didn't lose the duel. After a short walk Abraham entered the Great Hall.

[Yuzhou]

Konrad Solstadt
The Citadel

Solstadt was not wrong in his prediction that others would show quickly. Though, it was a rather easy call to make. A summons to the great hall drew the attention of most as a chance for work, and draw it did.

The first to enter after Solstadt himself had been the Cathayan with the multiple swords. From Konrad's own recollections, the man taught sword fighting, which was probably why he hadn't had much to do with him. What Solstadt could gather was that this Cathayan was a bit older than most of the others in the room, even if not by much. Though he guessed Ryker was older than he looked, which at the least put the two swordsmen on par. Either way, just that little advance in age somehow gave Solstadt the impression to treat either of them more seriously. That, and the fact that they had enormous seniority over him when it came to...well, being dead.

The following character was a newer one. The young Ussaran known as Lev. Anytime Konrad tried to speak the the man, he was always greeted politely but distantly. The only thing the old jeweler could gather, was that this Lev spent most of his time tending to the Citadel's stock of animals. Not much more could be expected from a Ussaran though, especially a Ussaran who like the rest of them, had inhaled a breath past the brink of death.

The third to enter did so with a voice. Idza, as she seemingly liked to be called, a woman from Montaigne. Solstadt had heard of her long before he was dead and still walking. A diplomat of her caliber in the service of royal Montaigne did not go unknown to a merchant prince like Konrad. Still, he found it humorously ironic that the place they would meet was not some fanciful court or a backroom customs house, but the place beyond their graves.
"Loud in voice, loud in looks, loud in aura.", that is how Konrad described her in his mind. "Loud" was perhaps not the right word, but the young woman seemed to dominate a room. A tool of the trade, but also one the older man sense to be found within the person.

“so how is everybody?”
Solstadt turned his attention to her fully when she spoke. He waited for just a flicker of her eyes to meet his before he gave his answer in a nod.

It was right then that he could hear the approach of the fourth individual to answer the summons. He could identify the voice in his sleep.
"Ezekiel", he muttered to himself. The boy was the very definition of trouble. Solstadt was quick to pick up on that shortly after arriving. But the trouble Ezekiel caused tended to benefit the League's efforts in someway, even if it did irritate those involved. Still, listening to the stories of the lad's antics did offer some amusement. Solstadt just made an effort to be the one listening about them, not the one telling them.

The fifth individual to enter the hall was an alchemite girl. It was a bit more obvious on her, than on Ryker to say the least. The mutations she had suffered made her more noticeable than some of the other alchemites. Just from look, she contracted many reptilian traits. Still, Konrad could see she tried to hide what was possible. He didn't remember her name, which was odd. He came to learn over the course of his life that he was quite good with names. Still, he could see she was avoiding the spotlight, so he did little more than identify her.

The final person out of the first arriving bunch was someone Solstadt could finally say he knew decently well. At least, well by League standards. Abraham was one of the League's swords. An escort on the various parties they sent out into the world. It was on one of these parties that the two had met. Solstadt was sent to collect some funds from a "donor", as the higher ups had put it, and establish future "donations".
Abraham had been tasked with making sure Solstadt wasn't ravaged by monsters or bandits.
Of course, the mission hadn't been nearly that exciting, but the two managed to get past the usual "I know that guy" sort of connection that newbies to the League generally held to others. He also came to know through the tales of others that the Albion had a habit of gambling his earnings away...
This fact gave Konrad an idea. It was time to help ease up the room.

"Abraham!", he called. "Good to see you've decided to show."
Solstadt walked towards the warrior with open arms, making sure to extend his voice so all could hear.

"How about you and me play a little game while we wait, eh? I've heard you're fond of bets. I say the Seeker will send half this lot home, myself included. You can predict whatever you want along those bounds.", he outstretched his arm to shake on it, before pulling it away suddenly.

"Tell you what, let's make this a proper gentleman's wager.", Konrad reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring he had made just before the summons. The peridot caught a beam and glistened sharply. Solstadt knew how to hold a piece to make it shine.
"In Vendel we have a tradition. I'll bet this ring. If I am wrong, the ring will go to our fair Idza instead of you. Likewise, if you lose, you must give whatever you bet to her. That way we make a proper sport out of it."

He then extended his arm slowly towards Abraham.
"What do you say?"

[Relikai]

Izumo Kaga
Great Hall, The Citadel

As people started filling in, Kaga's vision started to blur again. She felt... nauseous, exhausted, as if a great pressure was weighing down on her. Taking in a deep breath, Kaga exhaled, as her vision slowly came back, but her hand trembled slightly. Sighing, the archer balled her hand into a fist, feeling the sensation return as she calmed herself down.

This wasn't good, Kaga hardly knew anyone here, and yet they were to go out on missions together. She hated herself for that, for her fate, wondering if joining the League was really the right choice.

It is the right choice.
I am all alone.
You shall redeem the honour of Izumo.
What is honour in failing?
You shall not fall alone.

"Alright." Kaga whispered, patting her head to ensure that the hairband was in place. "Alright... back... back... back to basics..."

[The Warriors of the Sun]

Abraham Bennet

As Abraham entered the hall he quickly realized he was not the first to arrive. The hall felt crowded for Abraham's liking, the hall could accommodate much more people than were currently present, but the amount of people Abraham wasn't friendly and weren't human by Abraham's standards made him feel on edge. A lingering instinct from his past life as a knight for the royal family of Avalon. So naturally his gaze fell upon Ryker, the member Abraham feared the most, if only for his skills with his blade and the fact that he was an Alchemite. The thought caused a chill to run down his spine, those beings terrified him. And he knew of at least three of them, all within this room. But he wouldn't cause a fuss over their presence, for the time being his loyalty lied first with The Phoenix League, and unfortunately that meant working with them from time to time.

The next to catch his attention a few steps within the hall was a foreign girl which he had never seen before; he normally wouldn't pay a newcomer much mind, but she was the first female he had ever seen with origin of Cathay, or at least assumed due to some similar features to Rinji who was the only male from Cathay he had ever seen so far. And the girl had an air of unease about her that for a moment brought back nostalgic memories of his own awakening a year ago. Though he was much less nervous, instead he was confused and paranoid. He had refused to believe the fact that he was brought back to life and for two whole weeks he attempted to unravel the elaborate hoax, but much to his dismay the disturbing truth they told him originally was real, he had died.

His mood lightened when his befell Mazin, one of the few members he was actually familiar with. An unlikely duo that nonetheless were still friendly towards one another. There was one other he considered himself to be well aquatinted with, and to speak of the aged devil...

"Abraham! Good to see you've decided to show."

A smile crept upon Abraham's face as he turned toward the older gentleman. "Well that makes one of us," replied Abraham with a chuckle. "This meeting is already costing me." Abraham had guarded the blatantly wealthy man before, while they had never shared a life or death experience, the sheer travel they went on together was enough to determine if any pair were compatible. And thankfully were on friendly terms.

Konrad Solstadt went on to offer Abraham a wager. At first mention of it Abraham fully planned to refuse, or at least think about refusing before accepting as he usually did. But all doubt was erased when he announced what he was betting on, the Seeker would send half of the group home including Konrad himself. That couldn't possibly be true, though if history proved right, chances are they were for the mere fact someone was wagering Abraham about it. But Abraham quickly dismissed the thought and record of his past losses with chance and he quickly attempted to take the man's hand, though it was taken away.

Konrad changed the deal ever so slightly by clarifying what the pair would bet. Abraham didn't understand the custom Konrad referred to, it just seemed like a way to show off both one's wealth and luck to those present, but Abraham chose not to question it. Abraham gambled mostly for the thrill the winning, a rare thrill, rather than for the actual reward.

"Have you been drinking, Konrad?" asked Abraham with a teasing smile just loud enough for the entire room to hear if they strained to do so. "Forgive me, don't answer. I wouldn't want to feel guilty." Abraham's tone was clearly playful and sarcastic. He drew his sword from his sheath, it wasn't a particularly ornate sword, but it was obviously made with significant skill and quality. "I'll wager my family's sword." He looked to Idza as he described it for if he lost she would own it. "It should get a fair price, especially my family. I am sure they would pay a small fortune for an heirloom of the their lost son, or just kill you for it. Either way it should be exciting." He was more than certain his family would never kill over such an item. He rarely met his busy father, but the few times he did he got the impression he was honest man who liked games of chance like Abraham. Though his father had much more luck.

Abraham sheathed the sword, he didn't care much for it. He was never one to find sentiment in an inanimate objects. He had a mind that still worked, so memories more than enough to hold onto. He took Konrad's hand as he said, "I accept you wager, this meeting is most certainly for new assignments." Abraham felt especially confident in this wager, through he was already feeling a fair amount of regret in his confidence, for he didn't want to have to face the shame of being wrong.

[Zyvalia]

Astaric, The Heart of Fire and Blood
Seven Days After

---

Astaric's "new life" had felt like a blink of his eyes after what had happened with him; everything he did and thought of now harkened back to the crossroads of his life that was the events upon that rainy, bloody field. When he ate, when he slept, when he awoke...everything drove his troubled mind back to what he did. It was like a disease to him, one he couldn't escape.

It hurt. That was the simplest way of saying it. It hurt in multiple ways: The wounds and burns and gashes from the intense duel....and the emotional scars that cut deeper than any of the others. What was the most poignant symbol was his arm - his right arm, that is. Severed entirely by the battle, and now it seemed it was bonded to him by magic now. It was a ring of arcane blue it seemed, right on the spot where Saire severed him on his upper arm. It still hurt - phantom pain, as he was told by one of the League's healers he visited. Even though it was there...sometimes it felt as if it was gone still. A symptom said healer stated he may never get rid of truly, given his extraordinary circumstances. It was a reminder of his sin, above all. Of a life he wouldn't get back.

Astaric spent most of his time in this secluded headquarters training area, in a little corner of his own most knew not to infiltrate while he was there. The roughly three dozen scorched, slashed, and otherwise maimed practice dummies gave off that message a little too well. Many had tried to talk to him, the League's most kindhearted and experienced in dealing with trauma-ridden souls, but he never let any get through to him. When he first awoke, he was aggressive towards them. But now...he mostly just shut them and a lot of people out. Occasionally he would put on a smile and a few kind words to kindred souls whom he passed in the halls, but he spent most of his time alone.

Now was one such time. When he wasn't training, he was in his designated quarters, using what parchment or stationery he could scrounge up to write dirges, sonatas, requiems, poems....somber words written by a stiff quill utilized by a somber hand. One of his attendants, a handmaiden drawn in the League's service, gave him an old violin to help comfort him. He used to play the instrument, but hadn't touched it in what felt like years. Now he felt like he spent a third of his life doing it, aside from scorching dummies and writing. The only thing he really remembered to play was the old Verellyon house song; a sullen tune naturally. In fact, he felt like he could play it better than ever now. Except now he was writing his own songs too, none of them exactly uplifting, however. It was something to take his mind off things.

He wanted purpose anew, it felt. He wanted to forsake Verellyon and the life of lies it gave him. Yet...he knew he couldn't. It was him, deep down, everything he ever was was because of the name "Verellyon." The fire that burned within him was Verellyon itself. With his father and his two heirs, Saire and Astaric dead, at least in a sense of the word, Verellyon was down to a new usurpation. As its curse was. As for his mother? Perhaps she would fade away. Or continue to control the scene from the shadows, as she always had. Regardless, Astaric did feel a sort of...liberty with this rebirth. The liberty to do what he wished, to forge his own path. He would learn in time what this meant, indeed. He would find his new purpose.

Currently, though, Astaric was wailing away on a wood-and-straw dummy, his strange glaive-naginata hybrid ablaze with that fire magic he knew so well. His motions were like that of a wheel, spinning the pole arm blade over his head and down upon the sad victim over, and over, and over again until little but straw fragments and splinters remained. Sighing, he realized he was sweating a bit from his crimson-adorned head. Strange. He never really did that. During the volleys of flame and steel though he did seem to lose his senses and "focus" back upon that event seven days ago. The duel with Saire. He used the same wheel-like maneuver against him. Gods, he used every move against him. It was only a miracle that he killed Saire first. If you can call that a miracle.

Now, leaning upon the haft of his weapon in a bit of a soft pant, he heard a ringing. It almost rattled his ears, with him being so on edge as of late. But from what he was told by the one who visited him, unlike the others, the one armored and seeming more "in-control", the bell meant different things depending on tone. If he remembered correctly, this one meant to gather in the Great Hall of this "League."

Astaric straightened out the sleeves of the quilted-sleeve fur coat covering his torso, and threw his glaive into the bandolier-like holster across his back, the blade down near his feet. He left the cinders of the downtrodden dummy on the stone floor, and walked off, humming silently the Verellyon song under his breath as he found his walk through the corridors of this hideout. Soon, he came upon he open doors to the Great Hall, already thrust open with many souls poured into them. He stopped his humming. It was...crowded. He didnt like crowds anymore. Back at his old home he didn't mind them. Small talk was nothing, especially as the second son of Verellyon. But now, he had things to hide. Things he wished to never speak of again if he could help it. The last thing he wanted was to have others ask him too many questions.

Nevertheless, Astaric sidled his way into the crowd, his slow pace making him rather late. He found himself concealed by the crowd, a few gazes creeping upon him but nothing entirely discomforting. He tried to settle in, and when he did, found himself near an older man that spoke with him on more than one occasion, one of the select few who actually did. This man was conversing with another one, one adorned in chainmail. One that Astaric hadn't had the chance to meet yet. Near him still was an archer dressed in a distinct garb who looked about as uncomfortable as he, another woman lingering against the wall, a rather loud person who he knew to be Ezekiel - not from firsthand interaction, no, just from him hearing the name in his countless interactions with others during his risk here, and a woman in a blue dress, among the other people in the crowd. Astaric kept his composure and waited, seeing what the purpose of this was. It occurred to him that he knew truly nothing of those around him....he should rectify that if he were to move forward in his life. For this League....it seemed to be his new home now.

[Saleon]

Idza had hoped to get the conversation going with a general question. It was a benign question, but it was also one people tended to ignore. She always tended to command the room, so starting the conversation was the first start. Rather, instead of opening conversation, she had gone through more of a "social experiment." Here, she saw some people acknowledge her, some people speak, some people hid from the limelight. It was rather distinct.

The tiny alchemite, one she hadn't paid attention normally, had been dancing in the back, carefully avoiding eye-lines. Cloaked in a sense of security maintained by hiding in shadows, too shy or fraught thought to be sought by others. She had kept a record of the girl, in her mind, in case she needed this type of profession: the thief or spy, profession. The girl's reptilian features probably related with her lack of want for attention, but she did pick an expertise that maximized in that lack. Strength for the alchemite from what the girl lacked. Sort of enough to make Idza empathize with her situation, seeing her own physical instabilities match in a general sense.

Then came a familiar shout, "Idzy!" Someone famous for his colloquial, and cantankerous, personality. "Ezekiel..." she thought, "why... why..." Immediately, she thought of the blunt punk that tended to stick to her sometimes. The one she didn't mean to dislike, but had to deal with. "Have you been faring well?" he blustered. In her mind she almost looked for an escaped, wondered how the reptilian would have done it.

"well outside of dealing with a particularly stubborn, audacious fellow who never kept his mouth shut, at work, sometimes I feel like shooting him right then and there," she said, clearly trying to implicate a connection. To be fair, she did deal with a stubborn politician from Castille, recently, but the work she was referring to was the Phoenix League, and the "Then and there" referred to "now and here." She was subtle, though to some in the room, who shared her opinions, it might have been generally obvious.

She, on the otherhand, tended to try and seem congenial, gentile, kind, classy, so she tried to keep it... not... too obvious.

She began to walk in a tender pace, marking the clack which was almost in the backroom at this point. She had moved over if to find someone a bit more relatable, and maybe to find a good seat for her leg. She moved over to Kaga. She gave a slight sigh, and reminded herself that she did hate waiting sometimes, especially when you had to wait near Ezekiel. The girl was reclusive, silent.

Idza calmly relaxed her feet and put the cane near her side. To get comfortable, to keep herself a bit more patient, the diplomat pulled out a cigar, Castillian, and hoped she was alright with it. She pulled her pistol out from her side, and took the hammer closely and began scraping it for a spark. It took a couple of seconds before making a full flame singe on the ashes of the cigar. The smoke was translucent white, and smelled of tobacco. This type of tobacco was keenly familial to Castille, and gave it the distinguished smell and flavor.

"So how are you doing, lately?" she said while watching the smoke for a second, "man this place has a messed up admissions program." She placed the cigar near the edge of her lips and breathed in for a second. The smoke was more familiar to her than others who had a cigar of this kind. It was homely for her, others would have described it as exotic. Idza looked at the Izumoan girl as she breathed out a puff of smoke, trying to keep it away from Kaga.

[Free Empire of the Low Isles]

Abu-Bakr Mazin Mikhail
The Citadel, Grand Hall

Mazin leaned against the pillar that he had claimed in the Grand Hall, the exhausted Crescent looking nigh on passing out while doing so. Though, while he certainly felt like this could be possible, nothing was farther from the truth. He was observing the people that walked in to the Hall, responding to the summons; he was observing his fellow Phoenixes.

Several of those that entered after Mazin followed his example and moved toward the shadows, the corners, and generally the back of the room. They were the... more broken types, he could see. The ones who either could not deal with their deaths as well as the others or had more of a melancholy disposition. Among those was a fire-haired woman that leaned against a wall and watched the room with a playful gaze, and a Cathayan girl that was very new to the League. She had taken to the deeper shadows, obviously still very torn up by her experiences. Among some of the more interesting was a dark reptilian alchemite that Mazin did not know very well.

After those, though, came the more... put-together types.

There was Konrad, the oldest of the group, and the one that seemed to be the most stable. He had been a merchant in his previous life, Mazin knew, though other than that, he hadn't had a lot of interaction with the man. From his proposal to Abraham, it was obvious that he was a friendly gambler, and a slightly flirtatious man, possibly. Of course, there was Abraham, the only man Mazin truly counted as a friend among the League. He was a warrior, much like the Ryker, and one that Mazin had gone on a mission with. His first, and last, mission to be precise.

It might not have ended well, but the two had bonded, with the Albion knight taking a slightly protective stance to the Crescent, at least in Mazin's mind.

Another entrance was Rinji, the only other Cathayan in the League beside the new member, and while he seemed quiet, Mazin put that more down him being calm and collected than any mental problems.

There were two members, though, that Mazin did not particularly like. Those were Ezekial and Idzabella. They were both... charismatic figures, one having been a rather well known diplomat in her day and the other being... a seedy character. It was mostly because they both tended to be loud in appearance and voice that Mazin did not take a positive view on them.

Other than that, there were a few more Phoenixes that made their way into the room, like Lev and Astaric, though they didn't specifically have anything interesting to Mazin.

The Crescent yawned tiredly and put a hand over his mouth, before shifting in his spot and crossing one leg over the other. He was used to standing in one spot for a while, it was one of the only things he did on that horrible ship he spent most of his previous life on. It was at this moment that he noticed Idza moving over to the new Cathayan girl, the one that obviously did not want anyone to get near her, and sit next to her. Mazin frowned at this, and shifted again so that he could keep a steady eye on the proceedings.

Just in case he needed to intervene for the sake of both parties.

[Galnius]

Idza

Ezekiel stood as she explained, in a round about way, her current mood. He couldn't help but grin at her seeming inability to insult someone directly. He opened his mouth to respond, but shut it for just a second. It would be far more fun to play dumb.

"Ah, yes. One must heavily detest such people", he said with a 'serious' face, following her a few steps. "I would recommend just leaving such a fellow be though. I'm sure their work its quite beneficial to you. I mean, imagine all the unsavories they may deal with. Crooks, thieves, pirates.... why, if he didn't take this jobs, YOU may be stuck with them. I hope he doesn't annoy you too much, however. Those political types can get quite burdensome." He stepped away, walking in a different direction.

"Well, good luck on your next adventure, we may be working together!" He raised his hand in a farewell, his cheerful visage turning to a bored, mildly irritated scowl. Sometimes I wonder why I remain around here, he thought. He p pulled out the golden marble he had recently acquired (having not found the time to deliver it) and began playing with it, looking off into space.

In his stupor, he caught sight of a new face, Astaric. For a split second, a wolfish grin set upon his brow. His teeth bared with intent to ravage anything they may have, wealth, mind, worth, all of it...if he were so inclined and allowed. However, that quickly passed and metamorphosed into a kind, noble smile. He approached the man intently, sticking out his hand. "HULLO!" He called out. "You seem to be newer here, a curious soul in a curious world. My name is Ezekiel. Do you need any assistance in the workings of our fair order?"

[Imperialisium]

Alienor Rhiannon Fian Kyrelleiana

Ally leaned up against the wall as she eyed everyone who came in. There was Mazin of course, quiet, serious and somber of a man; their eyes momentarily locked as he too scanned the room. There was Konrad who moved towards the center, a polite older man, she was careful to not say 'old'. True, he could easily pass off as a father to quite a few people here. But looks could be deceiving to actual age. That and she had the slightest inkling Konrad did not want to be taken literally as a father figure. Perhaps in wisdom, not in actuality. Either way Aly found Konrad a rather comforting individual, had an understanding look, like a wiser sage.

Aly seemed utterly disinterested in the chatter around her. Not even piping up when Konrad asked how everyone was doing, just a shrug. Rather, she was more interested in the people arriving. Some she had only seen else ware in the citadel for brief periods of time. Perhaps she would now have to deal with having prolonged exposure to the variety of people who called this place home or at least aboded here after their...deaths. She batted that last thought aside and buried it within her psyche. She leaned forward, moving her self from the wall, and walked past Mazin to stand near Konrad.

Aly wanted to hear more about this...bet.

[Relikai]

Izumo Kaga

"So how are you doing, lately? Man this place has a messed up admissions program."

The voice came to Kaga out of the blue, the archer just managing to keep herself from jumping. The lady before her was smoking a cigar, something Kaga has not seen before. She remembered the burning of incense back in Cathay, where she served as a minor priestess as part of her training to be a lady. The woman was dressed in some elaborate costume, something about her screamed nobility in Kaga's mind. She seemed... friendly enough, and... living quite alright, considering that everyone here has died at least once.

Well, Kaga has to speak now. She has been talking to herself for the past couple of days, to retain her sanity in the infirmary. Apart from the nurses, Kaga has not seen anyone, spoken to anyone, or even knew anyone. She was partially blind prior to the day before, and her limbs still hurt from their prolonged abuse. The hollow of her chest still...

"I... just... came..." Kaga replied softly, turning to face her speaker fully, a respectful gesture by the Cathayan. "Thank you... for... asking..."

Looking around, Kaga could tell that the place was being filled with people. People who she assumed suffered similar fates as her, but with different circumstances leading to each death. Kaga hoped none of them met their end the same way she did, the nightmares still haunt her, and Kaga stopped herself from screaming by biting into a cloth sash, gagging herself to stop her from going insane.

"I... see. How... how did you... end up... here?"

[Saleon]

Izumo Kaga

"So how are you doing, lately? Man this place has a messed up admissions program."

"I... just... came..." Kaga replied softly, turning to face her speaker fully, a respectful gesture by the Cathayan. "Thank you... for... asking..."

Looking around, Kaga could tell that the place was being filled with people. People who she assumed suffered similar fates as her, but with different circumstances leading to each death. Kaga hoped none of them met their end the same way she did, the nightmares still haunt her, and Kaga stopped herself from screaming by biting into a cloth sash, gagging herself to stop her from going insane.

"I... see. How... how did you... end up... here?"

Idzabella watched as the girl carefully chewed through her words. It was clear that the girl, Kaga, was shy to others, but not because they were simply introverted. the girl was newer to the League, it seemed. She did not die quietly into the night. It was almost the norm in this place, maybe even the reason they came back. She had a quiet voice, and a voice that pained to make words. It was clear to have seen such tragedy.

That was just as clear as a needle piercing flesh when she asked a follow-up. It sunk in slowly but sharply. She thought about the question for a humbling second. She shuffles her hat on her hand somberly, before removing the cigar from her lips, and lowering her head to answer the question spoken in broken words and heavy hearts "how did you... end up... here?"

"well," she spake, "It is the kind of tale that sounds familiar for all of us... too familiar to go in to detail without sounding repetitive, simply breaking into the same crack, crack, cracking of a soul through tragedy. Cracking again and again, all of us feel the pain, know the death. Long story short, I angered a couple of people and ended up in segments in a dirty room, painted red.

"I remember waking up here as if from a bad dream. The only thing that told me it was real was my distorted leg and missing hand. It was more of an existential crisis for a while. What could I do now? I couldn't run or walk. I need a cane now, y'see, so it wasn't an unrealistic worry," she said, going into detail as if to give a story Kaga might need to hear. Her somewhat kind spirit had hoped that her old wounds would work to heal new ones. That didn't stop her words from being soft, not able to just go blurting this stuff out like it meant nothing.

So she continued, "Of course, I realized I couldn't just lose it there; had to pick myself up and prove I had a reason to be invited to the Phoenix. Scars are real, and you can never leave the past behind, but I've come to think that Phoenix picked us after we died, out of mercy. We get to sort of work together to pick up the pieces. It's almost therapeutic to be here, which is why I can think of this place as a grace, not a curse."

She placed the cigar back in her mouth and cricked her back, back. She tried not to think much about the past, outside of a want to find the two men with the red spiral tattoos. Kind of taboo to ask people about their pasts, especially their deaths, but Idza was more understanding considering Kaga's situation.

"so you accommodating well, postmortem? I try and give my new life a lot of thought, y'know. Figure out how I hope to live, again."

[Relikai]

Kaga listened to the lady, nodding as she explained her predicament, and some snippets of what led her to depend on a cane for mobility. For Kaga, it was almost listening to her own ordeal again, and Kaga was not one to belittle the trials of others.

"I'm sorry, but... I hope that you will be able to... rebuild your life again..." Kaga whispered, eyes lowered as she hoped that the woman was not offended by her questioning. "You seem strong, a capable woman... it would be... good to... work with you." The Cathayan ended with a low bow.

"so you accommodating well, postmortem? I try and give my new life a lot of thought, y'know. Figure out how I hope to live, again."

"I..." Kaga whispered, her hands trembling as her legs ached. Kaga exhaled as she thought for a moment. What can I do? What is my next step?

"I think... I will... do the same..." Kaga said, looking at the woman. "This is a chance... I cannot let... it go so easily..."

"Also, I'm sorry but... I am Izumo Kaga, of Clan Izumo. Sorry for not introducing myself... earlier."

[Zyvalia]

Astaric felt....exhausted, and just from simply lingering amidst this crowd of his peers in the League. He looked around a bit, surveying the crowd for whomever really, anyone who wasn't busy regaling one another with tales or shooting the breeze, so to speak. While he did look about the crowd, his red hair got into his face. It was messy - he hadn't really washed it since he awoke aside from it being partially submerged when he bathed or happened to swim. It wasn't like t was dirty - just messy. He usually had it tied back into a knot, but recently he hadn't felt the desire to do as such.

Regaining focus, he spotted the League's prominent healer, Triss. Triss was one of the first people he met when he awoke...and one of the first he didn't let out his aggression on. Needless to say at this point, Astaric was rather fueled with anger and confusion when he awoke. But Triss helped explain to him his situation medically. He felt rather comforted, actually...like it wasn't actually a dream or the afterlife. But it began to make sense to him.

Along with her was Ryker, a man he hadn't talked to much personally but had heard of from others. One of the men who dealt with the creatures out there that were threatening the world. An admirable occupation, Astaric thought. Honestly, he wished he could join him soon. It would give him a good chance to get back out there and take his mind off of those he lost. His fire talents would surely be of use.

Astaric slowly waded his way through the crowd, meeting the duo eventually.

"Greetings, Lady Trisse, and Ser Celtigar. I hope you don't mind my intrusion unwelcome. I just hoped to....share some words." Astaric said to the two, bowing his head slightly like he used to at the Crimson Isle. It was mostly instinct at this point....only it was much more hollow now in its execution. "I apologize Lady Trisse...I forgot about the check up you had scheduled for me today. I was...preoccupied, you see. I'm sorry if I inconvienced you." The man said with a solemn tone, before looking back up at them. "But....how are you? It occurs to me whenever we have spoken it was of my health. Not, well, yourself."

[Galnius]

Ezekiel watched as he was complete ignored, slight thrown off when Astaric went to speak to Ryker and Triss. Afterward, however, he smirked. "It seems he already knows of me." Chuckling, he shook his head. "On one hand, it seems I have gained some infamy. On the other, it's a bit difficult to work like this...oh well, c'est le vie."

Dismissing both Astaric's ignoring and Idza's indirect threat, Ezekiel stood near the center if the room. He once again lost himself in thought, tuning in to conversations about him. There was a bet between two people. That in itself was uninteresting, as he doubted he could get in on the action. Third was especially true if they knew his likelihood to tip scales in his favour...

Idzy was talking to another new girl. The usual doom and gloom thing it seemed. Can no one here welcome someone without reminding them that they died? No wonder everyone is near a mental breakdown. A masseuse would make one fantastic living here. Actually... He deposited the thought for later use....maybe.

His eyes scanned the area, looking for other observationists. Mazin. No surprise. Knowing him he is watching for any trouble specifically. In other words...I haven't entered his radar as trouble yet. Surprising.

He saw Shadow as well. DEFINITELY new...and definitely gloomy. He wasnt sure if he wanted to go over or not, so instead paced around a chair. He mumbled to himself, having conversations that had not happened yet, almost as if he we're planning responses. His eyes shifted about at a rapid pace as he continued, rolling the golden marble within one hand, chewing a nail on the other. This was all subconscious, of course, as he was truly trying to listen out for any clues of why they were gathered. In the end, he heard nothing.

"I'm quite bored." Said Ezekiel loudly, flopping lazily into his chair. He said it to no one in particular. Pulling out his lute, he began to strum a random, old Castillan drinking song. Hopefully Seeker would come soon.

[Houyhnhnm Cities]

Lev watched the room slowly filling with phoenixes, a weird mixed bag of people , each one unique in its own way.
Some wore their uniqueness on their skin, exposed for the whole world to see like Shadow the young alchemite girl with reptilian traits, or Alienor, with her bizarre pointy ears. He observed them discretely, still slightly unused to be so close to alchemites. He had learned about them in Ussara, of course, but he actually met one before coming into the league. They usually were not welcome in the places of power.

Others carried their uniqueness within. Like Kaga, the girl from Cathay. Lev saw her becoming increasingly unnerved as people began to fill the room, clenching her fists and babbling when Idza( at least he tought she was Idza, from her limp) started talking to her.

That girl sure has baggage… perhaps I should have a rat follow her, she may reveal something interesting. He made a mental note for himself. Sure, spying on what were technically his allies was not something many would consider morally correct, but old habits die hard.

Then, subtle as a forest fire, Ezekiel arrived in the room. He was one of the few people Lev could understand in there. It’s not that he was simple or (he smirked at the absurdity of that thought) trustworthy, but his own compulsive lies made Lev at ease. At least he didn’t pretend to be honest and that made him, weird as it sounds, one of the most honest persons in the room from Lev’s viewpoint.

Also, he was cute.

Then, for no apparent reason, he pulled out a lute and started to play. He was a good player and Lev never heard that particular melody, so he walked closer to hear better. Then when Ezekiel finished to play it he spoke” Good job Ezekiel. I never heard you playing the lute before, you are very good. Where did you learn?”