NationStates Jolt Archive

No more applications! If you still want in on this rp please contact me via TG-Ravelyn

The Three United Empires are recruiting a select few from various nations to take part in a highly intensive training program. Those selected for the program will be trained in advanced fighting techniques, endurance training, and weaponry. Applicants will receive notice within ten days if they have been accepted. Only two applicants may apply per nation, but only one will be accepted. This select group will serve in a private operation within our nation’s borders. Nations who have applicants that are accepted will receive $500,000 in the form of their currency. Those initiates that are accepted will receive a two year temporary citizenship in the United Empire. Housing and accommodations will be provided. The Three United Empires hold no responsibility should the training become too difficult or ill befalls the initiate. In order to reply, the applicant must meet the requirements:

1. Every applicant must be male.
2. Applicants must be over the age of twenty one.
3. Every applicant must be fluent in at least two languages; Slavic preferred but not required.
4. Applicants must have no qualms with taking orders. As the training is intensive, they will be receiving a lot of them.
5. Applicants must be willing to unlearn former fighting styles if they conflict with those taught.
6. Secrecy is of the utmost importance. If an applicant chooses to leave without notice, or exchanges information with an unknown party, that initiate will be terminated immediately.

Please send a response with the names of your candidates, ages, physical description, and personal background.

Good luck.

-Nikolai Mikaelov

-Ravelyn Shentavo
Empress of the Three United Empires


Ravelyn Shentavo looked the note over again and again, then stared at Nikolai with her crimson red eyes and pouted lips. “Why no females?” she asked, and in doing so, exposed a long set of fangs hidden behind her flawless lips. Her long dark hair fell over her left eye as she leaned forward, looking at the blond-haired blue eyed man across from her. Nikolai’s eyes were impossibly blue; as if the oceans had been sifted into such a small ring around his pupil.

“Potemu shto, maya lubov,” he said, knowing she understood ever word. “I only train men. I take it you already have a select few from our very own nation to participate. Who have you decided on.”

“His name is Jin,” the angelic beauty continued. “He’s not much of a talker, but he can fight, and picks up quickly. He never makes a mistake twice.”

“Is that so…” he continued. “I look forward to breaking him.” He smiled, and Ravelyn waved her hand dismissing such a thing. She handed the letter to Hevn, a slender girl with long black hair and piercing green eyes. She came from the northern regions of the empire. She nodded, and started copying the letter and sending it to various nations across the globe.

“Ravelyn Shentavo constructing The Elite again,” he commented, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see the day you would bring them back.”

Name: Ryan M. Fortier
Age: 32
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 172lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Identifying Marks:
Tattoos: Ghost in medium sized Old English lettering just below collar line of shirt; Aim Small Miss Small down left under forearm; Medium sized gargoyle in between shoulder blades; Greek goddess Athena on outer left upper arm; Snake on right under forearm with text Nos planto bellum ut nos may ago in pacis on the body of the snake. All tattoos are in black and white.
Scars: Two scars from knife on right upper forearm; one scar from bullet wound on left bicep; one surgical scar to remove shrapnel on left calf


Education: Highest official level achieved high school graduate

Military Career: Enlisted with Republic of Imitora Army (RIA) at 18 upon graduation from high school. Served with III Corp, Roughneck Division, 4th Brigade, 3rd Battalion, A Co for two years, highest rank achieved: Lance Corporal (LCpl). Served with 105th Special Air Assault Regiment for three years, highest rank achieved: Specialist 2nd Class (SSC2). Served till present with 1st Special Operations Group Detachment Delta (1st SOGD-D), current highest rank achieved: Staff Sergeant(SSgt.). Next achievable rank: Master Sergeant (SgtMaj).

Military Education:
Basic:
Advanced Infantry Training School: Standard combat tactics; fire and cover movement; basic desert, urban, and jungle combat; close quarters combat (hand to hand); basic ground and air infiltration; rifle qualification; calling for artillery or CAS (basic); grenade qualification; basic SERE training; basic night time combat
Advanced Small Unit Tactics School: Further fire and movement training; advanced room clearing (no hostage); basic demolitions and explosives training; detaining POWs;
Basic Combat Field Medicine: Standard field medicine care; stabilizing for medivac (air or ground)

Specialized Training:
Specialized Infantry Small Unit Tactics: Squad sized combat operations, movement, fire, cover; squad support; multiple weapon advanced qualification; engaging larger units; start advanced Krav Maga training; Advanced MOUT training
Specialized Infiltration Tactics School: Advanced fast roping techniques; airborne qualification; combat and evasive vehicle driving; advanced vehicle (ground or air) dismount; vehicle weapons advanced qualification; engaging forces from vehicle
Advanced Airborne Qualification: HALO/HAHO; night jumping; jumping to water; parajump from helicopters
Pathfinder School: Advanced navigation; zero visibility navigation; basic covert navigation techniques; further SERE training


105th SAAR Training:
Advanced CQC Tactics: Completion of Krav Maga training; advanced offensive knife combat; further “hot zone” infiltration and exfiltration techniques; counter sniper techniques; covert infiltration techniques; identifying and removing booby traps and IEDs. Upon completion, the soldier is awarded his combat knife, and awarded the rank of Specialist Third Class (SPC3)


Imitoran Special Warfare and Tactics School for Weapon Specialists:
(Required for acceptance into IMSPECWAR)
Covert Operations School: Covert and silent movement; advanced combat field concealment techniques; covert infiltration and exfiltration
Advanced Weapons Qualification: Multiple weapon (local and foreign) marksman qualification; weapon identification course; advanced explosive projectile weapons qualification; advanced grenade qualification; advanced offensive weapons usage
Advanced Covert Combat Operations: Stalking targets; silent target engagements; snatch and grab techniques; battlefield assassination
Advanced Specialized Infiltration and Exfiltration: Military SCUBA qualifying; “hot zone” exfiltration; securing landing zones for medivac; securing landing zones for equipment drops; securing crash sites; snatch and grab exfiltration techniques
Advanced MOUT Tactics and Operations: Advanced room clearing; house to house combat; engaging a superior force in urban terrain
Language Proficiency School: Chosen Languages-Farsi, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian; Fluent in Farsi; Semifluent in Spanish; Proficient in Portuguese, Russian, French
Battlefield Public Relations: Culture sensitivity training; integration techniques; community relations training
Operation LEGEND: Five week or longer SERE training. Candidates are “kidnapped” by operatives from the ICIA and other military units in a joint branch training exercise. Operatives and operators running the camp speak in foreign languages or in broken English with accents, carry foreign weapons, and display cultural mannerisms of other nations. The idea is to keep the trainees from knowing it is an exercise. After fifth week, escape is possible; however, interrogation steps up in extremity. After escape, trainees must make their way to a pick up point on the beach, where the operators and operatives congratulate them on their escape, and award them an official notice of completion of the Imitoran Special Warfare and Tactics School, and the Imitoran Special Warfare Device. Candidates can now choose which of the IMSPECWAR Programs they would like to attempt.


Advanced Special Warfare College:
(1st SOGD-D Training)
Hostage Rescue/Room Clearing-Advanced day to day, back to back building and room assaults with live hostages and live ammunition in order to train operators to get used to the concept of being in a very small room with rounds flying past their head at close range. Training further develops operator skill in assaulting rooms utilizing the proper angles and order in which room must be cleared, as well as entrance timing, securing hostages or living persons, and exfiltration after assault
Insurgency and Revolutionary War: Carrying out insurgent operations; training local personnel in insurgent tactics; guerilla war tactics and training (booby trap and IED creation, ambushes, commando raids, etc.); long term survival training; LRRP exercises; influencing revolutions and outcomes; combat leadership training; distraction and diversion operations
Counter Revolutionary Warfare Training: Counter insurgency operations; counter guerilla warfare; target identification; neutralizing advanced traps; field interrogation techniques; advanced target neutralization; cultural sensitivity in combat operations training
Counter Terror Operations: Advanced CQB; hostage rescue in combat situations; quick response action (QRA) operations and training
Intelligence Gathering: HUMINT visual intell gathering; further LRRP exercises; advanced interrogation techniques; alternative methods of interrogation (AMI); further target stalking exercises; eavesdropping and electronic intelligence gathering


Medals and Awards: Imitoran Star of Valor; Blue Crescent x2; Imitoran Meritorious Combat Award; Advanced Marksmanship Badge; RIA Special Forces Tab; Airborne Qualified Tab

Personality: Ryan is headstrong and dedicated, and usually cynical. He is not a quiet person, but not a braggart either, fully believing that “those who know don’t talk and those who talk don’t know.” He has no problem making his voice or opinion heard which often gets him in trouble with his superiors. However, this also gains the respect of the men under his command, and those that wish to see him advance, as he often makes sure their opinions are made known. Despite only achieving a high school degree, Ryan is very educated, spending much of his free time reading political and theoretical works of the past, his personal favorite works being Dante’s Inferno and the works of Leo Strauss. Ryan is not afraid of danger, and is a bit of an adrenaline junky. He learns quickly when it comes to combat tactics and technologies, and has advanced quickly in his military career as a result. Ryan, like most Imitoran males, is fiercely loyal to friends and family, but isn’t quick to trust outside his circle. He is also somewhat violent and quick to action, willing to fight at any notice, and does not take slights to his pride easily. He enjoys playing football (in Imitoran style, full contact, no pads) and riding his motorcycle or working on his car. He never knew his bilogical father on account of his mother, however, his father, Robert F. Fortier, was the most decorated and seasoned operator in Imitoran Military and Imitoran Central Intelligence Agency history, completing more operations before his death than any number of other members. His biological mother is a decorated pilot, and currently part of the admirality in the Imitoran Navy, his step father the CINCFTNO (Commander in Chief, Fatal Terrain Naval Operations).

Transmission begins
Route from UCE-OFSK Snet Node.
Subject: Rys-Mak’anrae, R.

Use-Name: Rae’l Rys-Mak’anrae (Pronounced Ray-El)
Name including formal titles: Rae’l Rys-Mak’anrae, Rider of Swiftly-Striking-Death, Sentinel-Knight.

Physical Statistics:
Height: Six feet even.
Weight: approx. 170 pounds.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue-Gray.
Age: mid-twenties, visually. Actual age indeterminate due to longevity treatments and similar.

Rae’l Rys-Mak’anrae is a descendant of Kor Rys-Mak’anrae, one of the Seven, the Lord Protector’s generals and sword-brothers. The descendants of the Seven form the elite of the Sentinel-Knights, as the Sentinel-Knights form the elite of society.

Rae’l is very much the proper Sentinel-Knight, tall, fit, possessed of a quicksilver agility and strength far in excess of what one would grant him at first glance. He wears his hair long, roughly neck length, normally loose but braided in the traditional ‘wind-braid’ when entering battle.

His attire is simple, black shirt and pants, belted. Leather riding boots, brown. On his person, he will carry a knife in either boot, his sword, slung over his shoulder, hilt protruding over the right shoulder, his whip, left hip, counterbalanced by the Rider’s Baton, right hip.

As a warrior, he is competent in the four weapons, the sword, crossbow, spear, and knife. As a Sentinel-Knight, he is a master of the sword and knife. Further, as a descendant of one of the Seven, he is an expert in the two whips, the ‘common’ leather multi-purpose lash and the lethal twenty-one bladed whip-knife.

As a Sentinel-Knight, he is an expert with carbine, long-rifle, machine pistol, and pistol, and generally would have a slim combat pistol in an assault holster on the right hip.

He wears the traditional Rys-Mak’anrae warbands, which, when worn on the forearm feature spring-loaded stiletto-blades that snap forward to extend over the back of the hand. He is an expert in the use of these deadly weapons, indicated by the fact that he wears them at all. Only true masters are confident enough in their skill to wear the bands casually, for the triggering mechanism is delicate.

Further, as a Sentinel-Knight, and especially as ‘one of the Seven,’ (which is the popular term for an individual descending from one of the Seven generals) he is an adept in the Art, practicing according to the teachings of Jaime Kir. Defining the capabilities of the Art is beyond the scope of this document.

Rae’l was born in the Rys-Mak’anrae stronghold of Shadowholme. His childhood was unremarkable, progressing as expected for one of his class: that is, mostly consisting of martial training, as well as education in the intellectual pursuits, primarily those to do with battle.

He rides Swiftly-Striking-Death, a large black war tarn of the type used by (and only by) Sentinel-Knights, commonly referred to as a Noble Tarn or Greater Tarn. The birds have an uncanny intelligence and bond strongly with their riders, showing a much more reasoned violence, as opposed to the often unthinking violent reactions of the lesser tarns.

He follows, as all do, the Codes set down by Jaime Kir and the Seven.

He has fought in numerous conflicts, having claimed the lives of at least eighteen men in single combat with his sword alone. With other weapons, his kill tally is thought to reach into triple digits.

His sword is of note, as the sword of every Sentinel-Knight is of note. It is approximately thirty six inches of length, double-edged, of the white steel of the Sentinel-Knights. This steel seems to be unbreakable and capable of retaining an edge so sharp as to be able to slice the hairs from the arm at slightest contact. Sentinel-Knight blades are uniformly capable of slicing lesser weapons in half.

Rae’l speaks six languages with varying degrees of fluency: English (fluent,) German (semi-fluent,) The Low and High Tongues with perfect fluency, and both the Sentinel-Knight and Rys-Mak’anrae battle languages with perfect fluency.

Report Compiled by Orem, Senior Scribe, Office of the First Sentinel-Knight.

End Transmission.

“What do you think about Fortier?” Nikolai asked, his dark glare trailing over Ravelyn’s shoulder like a gentle kiss.

“From Imitora, I suppose I have no choice in the matter. Hopefully I won’t have to kill him off. They are coming here at their own risk, and for this I cannot tolerate failure.”

“Why don’t you just go yourself, Ravelyn. If you are so bad-ass…”

She paused for a moment. “Because my kind is restricted from those areas, Nikolai.”


Congratulations Ryan M. Fortier!

You have been selected to be a part of The Elite for the three united empires. Pack immediately as traveling fares are all reimbursed at the door. While we cannot tell you what you will be training for at this point in time, we will tell you when you are ready. Mind you it is a task only fit for those who will be able to handle extreme conditions. All cell phones and pagers will be confiscated at the door of the Shentavo mansion. Secrecy is of the utmost importance, and when you have gained trust and security amongst your instructor, you will receive them back. At no point in time are you to roam anywhere but the designated positions and the third floor is strictly prohibited. Mind you that the mansion does look old fashion because it is what your patron enjoys, but do remember that looks aren’t everything. We possess one of the top training facilities known deep underground. I personally look forward to seeing you, and your patron will enjoy watching your progress.

Nikolai Mikaelov


“And Rae…Rae’l something.”

“I could break him.” she commented. “Let him in.”


Welcome Rae’l Rys-Mak’anrae

You have been selected to be a part of The Elite for the three united empires. Pack immediately as traveling fares are all reimbursed at the door. While we cannot tell you what you will be training for at this point in time, we will tell you when you are ready. Mind you it is a task only fit for those who will be able to handle extreme conditions. All cell phones and pagers will be confiscated at the door of the Shentavo mansion. Secrecy is of the utmost importance, and when you have gained trust and security amongst your instructor, you will receive them back. At no point in time are you to roam anywhere but the designated positions and the third floor is strictly prohibited. I personally look forward to seeing you, and your patron will enjoy watching your progress. Mind you, there is a great history in this land of great warriors. What strength you possess as a sentinel knight and your views on the definition of strength will be redefined here. Our patron looks forward to meeting you personally.

Nikolai Mikaelov

The Beretta clicked silently as the magazine sliped up the grip and into place. While most Imitoran forces had made the move to one of numerous 1911 framed weapons, Ryan still liked the Beretta. When the round hit you in the face, the 9mm was just as deadly as the .45ACP, and most people wouldn't stand up after being shot regardless. Not with him shooting, at least. The chilly winter air of Pembrooke, a small city just north of Northampton, pierced the light fleece jacket he wore, but it didn't bother him much. The adrenaline pulsing through him kept him at his optimal temperature.

Imitora had passed its own version of the Posse Comitatus Act, forbidding the use of Imitoran military forces on Imitoran national territory. The act had eased the fears of the population that the growing military would be encrouching on their space. However, even some of the best SWAT and special police units in the nation couldn't handle the upper echlon of terrorist activities in the nation. Imitora, a staunchly capitalistic conservative nation, had made itself the target of terrorist groups ranging from low rent Communist leaning teenagers who had access to some molotov cocktails to the high level and sophisticated religous bent groups. The target today was the later, a Muslim group, or at least so they claimed. Ryan oft wondered why they tried to use violence to achieve their goals, when their own holy book argued elsewise. At least he wouldn't have to pop some 18 year old with dady's hunting rifle, and would be taking out someone serious.

A number of police officers were keeping overwatch on the operation, in order to keep their claim that they were involved, and therefore it was a police operation. However, as Ryan holstered the Beretta, and walked out into the street towards the target house, he nodded towards three others who were in his unit. There was another driving a distraction, a pizza delivery car, and a fifth, a sniper posted across the street. The small target house would be hard to hit, a number of windows peppered the front of the one story rent, and one could never trust the sources that were pumped for info.

Ryan moved skill fully, not drawing any attention to himself as he crossed the lawn, two more comming up from the other side. The pizza boy operator was already on his way to the front door. A lady walking her dog on the other side of the street noticed the movement of the three other men, and, without saying anything, picked up the toy poodle and began to hurry away. She could tell by the movements of four men converging on a single door that something was up. By the time he was at the door, the pizza boy shooter had already rung the door bell, and Ryan had the Beretta out. So far so good.

The door opened a small crack, and then exploded with gun fire, the pizza boy shooter going down as three rounds hit his chest. "MOVE!" Ryan shouted, slamming his shoulder into the door, meeting light resistance as the man behind the door collapsed from the impact. He rotated around the edge, the Beretta aimed low, and squeezed twice, the terrorists face exploding into red and grey brain matter as two nine millimeter jacket hollow point rounds slammed into his face. He snapped it up, the two other uninjured operators in right behind him. "Dave, check Mike. Craig, take left side, I'm going right."

He moved towards a hallway on the right side of the room, the other moving towards a door on the left. The hallway was empty, but dark, with a single door open. He could hear voices, and reached into his fleece pocket, pulling out a flahsbang. He moved with the side arm up, focused forward, the grenade in his weak side left hand. He reached the door, flipped the pin, and cooked the grenade off.

1...2... he thought, tossing it on three, the flashbang going on four, entering the room on four and a half, shooting the first target on five, his head exploding from the hollow point that hit just above his nasal sinus cavity, the next target twisting away from his fallen comrade, blinded by teh grenade, and H&K G4 comming up, the Beretta up again and three rounds, two in the chest, one in the head. Clear on six. Ryan moved forward in a ready stance, kicking away the AK from the headless person, and picked up the G4 from the other. He moved closer to the door, then paused.

"Jose, Jose!" he shouted.

"Jack D!" the call came back. He exited the room, not worrying about an accident missfire. "Clear?"

"Clear!" Ryan called back. The house was searched further, but no more shooters were found. However, the evidence was clear, stacks and stacks of information on high ranking targets in Imitora, including the new First Speaker.

Five hours later, Ryan was walking down an hallway at Ft. Levinson in Southern Imitora. The home base for a number of Imitoran Spec Ops units. Ryan had been called in for meeting with his COs, something assumed to be fairly important.

"Ryan, sit down, please," a chair was offered.

"Cheif," a man sitting across from Ryan started, adressing him by his shortend rank title, "you've recently put in a request for a unit transfer, to 1st SOGD-D's Alpha team. Is their a reason you want out of the Charlie unit? You get the same, if not more action?"

Ryan recently had put in a request for unit transfer. There were three units in 1st SOGD, Alpha, Beta, and Charlie. "Well sir, I've always wanted to work intell. Alpha gets to work more with ICIA. If I get the transfer, I'll be able to get my foot in the door, so to speak."

"Understandable. However, your request has been denied. We are sending you somewhere else."

The situation was laid out for him quickly. He was being sent to another nation, to serve in their forces, for their operations. He sighed at the news, he had wanted to get the Alpha transfer. But, he was an Imitoran soldier, and the Imitoran Army wanted him to go. So go he would.

It was hours later when he left Imitora, a single duffle bag packed with the essentials. A shit kit, a few sets of clothes (both civies and fatigues), some cash, and his rifle. On his hip was his Beretta. He looked over the acceptance letter one last time before dozing off for the rest of the trip.

[[i]OOC: I'm not sure how one would enter your nation and such, so thats up to you. A flight would have to be involved, though, as Imitora is an island. Because of the notice in the letter, there is no worry about taking away cell phones or beepers or such, he wouldn't bring his.

Rae'l calmly took in a bit of slack on his Tarn's two-strap, banking smoothly to right. It was a bit chilly, high as he was, but not unusually so. The trip via punch-ship had been short and uneventful, as such things were...

Right now, there was nothing but clouds. The only way he knew he was moving in the right direction was a feeling of propriety. Call it Sentinel Instinct.

Johari clutched tightly at his waste, pressing her body against his from behind. It wasn't entirely fear at being so high up, she was just that kind of girl.

She was dressed in custom-fit riding leathers that kept her warmer than the usual dress would. You couldn't say much more for them, and seeing as the usual dress was...next to nothing...you couldn't say much about the leathers' insulative qualities, either.

Just being around his massive war tarn seemed to excite and frighten Johari to an almost...irritating...extent.

He'd only brought one girl with him, which was a bit of a concession -- for long durations, he would certainly require the services of at least one. It was not out of necessity, per-se, but simply out of force of habit.

Besides, Johari was his favorite, as far as such things went, and he'd be damned if he abandoned her. Two things, and two things only could he count upon. His sword and the girl with a death-grip around his waist.

He let his tarn's reins rest in his lap and brought his carbine out from its holster on the left side of the saddle, checking the ready clip and the making sure the scope was at least somewhat zeroed, which it was. Perfectly, actually.

As he brought the compact autorifle out, he felt Johari tense against him, necessitating that he drop one hand to cover hers in a re-assuring manner. Then, satisfied that weapon and woman were in working order, for the moment, he returned the carbine to its holster.

He let his mind drift, as was practice on long journeys a-tarnback. The acceptance letter was brought to mind, and the subject of a bit of chuckling on his part.

Patron. Right. Yes. The restrictions were also amusing -- was it not said that if one wanted to prevent men from straying, it was best to not give them reason to stray?

Yes, it was. And said by none other than Jaime Kir himself, giving it the force of Law.

His nostrils flared. There was a hint of something on the night air, something that called to a place deep inside of him, where his other self dwelled, biding its time. Something that smelled of the old times, of the bad times.

Rae'l's blue-steel eyes took upon an almost silver tint for a half-instant, then were normal, unchanged. Within, the Shadow stirred, but slept yet...

Without, Rae'l laughed, enjoying the simple sensations of flying on a magnificent night with a pretty girl at his back. There was a definite sort of smug anticipation in the night, something telling him that he would be enjoying this a bit more than the individuals responsible for the acceptance letter would probably like.

Soon, soon, he would arrive. He could feel it on the air. Then he would learn, likely more than those teaching intended him to learn, for such was one of his many talents. His had always been the subtlest of the Seven, the most cunning. The night spoke to him, as it had his ancestor.

His lips formed the words, and he spoke aloud, to no-one, certainly not to Johari, who had dropped her head onto his shoulder, for it would have just confused her.

"You meaner beauties of the night,
that poorly satisfy our eyes,
more by your number than your light,
you common people of the skies...
what are you when the moon shall rise?"

aimless poetry, taken far out of context, but beautiful nonetheless.

He was at peace.

The mansion was very large, set upon a cliff overlooking the ocean. The front steps were black marble with gargoyles to great you at either side. Pillars held the stone awning above the large double doors with a gilded knocker. It was indeed old fashioned, but there was a darkness to it that was implacable. It was like Dracula’s castle. Inside, however, it was modern for the most part, and not a spec of dust lay anywhere amongst the crimson carpets or high cathedral ceilings. It seemed as if it were a work of art as nothing stirred. There was a set of stairs after the front desk which climbed to the second level, and outlining that a case to the third. At the top of the third was a double door, closed, shut…and that was all. On the second floor was where the reception was going to be held, at least when they were going to be introduced to their instructor, and possibly their patron if they were ready for it. Applications were still coming in, but only eight would be admitted. Three had already been accepted.

A young girl waited at the reception desk for those entering to tell them where to go and what number their rooms were. Her hair was long black like silk, and her eyes a piercing hazel-green. She wore a green dress that cut off above her knee and black heels. She was beautiful, but she was still young; probably no more than nineteen. Despite the age she was a Shentavo; or at least would be when all the preparations were complete. Shentavo women were most often chosen for their beauty and intelligence; strength came later save for the original woman. Since the great wars the family had died save for their patron; who was as well the creator.

The reception room was rectangular with a mahogany wooden floor and dark lit walls. There were leather couches in the center by a table and a table with drinks on it containing a variety of beverages. There was no food, however, despite their long journeys, they would have to make due until dinner.

The flight was uneventfull, and Ryan had slept through most of it. He was awaken by the pressure forming inhis ears as the plane made its final descent, and thanks to the front row seat in the bus, as he called it, he was the first off the plane. He tucked an Mp3 player into his jacket, and made his way out to a taxi stand, hailing down a cab. The cab ride was equally uneventfull, Ryan sinking back into the back seat and taking in his suroundings.

Upon arrival at the mansion, Ryan paid and tipped the driver, grabbed his duffle, and stepped out of the cab, looking up at the large stone house. Christ, he thought to himself, sizing the place up, like them horror movies much?

He stepped up the stairs, taking in each step carefully, watching his surroudnings. All he could think of was the training he went through for the 1st, remembering that every single thing he had done was a test, and that he was being watched at all times. He assumed this would be no different, and at all times he would be watched by superiors deciding his fate. He entered into the massive main hall and reception area, taking in the size of the place. However, he would leaving admiring and searching for later, and instead approached the main desk where a rather attractive young lady sat, thinking that she would be able to provide him with some direction.

"Hi, I'm Ryan Fortier, I'm hear for some sorta training program," he said, almost more of a question than a statement.

“I see,” she said, tilting her emerald eyes up from the paper work in front of her to the man standing on the other side of the desk. She observed him for a few minutes in silence. “Things might be different for you here than with previous training you’ve had.” She paused, her emerald eyes seeming to pierce into his very soul. “This will be nothing like your former training,” she concluded, as if she knew he had had no experiences with Nikolai, but also no experiences with someone like his new patron. She picked up a key and put it on the desk for him to take. It was then visible that her nails were long, manicured, but underneath seemed as if they were glass and clear rather than a normal nail. She placed her hands upon the keyboard at the desk and an image arose as she typed in a code. It was a layout of the second floor.

“Take the stairs up to the second level. There will be a reception room straight ahead, but take the left right before it and go down the hall. You’ll find your room in the third corridor on the left,” as she described the directions, she zoomed into where he needed to go. She had a bit of an accent, though hard to place. She then leaned forward a bit. “You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into have you?” She laughed, and went back to typing upon the computer at an impressive speed especially with such long nails.

Rae'l tugged smoothly on the four-strap, bringing his tarn into a slow descent. Then, using a combination of the three and five straps, brought the bird circling down to land. Landing a tarn on normal ground was often difficult, but Greater Tarns handled the task without issue.

He removed the flying straps that secured him to his saddle and dismounted, then assisted Johari down from the great war tarn's back. Then he retrieved his gear, first, the slim rider's kitback, the Sentinel-Knight's version of what would be referred to as a 'load-bearing system.'

The rider's version was quite small and compact, because it did not provide room for field kit. Such things were not expected to be necessary for a rider, or would be kept in saddlebags.

He then removed his carbine from its holster and attached it to the mooring points on the right side of the kitback. His sword hilt protruded over the same shoulder, which would have interfered with rapid-access to the carbine, but it was not necessary to fast-draw a carbine, whereas it was often necessary to fast-draw a sword.

He then retrieved his cape, which clasped around the neck and covered the left side of the body only, concealing, among other things, the whip-knife he bore on his left hip and the five-bladed whip called the 'kurt' which hung, lashes down, from the left side of his kitback.

He felt minorly odd without the omnipresent commo-bead in his ear and mic pinned to his lapel, but he supposed he would get used to it. He also did not have his black tac-helmet, which was...odd, but the dishonor inherent in having the helmet seized from him for its integral commo would have been far worse than his having left it behind.

Before he truly began taking stock of his surroundings, other than a quick threat-survey, he ran through a blurring Vris-Ka drill, even going so far as to dropshift mildly, just to ensure that he could, in fact, touch that one constant link to his home. To an onlooker, he would appear to be many places at once for an instant, all blurred, then appear fully still in a relaxed low-ready crouch the next.

He straightened from the fighting position and stretched, smiling faintly. Then he turned to Johari.

"Stay with Swifty. If I cannot provide for you, he will."

She nodded, and knew this to be true. There were few better protectors than one of the Sentinel-Knight's Noble Tarn mounts. They were quite capable of recognizing their rider's mates, and the bond formed between mount and rider was such that the Tarn became very protective of such individuals.

Needless to say, it would take a truly foolish individual to attempt to challenge such a protector, considering that even a common tarn could have a wingspan in excess of thirty feet, and the great war tarns of the lesser castes and lines were much more than that. The mighty Greater Tarns were truly massive, capable of supporting as many as four humans on its back, even in the heavier gravity of earth.

The common tarn would likely be unable to carry a rider on Earth, but the Noble Tarns were not entirely creatures bound by sinew and muscle.

Truth, the speed and strength of a Greater Tarn would make it the supreme predator on its homeworld, if it were not that there was no knowledge of wild Greater Tarns, or of Greater Tarns existing as anything other than as mounts for the Sentinel-Knights.

The white-steel shod talons of a Noble Tarn could slice through several inches of steel armor, potentially opening up the vehicles known on Earth as 'tanks' like cans, to get at the squishy innards with its great, lethal beak.

Rae'l gave his kit a last one-over, checked to ensure that he had the proper three spare clips of ammo for his carbine, secured on the left strap of his kitback, and the two spare clips for his combat pistol, in pouches integral to the drop-down assault holster that held that weapon.

The Sentinel-Knight carbine was primarily a dismount weapon, as opposed to the long-rifle, which was used in the saddle. The carbine, lacking the accuracy, range, and heavy power of the three-line long-rifle, was not even employed in the 'close-in fighting' role on tarn-back, wherein a specialized stockless machine-pistol fitted with large capacity 100 rd dual-drum mag was employed.

No, the carbine was used on foot, where it was quite accurate at most ranges where one could expect to engage an enemy, and the automatic fire was sufficient for close-quarters battle. Rae'l's was typical of those used by his line, with the flash-hider being removable, so as to be replaced by a suppressor, which was kept in a protective sleeve in a pocket of his kitback. It also featured attachment rails on the top, bottom, and both sides of the foregrip. Rae'l's carbine had a 1-3.5x magnification 'battle scope' fitted top, and naught fitted elsewhere.

His combat pistol was also of typical design, being a four line weapon with a nine-round single column magazine in the grip and blade-sights fitted with the material referred to at home, as on earth, as 'tritium.' Thusly, the weapon was much slimmer than most contemporary earthly sidearms, resembling very closely Mr. Browning's Masterpiece, the M1911.

At this point, Rae'l would turn and remove the two items of luggage he had brought with him, both having made the trip as saddlebags.

One was a 'patrol bag,' a bit of luggage designed to fit as much as possible into a compact space. Within it, he had all the absolute necessities - two spare changes of clothing, a bar of soap, water purification kit, toothbrush, etc. He also had a surveillance/info-ops kit, a compact gunsmithing kit, whetstone and blade sharpener, blade kit, a few bags of candy and other high-calorie items, his specialist medical kit to supplement the field-kit in his kitback, three empty mags for his carbine and pistol, three hundred rounds for the carbine, in boxes, a hundred rounds for the pistol, in a box, and his two-piece demo kit, one of which contained two kilos of plastique and the necessary casements for constructing various forms of grenades, the other of which contained ten detonators, dissassembled.

The other contained his personal items: two books of poetry, a paperback version of Jaime Kir's Shockwar, annotated heavily by him, in pen, to ensure accuracy to the hard-bound first edition that was one of his most treasured possessions, a copy of the brilliant Earthly psychologist Dave Grossman's On Killing, a blank notebook, two mechanical pencils, the stuffed tarn toy that had had pride-of-place in every residence he had ever had, since birth, various other lucky charms, and a fairly heavy rock about half the size of a human head.

Bags in hand, he headed for what he identified as being the front entrance, walking a bit slower than his normal precise, military step, so as to better take in his surroundings. The building would have been imposing, probably, had he not grown into a man at the familial fortress of Shadowholme, a towering edifice of black basalt set upon a rocky island, isolated from land proper, the only way to and from the fortress being a-tarnback.

As it was, he noted the attempt for future reference: architecture could say a lot about a person. Shadowholme certainly said a lot about its founder, Kor Rys-Mak'anrae, who, in his stronghold, forced his descendants to adhere to the Sentinel-Knight concept, separate and apart from the greater populace, figures to be glimpsed in the sky on the backs of their great Tarns.

He was not prepared to draw any conclusions on this particular structure yet, though. He reached the front door, made his entry, and studied the interior before further action.

Utterly foreign - Shadowholme was a place of almost spartan majesty. The plushness of the carpet was incredible, as much for the way that it muffled his step as for its value as a sign of wealth. He could not stop himself from trying a sneak-step, and had to choke off a gleeful giggle at the ease of it. It required none of the precise placement that he was used to. Marvelous!

His action would equate a visible change, save that his step slowed for a second or so. If one was listening -very- carefully, one would note that his footsteps, already quiet, dropped to virtually silent.

That little bit of indulgement complete, he let his fascinating blued-steel eyes come to rest first on the young lady at the reception desk, then on the other male. Assumption was that this other male, by his luggage and garb, was likely also here for the same reason that he himself was...

He glanced the other over, noting the hone of his physique and the thick, curvy pistol at his hip. Something like approval was felt, the lad might have had a chance, but there was that distinctive 'earthy' set to him, lacking the liberation felt by even the common of Rae'l's own people.

It was funny that it required the institution of slavery to elicit real freedom, but such was the nature of the universe.

He let his gaze return to the girl at the front desk, noting again that same difference. There was no physical difference, per-se, and it would be impossible to describe accurately, but there was just something a bit...darker...about the denizens of Earth than those of his own world.

Then he offered a smile and spoke, his rich, versatile voice with that slight lilty accent that was very much an in-joke amongst his kin - it was purely fabricated, a means to distinguish each other and be distinguished.

"My name is Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae, Sentinel-Knight of the line of Kor Rys-Mak'anrae. My presence was requested. I would inquire as to housing for my mount, and also whether private quarters will be assigned or if I will be bunking in a shared room. If the former, I inquire as to the acceptability of my handmaid sharing those quarters. If the latter, she will share quarters with my mount."

He paused for a moment, then realized that 'mount,' coming from one identified as a Sentinel-Knight, would not immediately equate to 'Tarn' on Earth, and further, that it was unlikely that proper quarters for a Greater Tarn existed anywhere on this planet...thus, amendment was necessary.

"Ah, on second thought, a stretch of open land, somewhere out of the way would suffice. I can construct a field-shelter from my own supplies at a later time. Vielen Dank*."


(OOC)
Quick Pronunciation guide for Rae'l's name.
Rae'l is pronounced as in the name ray followed by the letter l, ray-el. Not 'rail.'

Rys is pronounced riss, like 'hiss,' but with an r. Not 'rice.'

Mak'anrae is properly pronounced Mac, as in 'Big Mac,' then 'anrae' as one word, pronounced as in a combination of the names 'anne' and 'ray.' Anne-ray.

However, Mak'anrae is commonly slurred together, and the pause shifted to be between the latter two syllables, and 'an' is changed to an 'un,' as in the prefix 'un.' MakunRay. Rae'l commonly uses this pronunciation in informal speech, though he retains the correct pronunciation in formal speech. As of this post, the only time he would be using informal speech would be addressing Johari.

* - thank you very much.

“Correction, my dear, you have requested her presence. I suppose Nikolai’s as well.” the receptionist said with a keen tone, still typing. Her eyes shifted back to their normal azure blue from the emerald they had been with no apparent cause. She looked up to him her alert blue eyes shifting once again to green to show him the digital map as she had to the other, and explained his room was next door to Ryan’s. “As for your servant and your mount, if they be two different things, let me inquire, though I probably already know the answer.” She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and typing on the computer at the same time for several seconds before reading the message on the screen. “Your mount is unneeded, send it back. As for the girl, Johari your patron believes she is called, is not welcome. You had specific instructions, and there is a reason only one person is allowed from each nation. If need be we can set her up in one of our hotels, but your training is only for you, and no information should be shared. Even if you promised to tell her nothing, there is no way to be certain. Failure to accept this will result in the termination of both of you, as my mistress has already marked what you have brought with you, girl and all. There is nothing that slips her eye at her mansion Rae’l.”

She paused for a moment from her typing, looking directly into his eyes as she had the other man. After a moment or two, she spoke again, berry stained lips seemingly taunting him as if what she said was common knowledge. Amongst a vast majority of nations, it was. “Have you ever heard of a Shentavo, Rae’l? Have you heard of any member?” She shook her head. “You are blessed to be able to study under her supervision, the creator of them all. With that name follows great intellect, and great strength. Do not take the opportunity lightly, while she has patience, she can only be pressed so far.” She paused once more. With that, Nikolai Mikaelovna walked through the door with a large gash across his face that was healing very, very quickly. On his arm, he held Johari, quite bewildered, and not quite sure what to do. When he noticed the look exchanged between the two, his emerald eyes flashed.

Nikolai was blond haired, green eyed, and 6’3” He had a good deal of muscles, all of which were partially concealed by a button down black shirt. He was tan with a large scar running over his cheek. He wore black pants and boots with a silver belt. It was quite the uniform outfit to say the least, and his blonde hair seemed out of place. He carried an authority about him that was implacable. He did not harm the girl, but was merely escorting her. He dropped her arm. “I specifically said no women. I have two too many enough to deal with. She must leave, say your goodbyes and a transport has already been arranged for her departure or a hotel, but either way you will have no contact for quite sometime.” His voice was deep. He looked at Navi, who continued to type as he spoke. She looked up to Nikolai.

“Is the empress and I far too much for a seasoned fighter like you Nikolai?” she said with a brilliant impish smile, and suppressed a laugh while keeping upon her work. He looked at Navi, as surprised as if she could even ask that question.

“That woman is…that woman is the devil incarnate,” he said shaking his head.

“Oh be nice, you are just upset she gave you that scar,” he touched his cheek and ran his fingertips over it. She noted his expression, and got back to typing. “You know you love her,” she said again. Nikolai dismissed it as if it were nothing. How could you not love that woman? he thought silently. He turned back toward Rae’l and the girl. “Everything you need will be provided for, but sexual distractions will not get in the way of your training. If you have distractions, you will fail, and with this, failure means death. I will not be there to save you as we all have parts to play, you save yourself, and nothing clouds your mind. The girl leaves in ten minutes.” He said, walking up the stairs towards the reception room. Navi looked at Rae’l and paused in typing. She knew that he had a sense of pride about him, about where he came from, about what he has accomplished. She knew that he was going to have to swallow his pride at least partially, or he may have some serious wounds. This was the rebuilding of the Elite. It was not child’s play, and considering it was for the safety of the nation, and taking into account the opponent, indeed no distractions.

You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into have you?

Ryan shook his head at the question, taking the key from the desk. He kept a smirk that was signature to his family line, those who knew his father would recognize it instantly. Those who didn't would soon get to know it. He pocketed the key, picking up his duffle, and taking a quick glance at the directions to his room. He gave the clerk a good once over, memorizing her face, and nodded as he stepped back, turning to walk towards the room.

"Have a good 'un," he said, holding the smirk, and followed the directions to his door. His hope was to find something resembling a bed, a shower, and a dresser to stick his clothes in. He had seen many different styles of living quarters throughout his carreer, from the ultimately sparse to some of the finest arangments. He had lived in the shit, sleeping on a tree branch in the jungle in a sitting position to be ready to move, and had been put up in some of the finer hotels across the room. At this point, he didn't really expect much, but was ready for most anything.

The rooms were quite large for each initiate similar to a master bedroom. There was a marble bathroom and a shower in the room. There was a king sized bed against a wall, and a fireplace where a fire was already lit. Since it was approaching winter, outside had grown slightly chilled. There was an elaborate desk in the corner with an Hp Pavillion zd8000 but there was no phone or phone line. There was art upon the walls that was very dramatic, some more gothic than modern, and others simply portraits. Overall the rooms were of exceptional quality and were more like a suite than provided housing. The windows were tinted strangely so that direct sunlight didn’t quite make it in. Since it was approaching two o’clock, it was not yet dark. The room was bright enough to see but still dim and would convey an intimate setting rather than training residencies. With what they were going to go through, a nice warm bed and private room might be their savior.

Be at the reception by five a voice said seemingly coming from somewhere in the room while no one was there. One could imagine wake up calls in the morning. It was a man’s voice, Nikolai’s most likely. No, they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.

Damn, Ryan thought, entering the room, and taking it all in. He dropped his bag by the bed, looking around the room. He closed the door beyond him, and noted the time after hearing the call to meet at five. He nodded as if someone were watching him and had delivered the order directly. Always good to acknowledge the order.

However, first thing was first. He checked to make sure the door was locked, but he knew if someone wanted to come in, the mansion and his patron, would be able to accomodate that. However, right now, the shower was calling his name, and he stripped from his clothes, pulling the shit kit out of his bag and taking a bar of soap and shampoo out. A towell was next, and he moved into the shower, cranking the water up to its hot point, and slipping in.

He let the water cascade over him, relaxing in his first real shower in a few weeks. Durring his past operations, he had spent his shower time shaking a bottle of water over his head to wash any grime away, if he had time. He spent a good amount of time just relaxing under the hot water, hanging his head from his shoulders to pull tension out of his shoulders. When he was satisfied, he exited, dried, and dressed. He then collapsed to the bed, and watched the clock as it slowly counted to five.

Rae'l's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind working feverishly over one thing: should he step back. The decision, for the moment, was yes.

"Transport will not be necessary. In fact, it would have sufficed to simply inform me that her presence was unwanted."

His voice had a sort of icy-calm to it as he spoke four words in the dialect of the Rys-Mak'anrae battle language that he had taught Johari so many years ago. The translation would equate to: 'Return to my tarn, he will take you home.' Nobody ever accused any of the Sentinel-Knight battle languages of being verbose. As he spoke, he moved to stand before Johari, placing the first two fingers of his right hand on the locking-collar she wore about her neck, the scrit so intricately worked into that collar forever proclaiming that she was the property of Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae. Then his hand dropped to his side, and he turned his back to her.

Johari ran out of the mansion, returning to where a much-bewildered Swiftly-Striking-Death stood, rather irritated at the whole thing. The great bird was soothed minorly when Johari leapt up onto the mountain-ladder and climbed into the saddle, securing herself and whispering 'Home.'

At this point, the great Tarn would launch himself into the air, vanishing quickly into the clouds. Rae'l felt the bird's departure like a physical blow, as if a part of himself was being dragged further and further away...until he could not feel it anymore. The loss was less horrible for him than for his kin, true, for he had experienced extended periods away from his mount before. This did not make it -enjoyable.-

The fingers of his right hand danced at his side, restless.

"As for your vaunted name...it holds no place in the Histories, as yet. More I cannot say, for I do not know. This mysterious patron who, you say, claims me, would do well to heed the words of Jaime Kir, when he said 'Ensure that ye know that which ye call, lest that which ye seek to control come instead to control ye.' The plea was made, the plea was answered. Further argument is pointless."

He did not stay to allow a reply, instead taking the key, hefting his bags, and heading up the stairs to his room. At the door, he held the key in his left hand and examined the lock, pondering if he should bother trying to pick it, just for fun. Deciding not to, he instead opened the door with the key and headed inside, closing the door with his foot and pocketing the key. He headed into the middle of the room and set his bags down, then sat down in-between them, crossing his legs and breathing slowly. Thinking.

Marked what he had brought with him in-deed. The shadow stirred, sending bristles and pin-pricks through Rae'l's body, as if his entire body had fallen asleep and the nerves were screaming their irritation, all at once. But the shadow did not wake. Rae'l exhaled. Externally, no indication of this occured, save for a metallic glint to his blue-gray eyes for an instant. But Rae'l knew. Knew all too well. Something about this place was affecting the shadow, perhaps it would wake fully. Something to deal with as it came.

He banished the edginess that tainted his current state of mind, no wonder at its existence, he had just sustained an insult that would have seen blades out and blood drawn were it to have been given him back home. But this was not his home. He had known that, peripherally. This merely reinforced it.

He uncrossed his legs and rose, lifting the bags and moving them off to one side. Then he unclasped his cape and let it fall on-top of the bags, followed by the kitback. He unbuckled his weapons belt, and the strap that held his assault holster to his thigh, and set that ontop of the kitback. This left him with his sword.

He stepped into the middle of the room, still not bothering to actually look around the daft thing, save for the preliminary threat assessment upon entry. His sword whistled free of its scabbard and he was suddenly in blurring motion, a rapid series of cuts performed with incredible speed, the blazing white steel blade slicing through the air as easily as it sliced through bone. Or carbon tool steel, for that matter.

Over a span of roughly two minutes, he executed six complete drills. At this point, he decided on one last exercise, to fully calm himself.

He dropshifted, the most basic skill of Jaime Kir's Art. Time stood still about him as he executed the first few strikes. This exercise was extremely flashy, but relatively basic -- it involved rapid stacatto dropshifts, so as to strike at an imaginary enemy from multiple directions at once. Utterly useless in combat, seldom was it necessary to so overwhelm an enemy, but it was very good practice. As the last slice was executed flawlessly, Rae'l straightened, returning his sword to its sheath. He felt better. Much better.

Then and only then did he allow himself to look about the room in detail. The computer made him snort in mild disgust - such things were poor match for the eidetic memory and highly trained mind of a Sentinel-Knight. Oh, yes, there were...some...genetic modifications involved. But only a few.

He then began to unpack fully, in that carefully organized manner of his. His kitback was set in a handy chair, and his spare set of clothes folded and put away. He set out the other on the bed and stripped from his riding leathers and the blacks he wore under them, leaving only the black shorts he wore as an undergarment in place.

His body, revealed fully, was quite muscular, but it was a working man's body, not the hideously muscular body of a bodybuilder. It was also a body built for speed rather than brute strength - even the Line of Shen Karimaru, the Rockbreaker, which valued strength above all, ensured that they balanced that trait with agility. If one was not fast, one was dead. This is a law of the warrior. It was also covered in scars, bespeaking a history of conflict likely even greater than the hinted at in the scribe's report on him. Of note was that none of the scars were cosmetic - these were deep scars from significant wounds.

He stepped into the bathroom and removed his shorts and warbands, sliding into the shower. Roughly ninety seconds later, he was drying himself off. The shorts were put back on -- they were constructed of an advanced textile that was effectively self-cleaning, as was most of his clothing, save for the riding leathers. The warbands went back on as well.

He dressed in the laid-out blacks, simple cut, comfortable. Socks went on, then boots. Skeleton-grip throwing knives checked and confirmed to be secure in the sheathes built into the boots. The shirt he wore was tight over his chest, crew-necked. This particular one was short-sleeved, showing part of the sole tattoo he bore, on his left upper arm. An affectation from a prior earth-bound op a few years ago, it was unlikely that many would understand the reference made by the words beneath the grinning skull. The words "Forever Obedient" didn't make much sense in reference to who had the tattoo, but were of great significance, indeed.

He slung his sword over his shoulder and situated it properly, then buckled on his weapons belt, snapping the drop-down holster's strap around his thigh. He unsnapped his Rider's baton, though, dropping it into one of his bags. It would not be needed, and its presence would only serve to continually make him aware of that fact. He left the kitback and cape where they lay - though he was technically out of uniform without them, he still had quite some time before he had to leave for the reception.

He retrieved his info-war kit and moved to the computer, opening the kit and producing a small black box, which he jacked into one of the oversized laptop's usb ports. The screen flickered to life, seemingly of its own accord, then the SenOS screen flicked up. The little box didn't do much, really, other than take control of a given computer system. A few diagnostics and a scan of the contents revealed some things to be pondered later, but nothing of immediate concern.

He supposed that the idea was to allow an individual to play solitaire, or somesuch. Carrying such a monster in the field would have been insane. Truth, he had no intention of using the daft thing except through the SenOS shell provided by his handy little black box. All in all, if the idea was to eliminate distractions, these people had a strange way of doing it. He unplugged the black box and returned it to it's place in the kit, which then was returned to rest by his other kits.

At this point, Rae'l moved to where he had set the large rock. Its surface was perfectly smooth to the touch, and he set it in the middle of the room. Nothing more was needed.

He sat cross-legged on the bed and thought. He thought for a long while about how the First Sentinel-Knight, currently Tanin Voth of the line of Jon Voth, the Bloodsage, had personally requested him to accept this task. Had it come from anyone else, he would have refused, but Tanin Voth was probably, no, almost certainly one of the wisest men on his world, and he never did anything lightly.

Why him? Why not somebody more suitable, say, one of the younger warriors of the Karimaru line. That line valued strength, yes, but their unifying trait was really a simple-minded determination to carry out their duty. Strength of purpose was the greatest of strengths, they taught, and it was true. But Tanin had chosen one of the line of Rys-Mak'anrae, who valued cunning and adaptability above all. Of the Seven, his line was the only one that walked the shadows and listened to the night. They were not the strongest, nor the faster. Merely the most quick-witted.

Beyond that, Tanin had chosen him. In truth, he was considerably more...infamous...amongst his kin than the First Sentinel-Knight's scribe had conveyed in his report.

He was the foremost warrior of Rys-Mak'anrae, Armsmaster of Shadowholme. Or had been, anyways. Further, he was considered to be one of the few living masters of the Art, one of eight, at present. When Rys-Mak'anrae's honor was slighted, it had been his blade that would answer. That was his duty. It was simple unfortune that the First Rider of one of the New Lines had been foolish enough to slur Rae'l's line's name.

Rae'l had not killed him, instead chosing to humiliate and maim the man. He had willingly suffered the demotion and disgrace that his actions brought - swift death should have been his actions, instead he had toyed with the fool, made an example of him. That it was generally agreed that he had done the right thing did not change the fact that he had broken the law. No matter.

His fall was half a joke, it had been expected that he would regain his position within a year. But he owed Tanin, and trusted the First Sentinel-Knight's wisdom. So, he was here.What that meant, exactly, was not yet entirely clear to him. This was minorly annoying to the former XO of a full seventh of the Sentinel-Knights. It was more than just minorly annoying to the man who had led Rys-Mak'anrae's third tactical team for nigh-on two decades.

The tactician in him hated the vague references to an eventual task. He was a leader at heart, and as Armsmaster had been responsible for keeping his Line's fighting men in absolute form. Perhaps disclosure would begin after the rest of the unit was assembled, it was, truth, the first day, not even formally greeted yet, and op-sec was hardly foreign.

Perhaps not so strange, when he thought of it in that light. Yet even then, he could not help some nagging irritation. The question became 'what was in this for him.' The five hundred grand pay was as nothing to one who placed no value on money.

This worried him. He had always had a reason to fight, never been bothered by such thoughts. But, then, the calming effect of the omni-present slavegirls could not be discounted. With that factor removed, he was restless. It bothered him, professionally, as he was unsure of the effect on his performance. The sword drills earlier had been a quick test to see if he was still even capable of fighting, which he was. A little slower than he'd been before he'd left, but he was stiff from the long flight. Not tired, he didn't really -get- tired, just...sore.

Enough thoughts. His hand reached for Jaime Kir's Shockwar, and lay back, noting the time. Soon, the wisdom of the Lord Protector soothed him, as it always did. When it was time to leave for the reception, he would leave. An uncannily accurate sense of time was yet another one of those useful traits of a Sentinel-Knight.

'The Sentinel-Knights have many purposes, but their ultimate mission is the protection of this planet and its people and the persecution of those who threaten it until they threaten it no more. That they are also charged with the enforcement of my Codes is insignificant in comparison to this fact.' - From Jaime Kir's Shockwar

She gripped onto the bar tightly, not breathing at all. She pulled herself up and extended her arms to be completely perpendicular to the bar. Her hair cascaded downward in a mass of auburn and chocolate waves that mixed together like a glossy waterfall. She stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, simply enjoying herself in the perfect balance. Her skin was white; a perfect alabaster with only the slightest rose hue in her cheeks. She wore only a halter to constrict her breasts from getting into the way and a slender sliver of her well toned abdomen was exposed all the way to an inch below where her navel should have been. Instead there were just the sleek toned muscles contacting underneath the pale blanket of flesh. She wore no shoes, only black shorts, which was rather strange for her, for her most often worn item was a dress when guests were over. She opened her eyes; and they were crimson. They were deep wells of blood wedged between the black pupil and white sea surrounding it. Her muscles relaxed as she let herself fall, flipping up to the next bar effortlessly.

The room was the former acrobatics room which she now used for personal use. There were bars, mats, wires, beams, and bars extending up into the rafters of the ceiling. The space in the room was quite optimal, as one who could defy gravity needed the extra room, and needed the extra practice. Nikolai had taken seat toward the door, watching her move through the routine; watching the muscles contract in her abdomen, all the while knowing that it was not difficult. She had not gotten to difficulty yet because she hadn’t exposed her true self yet. He knew what she was capable of. He also knew that she realized he was there. Her movements became haughtier, almost taunting. She had reached the top most bar ranging more than forty feet in the air. She brought herself up and flipped to stand on top of the bar regaining balance immediately. She brought her hands up, then followed through with her body, flipping to the next bar and landing on it with her feet on the thin metal rod. Intensifying her movements, she went faster.

She looked weightless in the air. With her long hair following swiftly after her, her slender legs and lean muscles contracting and lengthening with every move. He could catch her eyes looking at him in between every flip. She was ethereal as the light sifted in from the edges of the drawn curtains producing an eerie effect. Her scarlet eyes reflected the light, if only subtly. Nikolai sighed, and took two pistols out of his pocket. She heard the clicking, and twisted mid air. He was across the entire width of the room, guns pointed at her with a smirk on his face. She tilted her head and smirked. “Honestly, Nikolai…do you want to get into this right now?” She asked, her voice rolling over his body like thick sweet honey. He didn’t answer, he began to shoot. She shot forward like a mist, flipping in the air and avoiding several of the bullets. There were a few close calls, and when she counted to twenty two, he had run out, and had to reload.

It was then that her eyes glowed, and a phantom of wings shown upon her back like she were the ghost of angel. She sped forward, a bullet grazing her forward. Upon reaching him she dug her nails into his shoulder, and let him fire off the five bullets he had left to the wind as one leg pinned his left arm to the wall and her nails dug into his shoulder and the other hand held his wrist. She looked down at the blood seeping up through her sharp nails and the strain she was putting on his ligaments. Slowly, she released him, and proceeded to lick the blood off of her nails.

“You are satan,” he commented with a laugh, and she did not reply, but became diligently dedicated to getting the blood off her nails. He then noticed her expression and favored his left shoulder. “Why are you so testy today…” he asked her, her crimson eyes not even bothering to meet his. He knew that expression. “It’s the anniversary of his death, isn’t it?” He questioned, and she punched him in the face, sending him back into the wall. He had his answer. Of course, Vaughn had been dead a long time. She had taken up interest in an old friend of Haraki; Corothisia. It had been a while since she had seen him as well, and wondered when he would stop by. She still wanted to spar someone worth going against, and so far Coro was the only one who could teach her; this angel who was over a millennia did not look over twenty three, but she had the wisdom of ages.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” she responded, her voice painfully euphonic. She looked at him on the ground, and gave him a hand up. “I will change for the reception, it’s four thirty now. I suggest you take a quick shower as I’ve gotten blood all over you.” She ripped off the edge of his shirt and looked at the wound that was already healing. He smiled, and she smiled back, exposing her sharp canines. “You are also lucky I’m not hungry,” she closed with the most innocent expression. She then departed, leaving Nikolai alone, with his eyes closed. That woman got to him in every way.

Some kind of a crude transmission was sent to the Three United Empires by da Orky boyz, relating to their "e-light" boyz.

"We'z da Orkz and we'z sendin' ta ya da biggest an' strongest Orky Kommando Boss eva. 'ez Growthrog Elfsmasha, an' 'e'z big an' mean an' relly strong! An' sneeky, too! Da Kommando iz real sneeky an' diz one's more cunnin' dan a grot. Dat's relly cunnin'. 'e likezta smash da 'umies an' oder gitz wit da powa claw while sneekin' about. An' shooty 'em too. Dakka dakka! Iz fun!

An' wez know ya 'umies needzta Orkz for diz 'ere fight!! Dats why we'z sendin' diz nob to ya! Watz diz, ya want a fyssical deskripshun? Wuzzat, ya grot? O, dat! I 'new dat! Sod off or Iz clobber ya good! Anwayz, da Kommando Nob iz relly big an' green an' strong an' mean an' datz aboot it."

We regret to inform you Orky Boyz,

That your lack of aptness for the English language, horrible spelling, lack of application and crude transmission has caused the program to reject you from joining. If any member of your nation steps onto the Three United Empire's Land at any point in time, they will be shot on sight. As far as Miss Ravelyn is concerned you can sod off, and if you have a reproach, she has no problem coming to your nation and taking out your English-illiterate pathetic orc commander, and invade your nation to raise the collective intelligence of society just a little bit by making you disappear. Thank you for the application.

Nikolai

Ravelyn Shentavo
Empress of the Three United Empires

ooc: Orc-Boys, Do not post on this thread again please.
Note: the above letter is in character. If I wanted to comment on your post from a personal view, I would have written in out of character. But hence, since it is in character, its nothing personal. It's how those two specific people would respond to such a 'crude message'.

Navi finished typing and sent out a message to both of the rooms to head to the reception room on the second floor, which was on the same level that they were on right now. She sent a message to Nikolai, whom she observed in the acrobatics room. She smirked. He was a brilliant fighter, the best, but Ravelyn had her own tricks, and if the two went against each other, she would know who would win. In all truth, Ravelyn could defeat her by herself, but it was painful, and there might not be a chance for an escape. Herein lies the mission, yet to be revealed. She stood up and flicked her long black hair over her shoulder and pushed her chair in and starting heading toward the reception room. She wore a simple dress with an azure sash and matching shoes. She was a slender girl, and rather striking, as many Shentavos were. They were a renound family of beauty. Even Quissera had some charm about him, but he was rather the black sheep of the family; Rave’s son. Ravelyn’s daughter had died in the great wars; her daughter with Vaughn. He was dead as well, his nation destroyed. It was because of this that resurrecting the Elite was even necessary, and now it would only be made up of representatives from other nations and one Shentavo; Jin.

She walked into the room and sat down on one of the couches, sitting very properly while toying with an electronic in her hands.

Ryan was half asleep, half awake when the call came to meet in the reception room. He pushed himself up from his reclined position, and swung himself over the edge, standing. His dress was quasi military, quasi casual, standard fatigue pants but a loose fitting polo instead of any sort of combat top. He slipped on a pair of flip flops, and tucked the Beretta into his waist band, not bothering with the holster. He brushed his hair back, and made his way out of the room and into the reception area. He found and empty couch, and collapsed down, reclining back into a comfortable position.

Rae'l's quietly closed his book and slid off the bed and to his feet. He straightened his clothing and moved to the small pile of kit that remained on the floor, picking up his kitback and sliding into place, then clasping the cape about his neck and adjusting it so it draped over the left shoulder, but left the right clear - it would not do for one's two primary weapons to be not immediately accessible.

It was not full formal dress, but he had not expected to need his formals, and thus had not packed any. Foolish mistake, and one he would not make again. After the presumably poor first impression he had made, it would have likely been in his advantage to appear in full-dress blacks, with the gold-wire braid and the cloth-of-gold piping. But...

Such was life.

He hand-combed his hair and tied it back with a length of black ribbon, then fetched out the camo compact from his kitback and checked his appearance in the small, barely reflective mirror. Sufficient. Compact was replaced and, checking to make sure that his key was in his pocket, which it was, he left his room and began walking towards the reception area.

His left hand, concealed by the cape, rested lightly on the grip of his coiled whip-knife, the twelve foot bullwhip had, in its last eighteen inches, a total of twenty, thin, narrow blades set in groups of four, then at the tip was a double-edged daggerblade of seven inches in length.

It was a difficult weapon to use, but when mastered, was one of the most deadly weapons in his arsenal. Because the tip of the whip could, when used properly, exceed the speed of sound, the whip-knife in effect became a sort of re-usable, very large caliber bullet. But to perform such an act required great accuracy and precision - it was difficult to crack a whip-knife.

Rae'l could do it, though. Had used the weapon in battle before, though not often. It was not, exactly, a good weapon for close-in fighting, but it was very dramatic and an excellent weapon for public duelling. He had killed a good number of men in the ring with it, during his time as Armsmaster.

And before, a small voice whispered, inside of him. a sudden flash of memories came to mind, fighting in an arena, armored piecemail with bits of crude iron, no weapon but a whip-knife. Cracking the whip and sending the blade forward at super-sonic velocities, straight through his opponent's neck. The crowd cheering a name...a name.

Shadowwrath! Shadowwrath.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts. Dreams, or something, coming back. He had been called, for a time, 'Shadowdeath,' but never 'shadowwrath.' He had also never been a gladiator, certainly not a pit-slave. Such things were...considerably beneath him.

Besides, there had only ever been one 'Shadowwrath,' to his knowledge. His name had been Kor Rys-Mak'anrae, Rae'l's ancestor and one of the Seven, sword-brothers of Jaime Kir. But there was one image that he could not shake from his mind -- the reflection upon his opponent's armor of a face, so familiar, with silver eyes. Not gray, like his own eyes, which were gray with a slight blue tinge, but metallic silver.

No matter. Something for contemplation at a later time. He arrived at the reception room and enterred, his blued-steel eyes making the usual threat assessment before continuing. If one studied him closely upon his entry to the room, or any room, one would note the way he slouched slightly and his right hand dropped to hover next to the assault-holster on his right thigh.

It was habit, yes, but it had the potential to save his life. His draw time from a dead stand-still, flat-footed as it were, was lightning quick. He could have his gun out and bullets on the way, accurately, when taken by surprise, and with his holster safety-strapped, in something like two or three seconds.

When enterring a room the way he did, with his thumb prepared to push aside the safety strap and draw his pistol, his in-action time was less than a second. Suffice to say that he'd never, ever lost a quickdraw competition before. This was without dropshifting, mind, which, were his life threatened, he would do without hesitation. In which case he would literally be able to walk up to the threat, disarm it, walk back to where he had been prior, then slip dropshift and shoot the threat with its own firearm. Provided the threat had a firearm.

His mastery of the Art was best seen in his dropshifting, as that was far and away his strongest area. Most Sentinel-Knights merely 'slowed down time,' though this was not even vaguely accurate as to what occured. Rae'l could actually more-or-less stop it, and he could hold dropshift for nearly a minute...

Of course it wasn't something he did full-bore very often. It was taxing on both mind and body, but worst of all, there was the horrible ecstasy that had taken more than a few of his brethren within its grasp. They had to be hunted down and executed, for they became ravening monsters...

The Art had its dangers, but when used properly, was an incredible weapon...

Rae'l looked about the reception room, his face without expression for a moment, then moved off to a side to wait quietly. He had never been much for social gatherings, though he was an apt speaker and lecturer, one had to be such as Armsmaster, for the primary duty of the Armsmaster, other than defense of the Line's honor, was the training of the youngest Sentinel-Knights and also to insure that every Sentinel-Knight of the Line was in perfect fighting form.

It was an incredibly difficult job, and he had been very good at it. Perhaps when this ended, he would return to it. Perhaps not. The only person who could have replaced him had been Armsmaster when he was a boy, and he had replaced old Jeric only because he had been a better fighter, in the end. Jeric was still an amazing fighter, probably the best that Rae'l had ever seen. It had been his own personal belief that he had won the duel that Jeric had requested to determine whether he should step down as Armsmaster in Rae'l's favor, only because he had gotten lucky. That others, not least of all being Jeric himself, did not see it that was of no concern to him.

He let his mind drift, then. Not thinking, just...drift. Perhaps one would notice the way his muscles tensed just a little bit, but only slightly. He resembled nothing so much as some sort of great cat at rest, yet ready to instantly spring into lethal action. This was the way of the Sentinel-Knight. One had to be constantly on guard, for such was their duty.

No man of Rys-Mak'anrae had been allowed to fail in that duty while Rae'l had been Armsmaster. In his roughly two centuries of life, that he could clearly recall, at any rate, he had never, ever failed in that duty, either. The day he did would be the day he died. Such was the oath he had sworn...and men of Counter-Earth took oaths very seriously.

After the three had gathered in the room; Navi had taken her seat and was still concentrating on electronic object in her hands that made a very low pitched beeping noise, another individual enter. The individual was garbed in black pants with a black shirt with a black vest with the nation’s symbol on the back embroidered with gold. He wore a black mask, giving no indication to hair color or any other facial features save for a pair of chilling amber eyes. Navi looked up and smiled. “Hey Jin,” she said. The figured nodded, apparently mute and not having any emotional indications towards the girl. He sat down next to her, and turned his head to look at the other two, then looked straight ahead. Nikolai was the next to enter. He wore the same garb as before except his shirt was grey and his blonde hair seemed more like white in this dim candle-like light. He had a good set of muscles on him, but also possessed a keen eye. He was not the stupid muscle man who did the dirty work. Ah, no, he was the instructor. All the blood from his shoulder had been wiped away, and after the encounter with Ravelyn, his face had hardened even more to show no signs of emotion.

“Your patron will be coming shortly, for there were other things to attend to,” he said, standing about five feet away from them addressing them all. “We will be having some late arrivals as the year progresses, but for what they miss they will loose a good deal of knowledge. As you have probably figured out, coming here means you do not leave here until the mission is completed. The mission you are training for is something that your former training could never have prepared you for, as our opponent does not function like we do, save for you Navi,” he looked at the girl and her blue eyes flashed. She nodded in understanding but was far more concerned with the trinket in her hands. Ugh, Shentavo women… he thought silently, and shook his head at her. “As I have requested, I will only train males. Navi will be your guide as she has mapped out the area and is a genius with electronics, among other things…” There was no objection to that.

“Let me fill you in on the history, listen as it will tie into what you are here for. Two hundred years ago, this nation was one of the most powerful in the world. It had connections spanning through realms that were beyond reach of the physical,” as he spoke you could see the silver capped canines which elongated them quite so to look like a pair of fangs. They were not, however, and his tan skin clearly proved it. Nikolai was as mortal as the next. “It was ruled over by Ravelyn Shentavo, the first and original Shentavo member. She had a vast family and different members took care of different sectors. She was a very fair and wise ruler. The land was growing, prospering, and changing.”

“When she received a call from one of her ally nations, Underaloz, she answered his call, as the ruler, Michael Vaughn, and she were engaged to be married. The marriage, however, never happened. The war fought upon their soul spread to ours. She was…not of this world when the war came, and had no way of knowing it was going on. The lands were destroyed, and wracked by a hell that you could not imagine. She returned as the sickness had started spreading, and took the souls of those into herself, but she could not take all of them.” He noticed their expressions, and Navi still playing with the piece of electronic equipment. He would explain later how she could actually do that, but for now he continued the story. “The ones who were left were exposed to the fires of an apocalyptic hell, and it altered their genetic makeup as well as nature. They are faster, stronger, and possess the intelligence of a human without the reasoning of a human.”

Navi stood up and pressed a button on the gadget, and a map sprung up in three dimensional forms made of light. Her blue eyes turned green in conjunction with the image. “They live the far east. The weather is cold and rigid, but they live underneath the surface, and it is much warmer there. Your bodies will not be able to handle the cold, and right now I am working on an injection to raise your tolerance. I will not be able to stand the cold temperatures no matter what I do, and neither will your patron, which is why we cannot go ourselves. The cold is detrimental to our health. Albeit we can survive very warm temperatures.”

“It would be easy to do if one of the members that were turned had not been of Ravelyn’s family. Her name was Genesis Versai Shentavo,” he said, and her picture popped up on Navi’s digital platform. She was pretty; like Navi in a few ways but older. She had long platinum blond hair and golden eyes with pale skin. “She was second in command of the nation; Ravelyn’s personal protégé. She is a strong fighter, a psion, and a telepath among other things. This change has brought her to be able to stand the cold, and has altered her blood. She is capable of some thought, some reasoning, and she has become a leader. Those who were changed we call Loki, and they are rather disorganized in nature, but they have a leader. This is a very difficult operation because first of all we are going into their territory, and secondly, they have one of our kind that we need to get back. We also must eradicate the lot of them, but because the person inside is so valuable, and due to the fact they hide underground, there isn’t much we can do.”

“They are progressing,” Navi continued. “Through tunnels toward main land where our population is increasing rapidly due to the fact that Ravelyn has released the souls. A bite from one of the Loki will not cause you to turn, but a bite from Genesis…she has become the carrier and she can change others as she pleases. This posses a threat as ultimately they could engulf our entire population.” She sat down, and closed the screen and continued playing with the optical device as her eyes sifted to an unnatural blue. Nikolai nodded to her. “You will be under my training. It will be rigorous, I will not lie. Because you will be exposed to conditions that are harshly extreme, you will need time to get used to them. The cold for one, Navi is still working on a serum but it is near its final stages of completion. Still, it will be double what your body can normally accommodate, and you must travel light. We will go into further detail with each day, but considering there was nothing said in the letter sent out, I think its best you know now…” his attention turned toward the doorway to the left from a separate room no one had been in. He did not continue speaking, but made an attempt to not show any emotion in his eyes.

The woman that entered possessed an undeniable ethereal beauty. Her dress was knee length but was of the softest silks; it was a deep blood red color and hugged her curvaceous figure. Even with the dress it was easy to tell that her abdomen was toned to perfection. Red heals matched the richness of the silk. A simple diamond pendant necklace was set just above the low neckline of the dress. Her hair was long and curled in soft waves at the very end. It cascaded down her back like a chocolate-colored waterfall laying in deep contrast to her fair skin. She had full lips stained red as well, but it was her eyes that captivated one the most with an unmistakable sanguine color and long lashes. She was the vision of an angel, not past twenty five at the most, but wisdom lay behind those eyes of the ages. There was a presence about her like a prickling heat that danced along your skin and whispered in the deepest crevices of your mind to listen closer. She looked good quite good for being over two hundred years old; like she never changed.

Navi, for the first time, stopped playing with her gadget and looked toward the woman. Jin as well turned his head to watch her. Nikolai regained his speech. “They have been informed of the basic knowledge of their mission,” he said to her.

“Good,” she said in a voice that was euphoric in sound as honey was in taste. She then eyed them. “Thank you for coming,” she said, observing them, as if she were reading their minds.

Applicant information:

Name: Joseph Ferriola
Age: 26
Height: 5'10
Weight: 180Lbs
Eyes: Bluish green
Hair: Black

Identifying Marks:

* Tattoo's: The Grim Reaper holding a 12G shotgun on his left arm.
The number 1 then the word Love over his heart.
A black panther clawing through the skin on his back.
On time, on target on his right peck(Old english).

* Scars: 1 bullet scar located in the middle of his left shoulder(front)
1 large knife scar on his right forearm.
1 bullet scar through his right hand.

Education: Highest official level achieved high school graduate, Imperial Military collage graduate.

Military Career: Graduated from the Osteian Imperial military collage(Officer training coruse), received the rank of Lt., served with the 26th motorized infantry division during the rebellion, after the rebellion he was transfered to combat rebel militant groups resisting the empire as a paratrooper, due to outstanding service he was promoted to Captian. Ferriola has also been involved in missions that are kept, off the record...

Military Education:
Basics:

*Basic military qualification course
*Advanced infantry battle school
*Chemical warfare survival training
*Basic demolition training
*Jump school
*Night ops
*Basic medical knowlage

Specialized Training:

*Qualifyed HALO jumper/Paratrooper
*Covert ops
*Infantry field officer-Veteran
*Vehicle repair/driver qualifyed
*Qualifyed communications tech
*Qualifyed marksman
*Able to use multiple weapons

Awards/Honors: Jump wings, marksman's badge, infantry assualt medal(Silver), JTAT membership patch, Silver star, five completed jumps medal(Gold)

Personality:

Joseph Ferriola is a confident, brave soldier who will stop at nothing to complete his objective. He has a calm cool additude and is an over all easy going guy, he is very dedicated to everything that he does. Joe was brought up around the military his whole life, his father being a 1 star general in the Osteian Imperial Armed forces. Ferriola is a very well educated man, in his spare time he enjoys reading philosophy and history of the world. He enjoys music from the 30's-40's, frank Sinatra is his favorite artist, it helps him to relax. Joseph is not afraid of danger and will face anything that comes at him with the outmost courage, he also always maintains a good morale and trys to over look the negitive side of things, he is loyal and trustworthy, when he gives his word, nothing different will be done.

OOC: Late arrival....just seen this..

Ryan listened with intent to the breifing. He wondered how much of it was real, as most of it sounded like the same thing he had heard again and again. Most dangerous, may not return, training that will break you, it all came out the same. He didn't react visably to the speech, or the arrival of the other two men he assumed he would be working with. He gave them a quick mental size up, and went back to concentrating on the briefing.


It was the entrance of the patron that snapped his attention away from the briefing. However, her entrance was timed to coordinate with the end of the briefing, as expected. He eyed her as she walked the length of the room, taking in her beauty. He had known some attractive women back home, but this really just pushed them all back to the end of the line. And the eyes. The deep crimson pools sucked him in. He had to shake himself out mentally to bring his attention back to the briefing.

Thank you for comming.

He almost answered her as if she were speaking to him, but he knew that it was just mental. She had that ability to make eye contact with everyone in the room. He simply nodded as the silence fell over the room. He glanced around, watching the others in the room for action, and by habit, let his hand settle on the grip of the Beretta tucked into the front of the waistband of his fatigues.

Name: Ierenn Savaal
Age: 2016
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 158 lbs
Eyes: Cerulean
Hair: Brown

File Photo:
http://palara.sularan.net/ierenn.jpg
TYPE image/JPEG 100x134 21.9 KB (22427 bytes)

Identifying Marks: None

Education: Highest Official level achieved, Sor-Kali School of Tactics, Imperial College of War

Appearing visually to be in his mid-twenties, Savaal is a rare find. One of the ancient Imperium's Dark Hands, he is trained in numerous martial arts, and has spent centuries perfecting them, and his own unique style.

Most unusual, is his Sor-Kali allegiance, for the nation is one within which information is the only item of import. A realm of artificial intelligence, those that can eschew physicality entirely. Ierenn belongs to the small group of organics that recognize the Sor-Kali plight and are receptive to their cause.

As such, he has several modifications, undetectable visually or on any but the most advanced equipment, allowing him to function within two realities. It is disorienting to most, but those who master it attain a mental discipline unrivalled, and a mysticism believed by many to be insanity.

Every word he speaks has significant meaning, and for one to disregard his unconventional speech as gibberish is a fatal error. He is cryptic, cold, and calculating. Nothing matters to him but his mission, and not even the Sor-Kali know what his true intent is.

Physically, he is fit, though not to the extremes vaunted by traditional bodybuilders and strong-men. His movements are with the utmost control and precision, force applied in the most deadly and efficient manner.

He is an expert with all manner of blades, and numerous firearms, ranging from easily concealable needlers to sniper rifles that allow for assassinations from over two kilometers distant.

His attire consists of loose - though not excessively - fitting pants, offering unrestricted movement, simple bracers of a pitch black shade, matching the footwear that allows him to move with unnatural silence. A vest of similar fit is worn, only slightly lighter in shade than the pants, and underneath all a skintight bodysuit is worn, though not extending over the arms.

Ierenn Savaal is unknown, in the truest sense - He is a ghost, a reaper dancing upon the winds, unseen and unheard.

When required to speak, he is fluent in English, Quenya, and a multitude of dialects of Riikan and Binary, though his speech, as previously mentioned, does not follow conventional patterns, as is common with wholly organic individuals.

Unbeknownst to those recruiting agents such as himself, Ierenn was already present some kilometers distant from the selected location. He had been observing those already admitted from afar, in consideration of his application.

He was already close enough to inflict death, if he wished it. For now, he awaited a response.

"Sir, we need to send an answer to the Three Empires. I believe that they will be requiring final applicants soon. Will you be attending?"

The speaker looked to man that had his back turned to him. He sat cross-legged, staring into the bowl of water on the small pedestal before him. His upper body was bare, revealing the angelic birthmark that floated on the skin covering his left scapula. His pants were pure white, hanging loosely from him, and he remained completely motionless, exactly one meter of air between the man and the floor. "Those nations are ruled by Ravelyn Shentavo, the demon, correct?"

"I heard them state that she was formerly a vampiric angel, yes, but as to her current abilities and state, well, that is a matter of conjecture. Rumors abound, but they just that, rumors."

"Vampirism was a curse created by the Almighty. When humans get it, they become the vampires of classic lore and legend. When angels acquired, they become demons. That was the punishment inflicted upon those that rebelled against He with the Most Holy Name. Lucifer got special treatment for leading the rebellion, but the curse creates demons just the same."

"That leaves the question, sir, will you attend? And, also, in a fight between you and this Shentavo, who would win?"

"I'll go. A fight isn't likely, since I'll be protected under the Laws of Hospitality. But given her status, and the conditions of the offer, I believe that this Ravelyn will be able to interpret the Law with considerable latitude. If it does come down to it, given the environment and locality, I have no doubt that Ravelyn would emerge victorious. Wounded to a degree that she knows she fought a Paladin to the bitter end? Yes. But she would win all the same. My own angelic heritage isn't enough to protect me from her full fury. Keep your ears open. I may send for the Dragon Slayer's Blade."


Respectfully submitted:
Name: Pietro Jokubas Szedvilas
Language Fluency: English, Lithuanian, Russian, Astral
Physique: 1.5 meters (5'11"), 82 kilos (180 lbs.), athletic build, short brown hair, Green eyes.
Age: 38, though an irrelevant factor. Appears to be 28.
Identifying Marks: Angelic runes as a birthmark on left scapula, small scar on left forearm from wounding by a demonic knife.

Education: Trinity College, Master's Degree of Foreign Relations.
Training: Counter Intelligence, Counter Terrorist tactics, Sniper training, Hand to Hand combat training, Advanced training in Regulation of Paranormal Threats. Trained to use basic Angelic powers, potential largely untapped.
Career: Cell Leader, Irish Republican Army; Corporal, Russian Ground Forces; Agent, Antiterrorist Department, FSB (successor of the KGB); Paladin, Sixth Vatican Order, The Longinians, assigned to the Division of Paranormal Threats.

Selected Biographical information: Szedvilas comes from uncertain parentage, guesses range from being a fallen angel to having an angelic grandfather. What is known is that he grew up in Lithuania, recieved his college education at Trinity College, and fell into the IRA shortly thereafter. Following two years of membership, he sought asylum in Russia, joining the Russian Army for six months before being accepted into the FSB. His work included intel and operations against Chechnyan rebels. Following an operation that left his conscious in ethical confusion, he made a pilgrimage to Rome, and there met a paladin working for the Sixth Order. Receiving an invitation to join, he resigned his post with the FSB, began training in Milan, and then started touring the world over hunting down threats, operating mostly in the Dragon Lands.

Rae'l seemed to be staring off into the distance, his eyes unfocused as the...girl...gave the briefing. In fact, he was committing the information to memory. The presentation was...deflating. This was going to be worse than he thought. Stupid assumptions, flat proclamations...nothing he hadn't expected, really. These...Shentavo chaps...weren't striking Rae'l as properly humble people...

He himself certainly did not go about publicly lauding his own superiority. But...he had a job to do, and he would do it. In spite of the others, if neccessary. Probably would be, at that.



Initial plans were already dancing through his head, but he firmly pushed them aside and focused on the present. The mysterious third individual was a bit of an enigma...the full-face mask was something of a joke, and if the fool expected it to intimidate, well, anybody...he was much mistaken. It rather made him look like an eccentric lady's playtoy, in Rae'l's opinion, but his views were obviously skewed, coming from where he did.

His thoughts were cut short by the entrance of what could only be the oft-referred to but as yet unseen 'patron,' presumably the self-same Ravelyn Shentavo referred to prior. Not unpleasant to look at, but even in this supposedly legendary beauty, there was that...plainness...that was associated with the majority of Earthly women, and many of the men, for that matter.

Or perhaps it was merely that he had long since lost much of his interest in the outward appearance of women. One learned many things when one had lived as long as he had, one of them being that some of the truly beautiful women in this universe were, at first glance, quite plain-looking.

The fingers of his right hand danced restlessly, with a slight jerk as he deftly avoided the motion that would trigger his warbands. He didn't have to think about it anymore, really. He had worn the warbands nearly constantly since before he'd begun his Sentinel-Knight training as a lad of ten...and he'd stopped knicking himself with his own blades when he was fifteen, thank-you-very-much.

He thought for a moment, then mentally shrugged and took a second look at Ms. Ravelyn, though not quite in the same way. First had been his usual rapid assessment that was the best compromise between speed and exhaustiveness. The second time, he didn't bother with the visual survey, instead looking at her through his Art-sight, and what he saw was quite interesting indeed.

Perhaps he had been in error. This was a creature of significant power, power the likes of which he had not seen in a very, very long time...and that time it had been tempered with an iron control that made it quite safe to be around. Here, there was none of that. That was more than minorly frightening, not because he himself feared her, he would take his chances quite willingly, but because he did not like to see such potential for mass destruction out of his own control. Call it a conditioned fear, the product of a great many incidents in his earlier years with 3Tac.

He ceased his survey, deciding that this also required further contemplation. There had been something of the shadow about her, but also something of the light...though it was nothing like the blinding aura that he knew he himself radiated. It was a useful characteristic for training in the Art, as the very first thing one learned, even before the dropshift, was to see with the Art, and his brilliant aura was visible to even the most unskilled practitioners.

Still, such an aura had nothing to do with capabilities, or else he would have long since conquered the universe. It was more of a mark of, oh, there wasn't really an easy way to describe it. It didn't really mean -anything,- being simply an identifier, on one level. On the other, it told great amounts. All very complex and confusing.

With his return to normal vision, he noted the sweep of her gaze upon him, noted the piercing nature, perhaps felt a scratching at the outer-most barriers of his mind -- for it had been his duty to deal with the denizens of the shadows, and it did not do to have one's mind open in such situations. He had no fear of the psion, for his mind was his own, and he had an extensive repertoire of methods by which to maintain it that way...and punish the psion for the attempt. Such was his Art. Yet he took no action...for such action was unneccessary. He was not shrouding his thoughts at the moment, for they were likely to be quite educational, the barriers were to prevent active meddling, simply listening in was...not much of an issue, generally.

Still, he smiled as if to himself, his eyes having returned to seemingly staring intently at a point on the wall opposite him. His current train of thought was planning the creation of a cane.

Despite the dire nature of her homeland, President Yeleena Ulkeen, decided now would be a good time to get some international relations underway, and what better way to do that than to give them one of their best and brightest for additional training. While she hated to tear such an effective instructor away from his duties at the Yelta Derrinitt Special Warfare Center, named after her assassinated predecessor, she felt that very few of her soldiers had the personal fortitude to tackle such an assignment. He was also one of the few living individuals that had received the Distinguished Combat Cross, which she herself had presented to him. Most awarded posthumously nowadays. Kerrich would never embarrass himself, or his home nation, that stone-cold demeanor and intense blue-eyed stare of his said wonders about his sense of humor: The word among the troops was that the medics cut it out with what remained of his left eye.

President Ulkeen doubted that the Sergeant would like his new posting, but it would do him some good to get out of the mundane training schedule for a bit, and possibly learn a few new tricks he could teach to his classes on his return. One of her many interns penned the electronic response to the emailed request...

Dear Rave Shentavo, Leader of the Three Empires,

In the interest of bettering relations between our two nations, we would like to send you one of our most accomplished warriors to participate in your program. Sergeant First Class Keyton Kerrich is a veteran of numerous operations in both infantry and special operations roles. Pending your acceptance, our government will deploy Sergeant Kerrich to your nation for additional training and to use as you see fit. The attached file is a personnel dossier detailing Sergeant Kerrich's achievements.

Our best wishes,

-Yeleena Ulkeen, President of the Newly-Modernized Nation of Wandering Argonians


Department of Defense Personnel File 0209
SSN: 203-045-3000

Name: Kerrich, Keyton J.
Rank: Sergeant First Class
Age: 39
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 183 lbs
Eyes: Blue
Scale Color: Green
Identifying Marks:

-Eye patch over left eye

-Shrapnel damage to left ear-fin

Education:

-Masters' Degree from University of Phoenix Online (Psychology)

-Bachelors' Degree from University of Phoenix Online (World Languages)

Military Career:

-Enlisted Argonian National Army January 5th, 1999. Age of 33. Served with 5th Assault Infantry Division during the beginning of the second Argonian Civil War. Field promotion to Sergeant (E-5) September 17th, 1999. Remained assigned to 5th Assault Infantry until August 15th, 2000. Selected for formation of 1st Special Operations Group. Completed training August 30th, 2001. Promoted to Staff Sergeant (E-6) on completion. Served with 1st SOG until May 3rd, 2005 running guerrilla operations against rebel insurgents. Selected for SOG Instructor Training May 4th, 2005. Training completed December 5th, 2005. Promoted to Sergeant First Class (E-7) on completion of training. Served with 1st SOG Training Detachment Alpha until present.

Military Training:

Entry-Level Combat Training (ELCT):

-Covers basic soldier skills, including rifle marksmanship, basic hand-to-hand combat, jungle warfare, urban warfare, close-quarters fire and movement, basic grenade use, basic first aid, weapons familiarization, and land navigation.

Advanced Infantry Training (IT2):

-Additional rifle marksmanship training, grenade training, hand-to-hand combat, and small-unit tactics. Soldiers involved in this course are also trained to a high level of proficiency with all standard weapons, such as squad automatic weapons, grenade launchers, anti-tank rockets, and some explosives, such as Claymore mines. This Mission Operation Specialty (MOS) is required for Airborne, Assault Infantry, and Special Operations training.

Assault Infantry Training (AIT):

-Covers basic and advanced rappelling, from both stationary objects as well as helicopters. Soldiers are also trained to a high level of proficiency with the Springfield SOCOM II M1A battle-rifle and M240B medium machine-gun. Intensive physical conditioning is also a part of this initiation rite into the Assault Infantry, the hard-charging shock troops of the Argonian National Army.

Special Operations Selection (SOS):

-Candidates are selected based on physical conditioning, mental toughness, and problem-solving abilities. During this 3-month evaluation, numerous sessions of small-unit force-on-force exercises, lengthy marches, and field infiltration tests are conducted to weed out the under qualified. Sleep and food deprivation are common methods of testing the will and motivation of possible Special Operations soldiers.

Special Operations Qualification (SOQ/The 'Q' Course):

-Candidates that pass the SOS are admitted to a 9-month Hell of brutal physical conditioning, advanced stealth techniques, expert-level weaponry training with numerous native and foreign designs, interrogation, operations planning, expert-level unarmed combat, and intelligence gathering. Students are also taught to operate a selection of commonly-encountered vehicles. The demolitions phase of the course covers assembly of improvised devices, placement and removal of explosive substances, and demolition of commonly-encountered structures. Those that reach the end of this phases of this course are also given training in basic airborne operations, as well as HALO and HAHO jumps, since their operations might extend beyond the borders of the Black Marsh. Both C-130 airplanes and selected helicopters are used as delivery vehicles to maximize flexibility of Special Operations soldiers during insertion procedures.

Sniper Selection Course (SSC):

-Candidates are evaluated on rifle marksmanship fundamentals like breath control and trigger squeeze, stealth aptitude, and patience. This course is one of the shortest, but most demanding, in the Argonian National Army, lasting about two weeks.

Sniper Training Course (STC):

-Selected candidates are trained in the use of the M24 bolt-action rifle, M82A1 anti-material rifle, and the M1A battle-rifle. Advanced field craft and infiltration techniques are also taught. Applicants that have passed the SOQ course are not required to repeat the intelligence gathering portion of the sniper training.

Medals and Awards:

-Red Cross (3), awarded for wounds received

-Combat Infantry Award (2), for Infantry service in a combat zone

-Distinguished Combat Cross (1), for actions under fire

-Assault Infantry Tab (1) for completing Assault Infantry Training

-Green Beret (1) for completion of Special Operations Training

-Expert M1A badge (1) for display of expert-level employment of M1A rifle

-Expert Handgun badge (1) for display of expert-level employment of handguns

Personality:

Kerrich is a quiet individual, rarely outspoken, despite his fluency in both English and Spanish, in addition to the native Argonian spoken in the yet-to-be-modernized parts of the Black Marsh. His instinctive nature lends itself well to combat, preferring to stalk and kill at close ranges than in the chaos of a fire-fight. Having served in the Argonian National Army since its inception during the modernization of 1999, Kerrich has seen a great deal of combat in the marshes and jungles of his homeland, fighting anti-modernist rebels, mostly hand-to-hand in the dense undergrowth of the swamps of the Black Marsh. His left eye was destroyed by shrapnel during his second tour in the jungles, and seems to have driven him to overcompensate for his handicap. Since that unfortunate incident, his internal drive has never allowed him to accept failure from himself, resulting in an excellent service record. As a leader, Kerrich leads mainly by example, preferring actions over words, his intolerance for failure occasionally bleeding over to encompass the actions of his troops. While this makes him an extremely efficient leader, he is not particularly well-liked by those who have not served under him for a period of time.

There are no documented records of Kerrich's activity before his enlistment, and he is very guarded about that period in his life. As a career soldier, while short by other national military standards, Kerrich's name is something of a legend in the Argonian military community for his actions in the 1st SOG and their results against the insurgency, and subsequently he tends to boost the morale of whatever unit his group is attached to. A loyal and dutiful soldier, Kerrich has offered no qualms about travelling outside the violence of his homeland to train with a foreign military, and sees it as another challenge for him to overcome.

Ooc: Sorry I was away for a day or so, I had a performance at Princeton and had to travel. I am back now. I am pleased with new applicants, and love people who read up history on me =) it makes me happy. Anyway, back to the rp.

IC:

Acceptance letters were sent out to the following:

Kerrich, Keyton J., Pietro Jokubas Szedvilas and Ierenn Savaal

Acceptances have also now been restricted to those who are allies of my nation or wish to contact me via private message.


Ravelyn observed the two, and then looked at Navi. She met her eyes, and without words the girl got up and went back to the front desk, as if an unheard conversation had taken place. “More initiates will be arriving shortly I believe, Nikolai…Navi will fill them in on anything they’ve missed. As for you, get ready for a demonstration my dear, for I fear they cannot grasp what my dear Gene can do unless they witness it themselves.” She placed a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder and he remembered the feeling as she had dug her nails into his shoulder. He did not cringe. He was one of the best fighters in the nation. He was the best human fighter in the nation. She removed a syringe from one of the drawers and was behind him as quick as a fleeting shadow. She lifted up his arm a bit and injected him with a clear liquid. Again his face was emotionless. He could take a beating. She looked at him straight in the eyes as they rolled in his head, then straightened to their normal emerald green. He nodded in compliance, and exited the room to walk down the stairs.

“I’d like to show you a demonstration of what your up against,” she said simply, her tone a velvety smooth melody. “The way he told it, I’m sure that you may think it is just one of those missions again. I can assure you, your limits will be tested.” She glided across the floor as if her feet didn’t touch the ground, completely silent and devoid of any life. She looked out the window at the snow beginning to fall on the ground and sighed softly. Turning her gaze back toward the other two, she waited for the others to arrive, and then they would begin.

Pietro's hearing was, at these speeds, significantly altered. When Yeager first broke the sound barrier, it was done inside a metal tube with radio contact and special headsets designed to keep the voice communications clear and comprehensible. Flying alone, at 30,000 feet, just over Mach 1 was a different matter. Pietro was halfway over the ocean when the radio headset conked in.

"Sir, we've received official confirmation of your acceptance. Looks like you won't need to turn around. Lucky guess on your part, sir."

"It wasn't luck, Victor. The risk that Shentavo runs in having me attend is minimal, even if she knows what I am, which I am sure she does. My name gets around. If she doesn't know, then she will soon enough, but that changes nothing. If she does, then she also knows what she has at her, even if temporary, disposal. She comes out the winner in any situation. I'm going to be dropping this into the ocean now. If necessary, I'll get word to you. Pietro out." Szedvilas dropped his headset, watching it fall away behind him. It would be shaken apart by the fall, then smashed on the water as if it had fallen onto concrete.

After five hours of flying, Szedvilas entered the airspace of the Three Empires. He landed at one city, went to the terminal, and caught the next train to take him to the city nearest Shentavo's mansion. From that point he flew to the mansion, walked to the reception hall, set his bag and down, and stated quite simply, "Pietro Szedvilas. I'm here for the training program."

OOC: Woot for being the only normal human!

Ryan was reclining in the chair, waiting for the so called demonstration. With the news that new arrivals were on the way, he wondered exactly how long the wait would be in the reception room. He wondered if any of them would be as, eccentric as the patron or others. Of course, that wouldn't stop him from carrying out the op. He was contimplating the ammo selection, wondering if he would they had armors and reloading facilities on the premises. If these targets were as difficult as claimed, then the standard 6.8SPC rounds he brought along with the rifle may not be enough, and his box of Jacketed Hollowpoints might serve a better purpose.

It was at this point he decided to start asking questions. He didn't know if he would have another chance anytime soon, so, instead of raising his hand and waiting for acknowledgement, he decided to just start asking. When the patron was done with her speach, he pushed himself up, bringing his hand of the Beretta, and cleared his throat. Before he could get a look of recognition, he started.

"So, huh, first off, what exactly are we gonna have access to here on the premises?"

For the average humanoid, assuming a footspeed of roughly ten kilometers an hour, give or take, a kilometer or two's walk is does not take a particularly long time.

There was the usual pinging inside Ierenn's skull, his implants serving as all the communications equipment he would normally require.

It was, as such, that he arrived within twenty minutes of the acceptance letter arrived.

"In nascent decadence they did assemble / the mists below intrude once more / the course of things needs only time. "

Sometimes Ierenn didn't make any sense, operating in two realities like so few organics did. His point was likely well enough understood - After all, manors atop cliffs would eventually be consumed by the waters below, in anything from a scant few centuries to millenia.

"Thine requested services / available once more / desired by few / required by one.

I am here. Do as ye will."

No one ever said dual-existence was recommended for organics.

“Everything,” Ravelyn said to Ryan in response. “Save for the third floor; that’s my room,” she smiled. Yes, the entire third floor was her living space. “You can head down the stairs into the room third on your left,” she said to those gathered. “It’s the viewing room; like a circular sparring arena. A demonstration will be conducted there.” Jin stood up and walked toward Ravelyn. His amber colored eyes looked into hers, and she nodded. “Jin will accompany you if you wish,” and with that, Jin waited for both of the other initiates to rise. He was clearly familiar with his house, and very well should be if he were representing their nation.

Navi watched as the new arrivals had finally arrived. “As you have probably figured out, coming here means you do not leave here until the mission is completed. The mission you are training for is something that your former training could never have prepared you for, as our opponent does not function like you do, save for myself. I will be your guide as far as land goes. Let me fill you in on the history, listen as it will tie into what you are here for. Two hundred years ago, this nation was one of the most powerful in the world. It had connections spanning through realms that were beyond reach of the physical. It was ruled over by Ravelyn Shentavo, the first and original Shentavo member. She had a vast family and different members took care of different sectors. She was a very fair and wise ruler. The land was growing, prospering, and changing.”

“When she received a call from one of her ally nations, Underaloz, she answered his call, as the ruler, Michael Vaughn, and she were engaged to be married. The marriage, however, never happened. The war fought upon their soul spread to ours. She was…not of this world when the war came, and had no way of knowing it was going on. The lands were destroyed, and wracked by a hell that you could not imagine. She returned as the sickness had started spreading, and took the souls of those into herself, but she could not take all of them. The ones who were left were exposed to the fires of an apocalyptic hell, and it altered their genetic makeup as well as nature. They are faster, stronger, and possess the intelligence of a human without the reasoning of a human.”

Navi stood up and pressed a button on the gadget, and a map sprung up in three dimensional forms made of light. Her blue eyes turned green in conjunction with the image. She continued “They live the far east. The weather is cold and rigid, but they live underneath the surface, and it is much warmer there. Your bodies will not be able to handle the cold, and right now I am working on an injection to raise your tolerance. I will not be able to stand the cold temperatures no matter what I do, and neither will your patron, which is why we cannot go ourselves. The cold is detrimental to our health. Albeit we can survive very warm temperatures.”

“It would be easy to do if one of the members that were turned had not been of Ravelyn’s family. Her name was Genesis Versai Shentavo.” Her picture popped up on Navi’s digital platform. She was pretty; like Navi in a few ways but older. She had long platinum blond hair and golden eyes with pale skin. “She was second in command of the nation; Ravelyn’s personal protégé. She is a strong fighter, a psion, and a telepath among other things. This change has brought her to be able to stand the cold, and has altered her blood. She is capable of some thought, some reasoning, and she has become a leader. Those who were changed we call Loki, and they are rather disorganized in nature, but they have a leader. This is a very difficult operation because first of all we are going into their territory, and secondly, they have one of our kind that we need to get back. We also must eradicate the lot of them, but because the person inside is so valuable, and due to the fact they hide underground, there isn’t much we can do.”

“They are progressing,” Navi continued. “Through tunnels toward main land where our population is increasing rapidly due to the fact that Ravelyn has released the souls. A bite from one of the Loki will not cause you to turn, but a bite from Genesis…she has become the carrier and she can change others as she pleases. This posses a threat as ultimately they could engulf our entire population “You will be under Nikolai’s training. Because you will be exposed to conditions that are harshly extreme, you will need time to get used to them. The cold for one, I am still working on a serum but it is near its final stages of completion. Still, it will be double what your body can normally accommodate, and you must travel light.”

If you have questions feel free to ask. You can set your bags in your rooms on the second floor and head down to the viewing room down the stairs into the room third on your left. There will be a demonstration of something similar to what you will be facing. Your patron wants to make it clear to you who your enemy is.” With that, Navi sat back down at the desk, slid their keys across the table, and went back to typing on her computer.

Ryan didn't stand with Jin, keeping his seat. He nodded at the standing Jin, a sort of hold on a sec, I'm not done nod, and continued.

"Ok, so I assume that means we get the full goods. Shooting ranges, running areas, workout rooms, stuff like that. Nice. Next, with these ultimate bad asses that we are gonna be facing off with, what kills them? I don't need a demonstration, just tell me what to shoot them with, and where to shoot them."

His light hearted mood and dissapeared, he would deal with pleasentries and getting to know the team, trainer, and patron, later. Right now, he wanted a better explination of their mission.

"Decapitation, many deep wounds they might bleed to death," Ravelyn said, her face cold for the first time. It was a subtle beauty; sad, as the look in her eyes. "As for Genesis, how would you kill me?" She tilted her head, and dismissed any further conversation by walking out of the room and heading downstairs. Jin continued to wait for Ryan.

Ryan nodded as Ravelyn walked out. Hopefully putting a hollow point round into someones face or forhead could double for decapitation. Elsewise, well, the 105th was infamous for the damage they did to enemy combatants with their kuhrki like combat knives, and he still had his. However, with Ravelyn's exit, he was removed the chance to finish the questioning.

He watched her walk out of the room, and his mind went back to her last comment. How would you kill me? He didn't know the right answer to that, and assumed it would mean taking her out with her torso being on one side of the room and her head being on the other. However, he was more concerned with blowing things up, kicking down doors, shooting the shit outa those who wanted to shoot the shit outa him, and possibly advancing himself when he eventually got back home. Oh wait, according to them, it was if he got back home.

"Well," he said standing, "looks like I don't have much of a choice." He pulled the Beretta out from where it rested in the front of his pants, and tucked back in behind his back. "Where to?"

Rae'l looked over at the Imitoran and sighed.

"Is it considered attractive in your country to be paralyzed, my friend? If not, I ask you why you willingly aim a pistol at your own spinal cord in such a precarious manner. As for what now...I suggest we head to this, ah, demonstration. But we need to have a pow-wow at some point in the very near future. All the training in the world can't save a tac-team that doesn't click right."

He had never sat down, and thus was already standing. His eyes were perhaps showing a little less blue than usual, but it was impossible to say for sure. His face was quite emotionless at the moment, impossible to read into what he was thinking...and penetrate beyond the level of designs for a cane.

His feet, one the other hand, were taking him out of the room, down the stairs, and to this supposed viewing room, wherein, after the preliminary threat survey, he found a spot somewhat out of the way wherein he leaned back against the wall. He wasn't a huge fan of sitting down with people he did not trust in the immediate vicinity, and he trusted not a one of these individuals, the 'patron' least of all.

He was now going over plans for a sort of net-gun is head...exactly why he was doing this wasn't particularly obvious, but he would have a reason. Eventually, he gave up on the netgun and made a note that he needed more than the single pair of bolas he had in his kit. After all, the very first thing one learned as a Sentinel-Knight is that there were things that were incredibly difficult to kill out there, and thus, when one could not quickly dispatch an enemy, it suited instead to incapacitate them...and his people were masters of that.

Yes, he would need quite a bit of specialist kit...and a large bore shotgun. Then he could begin tinkering. He made a mental note to inquire about an armory, or if he could get outside access to order the necessary equipment, with his own funds, if necessary. He didn't have much in the way of cash on him, just the usual bag of diamonds in the boot-heel, but he was quite independently wealthy, should he have access to his accounts.

It might also be time to try out the frangible ammunition he'd brought on a whim....possibly. Either way, he let one eye drift closed, the other remaining open. Whatever Ms. Ravelyn wished to have demonstrated, he would watch. He even crossed his arms, a sure sign that he wasn't about to kill something. Probably a good sign.

Is it considered attractive in your country to be paralyzed, my friend? If not, I ask you why you willingly aim a pistol at your own spinal cord in such a precarious manner.

Ryan looked at the speaker, and shrugged. "I dunno about guns where you come from, but with out this," he held up his trigger finger and flexed it three times, "I'm not to worried about it going off." He ignored the fact that at the angle the weapon was secured, the only place a bullet would go is straight out the ass of his DPM style fatigues. He might get a nasty scrape from the cycling of the slide, but if the worst thing that happened when a gun went off around him was a scrape, then the world was a good place.

As for what now...I suggest we head to this, ah, demonstration. But we need to have a pow-wow at some point in the very near future. All the training in the world can't save a tac-team that doesn't click right.

"Indeed," Ryan responded. Rae'l was right, all the training in the world couldn't help a team that didn't get along well. You had to be able to trust the guy whose rifle was going off a few inches from your head. With Rae'l heading out of the room, and Jin standing watch, Ryan made his call. He walked out a moment or so after Rae'l, and looked back at Jin.

"Your local, so I know you don't need me to make your calls. Have a good'un" he said, nodding, and walked out towards the demonstration area.

"The way lays open / accoutrements unneeded / substantiation of vilifier / clarified beneath."

Ierenn deposited his as of yet unnecessary equipment in the assigned room, and made his way to the viewing room without further words, where the others were already gathering.

"An aggregation most baleful / present exigency / Mine appellation, 'Ierenn'".

The nascent echo / a duplicity of sensorium / one soul in two realms.

An errant mode / altered instrumentality."

He had basically given greetings to the others present, and mentioned, on the side, that he experienced reality in a somewhat... different... way.

Whether or not that was gleaned by all present was a different matter. For now, he awaited the start of the demonstration.

Odd, guy must be be partially plane shifted, came Pietro's assessment after thinking over what he had heard. He would pay attention to this odd speaker. "Madam Navi, this injection, what is the basic thermodynamic regulator that you have built this upon? If it is useless for demons such as yourself and our patroness, I have to wonder if it will have any effectiveness on myself." Pietro decided to give the woman time to ponder that question.

For now, he took his bag to his room, finding it rather too stuffed for his liking. He returned to where Navi still sat. "Could you contact somebody about redecorating my room, or selecting another for my use? I'm afraid that the room is not quite Spartan enough."

He left with that, moving to the viewing room where he saw two people enter before him. One looked familiar, similar to a face that he had seen but couldn't place. Following them in, he found himself in a type of training room that would double for a presentation easily. "Am I to assume that you two are here on account of the program offered by Lady Shentavo? My name is Pietro, though if you prefer, I will answer to Peter. And you two would be..?"

Rae'l noted the two newer arrivals, giving them both a look-over, then nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement. What he wasn't saying was 'great, another crazy and Mr. Two Names...wonderful.

"Let's try to keep the names down to one. Pietro, then. As for...Ierenn is it? Whatever. Tal. I'm Rae'l. Rys-Mak'anrae. The Ghost of Christmas Past, don'tchaknow."

That was an inside joke, a mockery of his monicker, as it were. Shadowdeath, past ghost, hah-hah, funny. He could feel the apathy beginning already. It hadn't been taken long to realize that he had ass-all motivation to care much about this mission, save his own life, which was worth nothing at all, really. Certainly, much of this was probably just the after-effect of being away from Swifty, it'd take a few days before he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again...though he was never really bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He was going to have to have a long think, followed by a long lecture, on the subject of morale, and why it was necessary, and how the bosses were screwing it up by the numbers, at least in his case. Perhaps a bit of fishing was in order. He added these thoughts to his mental list of things to consider, maybe act on. Fairly high up. Sure, he recognized the issues. In fact, he knew the solutions. Didn't make the issues non-existant, because he couldn't solve them himself. Ahh, well. Deal with it later.

“It will work on you,” Navi said coldly, taking a very sharp look into her eyes towards Pietro. “We aren’t demons, and you, my friend, could not begin to fathom my family.” At this point, Navi stood up and traced her nails over the angelic markings upon his skin. “Think you know everything don’t you?” There was coldness in her glare that pierced through him as Ravelyn’s had the other three initiates upon meeting. “And no, your room will not be redecorated. Should you take it upon yourself to redecorate, you’ll be killed on sight. Your patron values much in this house, especially the decorum. You are in her house, remember, and guests do not ask the host to redecorate.” Then the man went downstairs. As if Ravelyn had sensed her discuss, their patron appeared coming down from the second floor and walking toward the reception desk, all the while her eyes meeting Navi’s as if to ask, What happened here. Ravelyn took account of the three new arrivals, keeping track of each one in her mind. Her chocolate-auburn hair fell over her left eye, concealing one of the orbs entirely.

“That angelic is here,” Navi told her, furiously typing on her computer. “He called us demons.” Ravelyn laughed. Most people had called her a devil of an angel her entire life. She was used to it. She was also proud that Navi had gotten so upset over it. It showed pride in her family.

“Then he, by himself, lowers the collective intelligence of humanity,” Ravelyn said in a euphoric voice. “If he does know of me already, then he must have not done is research. If he asks again, tell him to look in the Whispering Voices archive and find the record of my trial. I survived.” Navi’s eyes widened. Those trials were very rigorous. The defendant was exposed to a powerful cleansing light. Those who had evil within them were purged by death. Ravelyn had survived, as no one else had. She came to question the believability of the trial, but somewhere in Ravelyn’s eyes she saw the pain the woman had endured. She was not lying.

“Why did you accept him?” Navi questioned. “Why did you accept him if you already knew he was going to be such a jerk?” She folded her arms across her chest, and her clear lacquered nails glimmered in the soft light.

“You have nothing to worry about, Navi. You forget, on the celestial ladder who sits at the top, and the initiate who sits at the bottom. Lady Death could use her minions,” she smiled, and Navi laughed. Azrael: the angel of death; a seraphim who survived the trial of Whispering Voices with tainted blood. “My dear, their strongest could not compete with me here. If he does attempt to harm you, which I believe he will not, I give you permission do use all of your strengths at your disposal and will not look down upon it should it result to that.” Navi nodded, and joined Ravelyn to walk downstairs.

Jin said nothing, but rather pointed forward towards the direction of the door. It might have been apparent by lack of speech that he were mute, but now it was clear. He went first, leading Ryan down to the reception room. He took one of the seats and looked through the glass covering of the arena. The covering was to keep everything that happened inside the arena, inside the arena. Knowing Ravelyn’s attacks, that could include body parts and a good deal of heat. While her skin was icy-chilled, there was warmth about her that was hotter than a raging fire. Jin kept his head forward, paying no heed to the conversation at all. As far as he concerned, he only had one purpose, and it wasn’t socializing.

Nikolai was first to enter the arena. His blond hair fell over one of his emerald eyes. He was just wearing grey pants and boots. His torso was well sculpted, and a scar ran down his chest but it was only visible at the right angle. In his hands he held two guns. Rather than use mechanical firing pins to shoot bullets one by one, this gun holds multiple bullets in the barrel -- one behind the other. Electronic charges set off in different parts of the barrel, just fractions of a second apart, fire the bullets in blindingly fast succession using traditional gunpowder. The result is akin to a laser beam of lead and it offers several advantages over a regular machine gun. First, the new gun is solid-state and electronic, meaning there are few mechanical parts to jam. Second, more bullets can be fired with one squeeze of the trigger before the gun recoils. But perhaps most remarkable of all, the unique ballistics of firing projectiles close together means that the bullets farther back of the pack actually push those in front of them, thereby increasing bullet velocity. They were patented by him a while ago, and now was one of the top weapons in the military. He held one in each hand and the grip crossed over his wrists.

Navi entered the observation area and took a seat next to Jin and took his hand. Jin gave no response. They all waited for the demonstration to begin, and after five minutes, Ravelyn had entered. She wore black combat boots with surprisingly a bit of a heel as well as black pants which were tight to her form to fit into the boots. There was a belt around her waist, and a black fitting tank top that was made out of the same material as was the pants. Her long hair was not pulled back, and the voluptuous waves continued to roll over her shoulders. She had no weapons in her hands. Nikolai looked at her, and raised both the guns.

Rae'l watched with, perhaps, a slight more interest than he had shown thus far. This wasn't necessarily because he himself particularly cared, but rather that his duties as Armsmaster had included both adjudicating duels from a legal standpoint and running, well...being in charge of, anyways, the numerous salles and ranges within Shadowholme -- it was a professional sort of interest, sheer reflex.

Then he sighed and produced a small notepad from a side-pocket of his kitback, along with a mechanical pencil from his pants pocket. He drew a line, dividing the currently bare notepad in half, then on the lower portion began to jot down his current lines of thought concerning the eventual op, mostly just a list of things to look into. Things like: 'check on cold weather gear,' 'check on cold weather mods for guns,' '10 gauge slugs,' and so forth. The top half he reserved for notes on the demonstration itself.

It was an entirely professional interest. If question of how to deal with the presumed target was the same question as how to deal with Ms. Ravelyn, then the preparation was all the more simple. He merely had to divine the answer. His current thoughts were running more along the lines of capturing and pacifying than actual causing death -- it had been a while before he had begun actually killing his targets, back when 3Tac first ventured into the shadows. It had been much easier to simply incapacitate them, usually with special-built bolas followed by quick application of a tranquilizing agent.

He made a quick note to look into that. If the target had, at some level, a genetic similarity to Ms. Ravelyn and kin, then the possibility of tailored poisons was an option definitely worth consideration, supposing he could lay his hands on a competant biochemist. Subnote - check with Navi. Elaboration: if she's developing this supposed serum to heighten the teams resistance to cold, perhaps she could more quickly answer the question than he could through his own investigations.

Another note, linked to the prior - tailored toxin to deal with the...what had they been called, Lokis? Derived, presumably, from an odd pluralization of "Loki,' the Norse Trickster God. Interesting. Either way, lace a shotgun slug with that...of course, if decapitation actually did the trick, then a ten gauge shotgun slug to the face would probably serve just as well. If not, then it was time to look into a proper head-slicing instrument.

A sketch was drawn, detailing a backsword, that is, a blade with but one edge. Slight curve towards the tip, to provide for better cutting. Something a bit like a Japanese Katana, though somewhat shorter than the traditionally two-handed Katanas. Note off to the side mentioned pattern-welded tool steels and that the design would only prove feasible if they were to have sufficient time to practice with it.

His own sword, of the white Sentinel-Knight steel, was a jack-of-all-trades sort of weapon. It was technically optimized for thrusting, especially if one wore an armored gauntlet on one's off-hand to allow for proper half-sword technique, enabling a very powerful thrust. The grip was sufficiently long enough for use two-handed, though not fully, thus the blade was of a sort generally referred to on modern earth as a 'Hand and a half sword,' though amongst Rae'l's own people, the sword was simply a 'longsword.' Which it was, especially in comparison to the short, thrusting weapons used by the majority of the people, including some of the newer Lines of Sentinel-Knights.

He made another note, beginning a new sort of thought-line, which would detail points to bring up at the proposed pow-wow. One of which was 'aptitude with melee weapons.' He clicked out another length of graphite and continued on, thusly.

Am I to assume that you two are here on account of the program offered by Lady Shentavo? My name is Pietro, though if you prefer, I will answer to Peter. And you two would be..?
Let's try to keep the names down to one. Pietro, then. As for...Ierenn is it? Whatever. Tal. I'm Rae'l. Rys-Mak'anrae. The Ghost of Christmas Past, don'tchaknow.

Ryan nodded at the others in the room. "Ryan Fortier, I go by Ryan or Fortier, or Chief to the guys in my unit, but you aren't in my unit, so don't worry about that." He settled down into the veiwing room, looking out over the arena.

While the rest were probably thinking about the task at hand, or other things that were on a higher level of importance, Ryan simply cleared out his mind, and relaxed into his seat. He knew the importance of deciding on tactics and strategy, however, untill he knew what he was up against, he would just relax his mind, and watch the fight. He was still more concerned about the presence of an armor or other gun smith.

He watched as the two combatants entered the arena, preparing for combat. The guns carried by the Nikolai character looked interesting from the distance, and seeing what he had by now, he doubted that they were standard weapons. It answered his question about the armor, any thing better than a half rate op that involved weapons would have an armor, but it also told him other things. One, they might be supplied with their gear, and Ryan would have a small issue with that. It was a belief drilled into him by the military. Never go into combat with untrusted equipment. His own rifle had been with him since he enlisted. Second, it told him that these people have had contact with the target, so they could at least tell the operators exactly what they were going to be up against. While the Patron had dodged that question earlier, he made a mental note to drill for more info later. A glance to his left and he saw the one names Rae'l jotting down some notes. Good, he was getting teamed up with at least one other person that would think and shoot at the same time. He would assume that Peitro and the guy who talked funny would be able to do so as well.

The patron then entered the arena opposite of Nikolai, changed from the earlier meeting. She crossed from Nikolai, but wasn't armed, and dressed like a femmé fatale out of a Luc Besson movie. So he assumed that she was the one that would be demonstrating the skills of their opponents, and Nikolai would represent the combatants. So he now expected the guy to shoot, the girl to dodge, and the guy to kick ass, or get his ass kicked. Honestly, his money was on the later of the two option, expecting to see Nikolai get whuped decently. This, of course, led him to question why the would saddle them with a lesser trainer, and why not just have the patron train them if she was the local ass kicker. He assumed that the said question would be answered in due time.

Nikolai shook his head at Ravelyn, and gave her an odd expression which made her look at him again, but she could not see behind his clouded eyes. He was shielding hard. She could press it if she wanted to, but chose not to. Navi stood up, a bewildered look in her eyes, and made her way down to the arena. “We shall begin with how to deal with Loki,” Nikolai said, watching Navi step into the arena obeying the silent order from Nikolai. He had a sly expression on his face that made the young girl pale. Suddenly her confidence had fled as she stared at the guns, which were now pointed at her. Her breaths were short, but the door had closed behind her, and it could not be opened quick enough for her to flee. He turned his eyes toward Ravelyn.

“Don’t shoot the girl,” Ravelyn said, her tone sharp and cutting. “She’s not fully of my line yet, don’t shoot her…”

“No, which makes her closer to a Loka then Genesis,” he replied.

“It would be in your best interest not to shoot her,” Ravelyn continued, all laughter gone from her eyes and a wave of serious and threat taking over. Nikolai turned his gaze back on Navi. She looked at Ravelyn helplessly. I’ve never been shot before… she communicated in a breathless whisper. Normally after they were chosen and turned completely, they would take one shot, then two learning to cope with the pain and fight through it. They learned how to numb their senses, but Navi did not have any of this training. Without hesitation, Nikolai fired at Navi with his guns, and the girl went down after twenty bullets were lodged within her body in a matter of a couple seconds. Ravelyn’s lips parted slightly, and she rushed toward Navi, not at Nikolai, moving with such speed she looked like a blur, catching Navi before she fell to the ground.

“DAMN IT NIKOLAI!” She growled, her anger manifesting in the prickling heat of her aura. This was obviously something they had not planned on. She observed the girl. “She’s too damaged to revive,” she said, anger still coursing through her voice. Nikolai ignored her and turned toward the initiates.

“That is how you deal with a Loka,” Nikolai said coldly, then looked back to Ravelyn, who had bit into the young girl’s neck. He watched in disgust, and wondered what the reactions of the initiates would be to see her draining what blood was left of the girl. She then did something unexpected, and he watched coolly with interest. She bit her own wrist, and supported the young girl’s head while holding her wrist to her mouth. Jin stood up and went to the glass, looking in. His amber eyes were wide with surprise.

“Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh,” Ravelyn said, a sorrowful look crossing her face. She let the blood pour into Navi’s mouth, and soon her cold hands gripped Ravelyn’s wrist. Ravelyn retracted her wrist and placed her hand over the girls chest. The bullets were pushed out of her skin onto the floor. Her eyes fluttered open; the deep blue a bright aqua now. She blinked several times, and then rose slowly. The wounds had healed. She held Ravelyn’s arm, and looked at Nikolai. “Get out of here, Navi.” We will speak later, child. With that, Navi passed through the door, and did not come back in to view the rest.

Ravelyn stood, and her wrist healed over. She licked the blood from her lips, and slowly walked toward Nikolai, death in her eyes. He raised his guns again, and fired both, and did not stop. She took the first rounds slowing her only slightly, but she was still moving at quite a good pace. She wanted to take the bullets. They gave fuel to the fire. She broke out into a run, and in it, moved as fast as a fleeting shadow. Not a single bullet, as they were being fired like a laser beam and possessed visible wavelike properties. She reached him with such and impact that it threw him against the wall with the heel of her foot at his neck. She stopped herself, just in time to refrain from crushing his jugular. She lowered her foot and glared at him. She was showing quite the self control. The bullets from her skin fell to the floor, and the skin had healed over. He hit her unexpectedly in the side of the head with a solid fist, causing her to move back a bit before retaliating by grabbing his arm, and twisting it quickly until a sharp snap was heard, and the man’s arm was broken.

“I told you not to shoot the girl, Nikolai,” she said with a disdainful glare. He set his own bones, his face showing pain, but his voice saying nothing. She set her hand over the wound, and partially healed it. She would let her body take care of the rest. He rose. “I think it best to postpone the demonstration of Genesis’ abilities until Navi is taken care of,” she said, and walked toward the door.

“You’re pathetic,” he said as he growled at her. She stopped, but started up again, and he continued. “Ever since Vaughn died you’ve been so damn pathetic.” That stopped her. “If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be dead, and you know it. You think by saving Navi you can atone for his death? You think that you went to save him. You damned him. If you didn’t make him love you, then his world would have not been destroyed. He would be alive. You never loved him, admit it---“ His speech was cut short.

As Nikolai spoke, the temperature began to rise. Ravelyn’s aura stretched out through the arena and into the viewing ring. It was the prickling heat of transformation, and it nipped at your skin. Nikolai smiled, and continued to yell off things at her. When he mentioned Vaughn for the seventh time, Ravelyn snapped and ravenous black wings broke through the skin on her back and through the shirt, and she turned around simultaneously and rushed him; great wings beating and the feathers drying from wet blood. Her eyes were an unnatural luster; almost glowing but rather reflecting the light. Her demeanor had changed; it was animalistic and insanely intelligent. She stopped abruptly before him, and motioned with one arm, and he rose up with her hand. She threw him against the wall, and held him there. With a simple gesture of her hand, deep scratches ran down the side of his face, ripped open his shirt and ended just above his waist in a sweeping motion like that of a tiger. She rose in the air, and he yelled something at her, but she was too far gone to even listen to him. Fire caught in the air, and ripped towards him, she controlled it with graceful movements; like a dancer, and trailed it over the cuts, making them permanent scars, and burning any skin which got in her way. She could kill him right now if she wished to. You could feel her rage sifting out in the viewing room, nearly over powering.

She regained control of her chaos, and let him drop from the air onto the ground, and fell herself to the ground, and closed her wings upon her back. Surprisingly, Nikolai was still conscious, and his face was not a look of pain, but a look of pleasure. She scoffed, and dug the heal of her boot into his chest. “You damn anguisette…” she commented as he enjoyed the pain, she did not heal him, and walked toward the door. He rose, wounds healing slowly, but faster than normal.

“The point being,” he said, his voice raspy, and coughing. “I had to piss you off for you to show them any glimpse of what Genesis will be able to do. You would let your compassion get in the way otherwise and you know it.” She paused. He stood up, burns and open wounds covering his torso and part of his face. That fire could have burned straight through him if she hadn’t been controlled. He looked towards the initiates. “She’s a nasty little thing, isn’t she…” Ravelyn shot him a glance, and raised her hand once more, slamming his head against the wall. Her face remained emotionless, but you could still sense the anger. Nikolai recovered and sighed softly. He continued. “You won’t be able to kill Genesis alone. You’ll have to work as a group. I’m teaching you because you are more similar to myself than her. She thinks differently, and doesn’t work with a team. She does not know how to, and only works alone. Her tactic would be to rush in and kill anything that gets in her way, and she would, if it wasn’t for the cold.” He walked around her, as she stared straight ahead.

“Her body is apt to warmth while her skin is cold. Her element is hell fire, which you saw a small portion of burning the top half of my body. Because of this, she cannot stand very cold temperatures. Most Shentavos are the same way, save for Genesis. She was ice, making her at home with ice. Unlike Ravelyn, however, Genesis will not need any reason to attack you. She will attempt to kill you on sight, and everything must be coordinated precisely in order for it to be pulled off. So how to kill her,” he continued. “Decapitation will work if the head is pulled far from the body. Fire would also work, but with her element she maybe able to put anything man-made out. Ideally ripping her heart from her body and destroying it would work as well, but we are not sure if any of these work. Bullets, we will assume, will be useless for her, as they are with Ravelyn. They hurt, but they are trained to take many shots without showing a reaction even if their bodies might be in unimaginable amounts of pain. They would rather take that pain than scream.” He smiled, and Ravelyn began to walk towards the door. He let her go. He eyed her black-feathered wings as she walked.

“As for what Genesis can do; her abilities of a psion and a telekinetic combined could get to you all at the same time, if she knows that you are there. She has command over ice as Ravelyn has over hell’s fire. She is an apt physical fighter, but less so than your patron. We are not sure what she has progressed into, so we must be prepared for everything. I will be the one that will distract her. I am an anguisette; pain translates to my brain as pleasure, which is why these burns right now are causing me no problem. It’s twisted, I know, but that’s what I am. The reason why I am training you is not only to work as a team with the equipment you will need and make you more proficient fighters, nor to destroy Genesis. While you must do these things, she has something very valuable that belongs to us. Her name is Hevn, and she is twenty three years old. She was taken during the last siege the Loki had on the closest town. Genesis can think; she’s smart, and she knew before she was turned of Hevn’s connections to Ravelyn. We need the girl brought back safely, their entire population destroyed, and their leader terminated.”

He watched as Ravelyn reached the door. “Do you walk out on Corothisia like this too?” She punched the wall, and her wings vanished.

“Speak another word about Coro and you try my patience friend,” she said, and turned around to face the initiates. “Now you know what your fighting.” And she walked out, as if nothing had happened. Her ethereal beauty was unflawed, and while the back of her shirt was ripped open from her former wings, nothing else had changed. Nikolai looked up to Jin’s masked face staring at him. He eased up, and sat back down in his seat. Nikolai then addressed them all.

“I’ll be outside in the foyer if you have questions, and I’m sure you do,” he said, and walked out, burns half healed upon his body.

Ryan settled in as the demostration started, watching with intent. Then the other girl came in, and Ryan noted that she might be part of it too. Interesting enough. Words were traded as Ryan began to mentally record the incident, taking in the images as they came, the tactical side of his brain taking in, recording,and rewatching the incidents as they happened.

He had taken a sort of disinterest in the conversation until the guns went off, and the receptionist dropped. "Well fuck me, Metal Storm," he commented under his breath. The Imitoran military had gotten to using it on their vehicles and base defense, and while it had been prooven feasible to impliment it to ground combatants, the weapons themselves weren't well recieved among ground troops, and therefore kept out. If she could drop from that, then bullets were fine in taking out the Loki if he remebered the name correctly. Of course, they had mentioned beheading, so that gave him one question. Actually, it gave him three.

He then glanced back over at the receptionist who had dropped, and noted that the patron was already at her side. Shes fast, he thought, watching her begin to start what he assumed to be medical care. However, what he saw didn't really amaze him as it did reafirm certain facts he had assumed to this point true. But that would be a discussion to be had with some freinds back home at a later date. He wasn't really concerned or moved in any way from Ravelyn's actions, but made a specific note that it could be done.

And then the drama ensued. When she had dismissed the recruits for a later date, he didn't stand, but leaned forward in his chair as if only to get a better view. He watched as the two bickered back and forth over the death of some random guy whom the patron had feelings for, or at least thats what he got out of it. The demonstration that followed was impressive, to say the least. At the conclusion of the action, he chuckled. Wish I could do that, he thought to himself.

He listened intently to the explination, and at the second dismissal, he was up at out of the viewing room almost imediately, all but grabbing Nikolai.

"Alright, question time. One, do bullets kill the lower end baddies, or just incapacitate? Two, will your average pea shooter work, or is one of those Metal Storm shooters needed? Three, are head shots akin to decapitation? Four, how are the targets going to be equiped?"

He had more, but would take them as they came.

“Bullets will incapacitate them for hours and hours upon end, make them fall unconscious. Decapitation must be done to kill them. I didn’t want to kill Navi if it was not necessary, so I didn’t,” he said, then proceeded to answer his second question. “You will be equipped with our weapons, though it may vary from person to person regarding what you’re apt in. When I shot Navi, she wasn’t expecting it, it wasn’t supposed to be part of the demonstration. They are fast; not as fast as she is…” and he knew who Nikolai referred to, “but you need a fast fire arm as well as our ammo. Head shots are not akin to decapitation, and the only target that will be equipped is Genesis I assume, not with guns but her own abilities.” He replied, peeling some of the dead skin off of his chest, and then looked at the initiate. “and a heads up, don’t go near Navi for a while.”


Out the door and down the stairs where the main hall was and the reception desk was built, Navi had her back pressed against the wall and eyes shut tight. Ravelyn swept to her side and held her close, whispering softly in her ear to comfort the girl. The voices and images that were swarming her mind were too much, and she could go crazy from it. For what she saw was Ravelyn’s entire past. She felt the pain, felt the loss, felt happiness, felt power, felt sadness. She relived years in the blink of an eye as she shuddered and grabbed onto Ravelyn’s shoulders. Her mentor braced her, and continued whispering until the images fading and the loud sounds of the world became drowned off in her soft whisper.

“He wasn’t supposed to do that,” she sobbed. “I wasn’t ready for this,” she coughed up blood, but it was ignored, and a set of fangs were clearly visible; as white as alabaster marble. Ravelyn ran her hand over the girl’s hair.

“I know,” she whispered. “Don’t’ worry its okay. I’ll help you through it. I know it’s painful. I know that turning you was supposed to be something happy, but I needed to in order to save your life. You would have died, Navi.” She walked the bewildered girl over to her desk, and she sat down in her chair and immediately began typing in order to get her emotions out. The images and noises became distance as she focused on writing. Ravelyn stood behind her, fingers covered in dried blood and shirt ripped up the back, staying with the newly declared Shentavo.

Rae'l lifted his pencil from his notepad, spun it, and returned it to his pocket, then stepped out after Ryan, his footsteps that bizarre non-silence that made it seem as if he simply wasn't there, though the swish-swishing of the cape shrouding his left side made it obvious that he was. He listened, perhaps not obviously intently, but listened nonetheless to the answers to Ryan's questions, and was yet again dismayed.

This was going to be a bastard, and he was going to have work very hard at it - familiarize himself with foreign weapons, which would require at least a thousand rounds and six hours of peace and quiet to tinker and learn. Suppress his immune system to allow the serum to take effect -- that would be a fun day, doped to his ears, stumbling. Dangerous. It was possible, because the Sentinel-Knights had to be able to accept mods based on the mission while still being almost entirely immune to foreign agents, that is, diseases and other nasty things.

That did not make it fun. There were two ways, and both involved drugs. One involved outright catatonia for the duration, which he hadn't even considered bringing. The other required a combination of drugs and an iron will, but allowed one to stay awake and concious, if not necessarily in one's right mind. It was a lot like being on a high dose of painkillers...really brought you down.

Then there was the bit about how he wasn't going to gain at all from this...experience. He'd either wind up dead or go right back to being a Sentinel-Knight, fighting like a Sentinel-Knight, so on, as far as could tell. Wouldn't even see a penny of the headprice, either. Not an issue, he didn't kill for money.

This was all combining with the negative predisposition caused by his absence from his mount, though he could feel his mind rebounding from that, much faster than was normal. It was just one more thing to be endured, but there was a point wherein he ceased letting the crap pile up, because beyond that point was where the danger lay. Once that point was reached, he would be forced to act, and that prospect did not please him.

"Hmm...what about HEI rounds? The Raufoss HEIAP round is .50 BMG, so we should be able to finagle something of that caliber, shoot it from a rifle. Whatever your favorite flavor is, Barrett makes good stuff. Barring that, tracer rounds for machines guns are impregnated with white phosphorus..."

He seemed to get distant, his words taking an odd tinge to them.

"Bullets won't hurt, ah, Genesis, is it? Fair enough. Morphic tissue can do that. What about grenades? Could we lure her into a trap and blow the hell out of her with a couple dozen kilos of plastique? What about blunt trauma? Piss 'em off or knock 'em out? Also, how strong are we talking? Because if we can't kill her straight-out, we can probably get her tied up to buy us some time, plain old carbon-steel wire rope might do the trick, but I'm sure we can get even more exotic."

He stopped there. He had other ideas forming, but many of them were variations of the above. The idea was to make 'run in and cut her head off' a last resort. There was a definite metallic tint to his eyes now, which had seemingly darkened to the color of a storm-cloud. His racing thoughts were beginning to see a faint light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

They had one major advantage, he reasoned. If the mark was guaranteed to fly into a killing-rage, then they could use that...but it'd require both extensive planning and quick thinking at the scene. Both doable. One last question...

"Where's the beer? We need to do some team bonding. No wine, no blood, nor tears of elven maidens. Bonding is best done over beer, and in my support, I refer you to Napoleon Bonaparte: 'The moral is to the physical as three is to one.'

The...oddness...about him had vanished, and he quirked an eyebrow with just the right amount of arrogance to properly portray the part of youthful assurance that knew everything. That his methods were backed up by a fighting career spanning...almost two centuries now...was pushed to the rear. He wasn't going to lie about it, but...that information wouldn't be volunteered outright.

Nikolai shook his head at Rael. “Go see if you can get your hands on Ravelyn to tie her up, shoot her with some of those bullets, and then you will have the answer to your question.” He sighed softly. What did it take to get through to them? He would break them into on the first day of training. Right now he was just concerned with pulling the dead burnt skin from his chest. “No. Grenades won’t work. Any projectile will be extremely bad. You saw your patron remove bullets from Navi with the touch of a hand, what would stop her from actually dodging or stopping the bullets? Useless. Bullets only work with the lackeys. For her you’re going to need to go a more slice and dice technique, and the thing is she can’t see you do it. I’ll go over more when you start training tomorrow.” He laughed at his request for beer.

“I don’t believe we have beer here. Ravelyn detests cheap alcohol. You will find the woman has expensive tastes, and being the empress of the nation she can damn well afford it. As for me, I nagged her just enough to get Vodka in here. Vodka maybe, and wine, lots of wine. There is a bit of a gathering tonight with food and alcohol and all that good stuff. I think it will be held in the reception room if it isn’t ready already. You can go up and check if you wish.” Jin walked down behind the two and walked up to Nikolai. He used sign language. When Nikolai spoke again, it was in a different language, Russian. He did not use sign language back. His accent was better heard when he spoke one of his native languages.

“Tak eta zhe Ravelyn, Jin,” he said. “U yeyo ectb probleme oopravlenia gneva. Yeyo lubit Navu.” Jin’s masked face was devoid of any visible but he turned to walk away from Nikolai to the receptionist desk, where he placed his arm around Navi, and Ravelyn left the two in peace and leant up against the wall.

He nodded his head, "Well, in that case, I shall see you gentlemen then." He returned to his room, fished out the dratted key and headed inside, wherein he shed his cape and kitback, leaving the weapons belt on. He uncoiled and stretched out his whip-knife, checking the braided synthetic fibers and fetching a can of oil from his maintenance kit, which he proceeded to drip onto the primary length of the whip and rub into the synthetic fibers.

This was a battle whip-knife, with a lethal seven-inch razor-sharp knife at the tip. It wasn't much use close-in, and it wasn't much use against a crowd, but it was a masterful terror weapon, and the ability to put seven inches of steel into somebody's throat at twelve feet was not to be discounted, especially considering that, when used properly, that double-edged knife could be travelling faster than the speed of sound.

After he'd worked the oil in, he re-coiled it and set it on its attachment bracket on the left side of his weapons belt. Then he got out the larger notebook from his kit and proceeded to jot down his current notes, having cut his list down by over half after listening to what Nikolai had to say.

At the moment, he really only had a few entries, and they had nothing at all to do with Genesis. He'd pushed enough in that area, for the moment. If it was to be close-in swordwork, then it'd be close-in swordwork. No issue there. His current thoughts were on a broader scale, and were primarily organizational issues. Thus, he wrote them down for later consideration, as he was not yet entirely certain that the entire team was present, yet.

His prior abrupt exit had been of necessity, for he had been more than just a little tempted to take Nikolai at his word and run a little experiment. That something of this vein would occur was inevitable, for he would eventually have to learn if the mark was fast enough to remain mobile even when he dropshifted. The possibility existed, but it defied the imagination. Supersonic bullets crawled along at a snails pace when viewed while dropshifted...

It was something fairly close to the top of his short list, but again something that he would wait before acting on. Something told him that Ms. Ravelyn would be...somewhat...hostile towards the idea of seeing whether or not he could tie her up, given that he was in dropshift. That and he was not yet ready to reveal the existence of that particular ability of his, as yet. At least, officially.

Still, he wrote down 'tungsten-core wire rope' under the last of things to look into.

He closed the notebook and returned it to whence he had got it from, then took a ration bar from his bag and choked it down. It wasn't the 'meal in a bar' kind of ration, instead being a nutritional supplement designed to allow Sentinel-Knights to survive in the field. The problem was that the genetic augmentations that made them who they were required a great number of odd things to function properly. Similarly, for a user of the Art like Rae'l, with their correspondingly higher metabolism, the high caloric content and various nutrients packed into the supplement allowed them to survive off of what would be considered a 'normal' diet.

That the end result tasted like a cross between bird suet and wet cardboard...was more or less inevitable. It was worse in the field, where he routinely ate two of these derned things a day to deal with his higher usage of the Art. But...most things were worse in the field. About the only thing that could make the supplement edible was orange juice, something he had neglected to bring due to the impossibility of transporting a sufficiently large quantity. As stood, he had enough of the supplements to last him for a few years, they were only about an inch square, so he should be alright, if somewhat miffed at the taste. On the other hand, the supplements alone could not sustain him.

Unfortunately, his tastes in alcohol terminated with beer. He didn't enjoy spoiled grapes or stronger liquors, namely because the point of such was, generally, to get drunk. His brain wasn't affected by that particular depressant, thusly, he did not get drunk. Beer had a pleasant taste, the rest generally did not.

At this point, he left his kitback laying on the ground and replaced his cape, letting it fall entirely behind him, as he did not have a carbine to foul. His sword-draw was unfettered, as the blade wouldn't catch on the cape the way the carbine would. This would also mean that his left side was visible for once, though the only thing of interest there was the whip-knife, which glistened with a particular sort of lethality.

This complete, he would head towards the reception hall to do as Nikolai had advised. Check on dinner.

A Fortier? He must be related to Robert. Pietro stayed behind to talk to Ryan. "An honor to meet you, Mr. Fortier. I've heard tales of another Fortier, a man whose name is mentioned only with respect. Tell me, do you have relation to the man known as Robert Fortier? You resemble him. He's a role model to paladins like myself." He held out his hand. "now, the only question that I need answered is whether or not we'll be allowed to use Holy blades to fight this Genesis."

“Holy?” he laughed. “What do you think she is, some kind of demon?” He looked at the initiates face, and shook his head. Did she seriously accept him? Okay, Ravelyn, time to get all these punks that you accepted after you. “You know what, go stab Ravelyn with your damn holy sword and find out what happens.” He wanted to slam his head against the wall people were so stupid. He looked over to where Jin had placed his arm around Navi, and the girl was typing furiously. He wouldn’t apologize. A man like him really felt no compassion. His eyes then turned to Ravelyn with her back arched ever so slightly against a wall. He was jealous of her new found lover, and hated her at the same time. Nevertheless, he was under her orders.

"Gotcha," was Ryan's response to Nikolai's info.

He stood by as Rae'l asked his questions, and got the answers. He too was looking forward to getting a case or three of cold ones and kick back with the now forming team. He wasn't a fan of wine, leaving it mostly for mass, snob parties, and girls to drink. His sentiments held the same for hard booze except for good whiskey. Well, hopefully they'd have some hot wings and other lower class foods. Then again, with the way Nikolai addressed Rae'l, he assumed it would be cavier and crackers. He mentally sighed at that, and hopefully wished for something more along his tastes.

Rae'l started to walk away, Ryan guessed for his room. Well, in that case, I shall see you gentlemen then. Ryan waved as Rae'l saw his way out, returning his fairwell with a "see ya later."

He was about to see his own way back to his room when Pietro approached him. An honor to meet you, Mr. Fortier. I've heard tales of another Fortier, a man whose name is mentioned only with respect. Tell me, do you have relation to the man known as Robert Fortier? You resemble him. He's a role model to paladins like myself.

Ryan was almost taken aback. He had heard tales of his father from numerous persons, the former First Speaker, a woman named Charli whom Robert had worked with, even the Empress of another nation that he had done operations in. "Yeah," he responded. "He was my dad. I never really met him, though." He gave Pietro a firm, single hand shake. "But I've heard alot about him."

Fighting Rob's son? "I, I am honored. I had no idea that he was your father. You must understand, your father, his last fight was one that allowed my order to reform, a fact not occuring since the thirteenth century. There are many that still swear that your esteemed father was one of God's greatest champions, and most ethical. There may be hope yet for this world since his blood still lives strong."

Pietro left for his room. He had some thinking to do. He had already ran afoul of his hostess. She, and that Navi, seemed to enjoy giving that whole "piercing look to instill fear" bit. And neither of them seemed to truly understand the term of "demon." It was a generic reference to any from the non mortal plane. "Angel" was a reference only to those direct servants of God himself. "Fiend" was any demon that fought against God. But a demon, well, that could exist in any allegiance. He wasn't an angel, yet. Having Azreal for a father and a reaper for a mother wasn't what one would call "auspicious beginnings." Ravelyn wasn't a direct servant of God, but was from another plane. Thus, whe was automatically, as was Navi, a demon. Didn't make either of them fiends, but he would still have to watch what he said. If they kept up their annoying close mindedness, well, that was their right as the hosts.

The Genesis bit was more confusing. She had power, and the description was such that it was evil in origin. Though, thinking it over, he realized that if Ravelyn was the source of Genesis's powers, then she would't be affected differently than whe would be with a normal blade. This would be harder than anything that he had ever faced.

Ryan nodded. "Well, I hope I can live up to his name, from what people tell me, I got big shoes to fill." He shook Pietro's hand one last time, and then retired briefly to his room.

He changed quickly, switching out of the fatigues and into a nice pair of kahaki cargo pants. He slipped the Beretta into a pancake holster, and clipped it onto his right hip. The flip flops became a comfortable pair of running shoes, and he made his way back to the reception hall.

Rae'l had found himself more than a little bit distracted, and thus turned about on his heel prior to reaching the reception area. He returned to his room and dug into his bags, locating something he'd almost forgotten he'd packed. It'd been a last-minute addition, as suggested by a friend.

The swaged wire rope wasn't very flexible, but it took a hundred and seventeen tons of weight to break it, which made it -very- useful. He didn't have much of the stuff, just a miraculously tight coil, secured by a heavy steel bracket. When uncoiled, it'd be about eight yards long. The coil of rope he held in his hand could support a main battle tank...which was incredible.

On the other hand, it was effing heavy. Almost a hundred pounds. That he hefted it with seeming ease was a testament to the his deceptive strength...there was more than just genetically-augmented muscles at work within Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae.

He checked the rope over, then lay the coil carefully on the floor, next to the large rock in the center of his room. He had his rope. Now he just needed a chance, wherein he could reasonably expect to not be dismembered.

There was a lesson here. Never, ever, ever challenge a Gorean to tie somebody up.

There was absolutely no change in decorum for dinner, but it worked. There was a good deal of food ranging from foreign to still alive. That which was still alive was most often from the sea; such as oysters or sushi. Ravelyn had drifted off to brood in her corner like a fallen angel. She had since changed out of her former attire into a black dress that cut off above the knee and stiletto heels you could stab someone with. There was one person she would have liked to have stabbed right now, but she didn’t let the slightest bit of distaste pass her lips. She had a champagne glass in her hand containing a deep red liquid, but she couldn’t pass it off as tomato juice, nor was she trying. She sipped it intermittently, and when doing so a look of pleasure crossed her flawless face. It brought color to her cheeks and a more softened feel to her demeanor.

Navi was the next to enter, holding onto Jin’s arm. Her eyes were bright blue, and reflected the light enough to look like a cat. She hurried over to Ravelyn, who gave her the glass she was holding for the girl to drink from, and she took it, her hands shaking slightly as she took slow long sips. Ravelyn ran her hand through Navi’s hair and Jin went to get a glass of alcohol. He chose a white wine, consumed it entirely, and picked up another one. He stood on the opposite side of the room; eyes shifting languorously over the scenery. He was a good deal effeminate in nature, beauty seemed to please him, and he carried himself with grace. Never once had he taken off cloth mask save to take a sip from his glass, and when he did he turned away from people.

After finishing off the glass, Navi’s demeanor cooled. She still had not spoken a word in quite a long time.

Pietro showed up for dinner in suitable attire. He avoided the alcohol poignantly. No sense in getting drunk now. He limited himself to the Slavic dishes. Even prepared in a manner befitting a princess, the food from the Huns' descendants was still filling. He sat, and began to eat. He would pay his respects to the hostess after the meal, as was custom. Never thank a person for a meal until you know you haven't been poisoned.

At length, he arrived for dinner. His whip-knife was, for once, not shrouded by his cape. Whether or not this made a difference was unclear. He'd left the rope in his room, mind.

He selected a glass of something non-alcoholic, preferably fruit-based, then found himself a spot of wall a suitable distance from the rest wherein he could enjoy it. The scent of spoiled grapes was more than a little overwhelming to his acute sense of smell, which was unpleasant, but not unbearable.

He pointedly ignored the cluster of Shentavo...ans? What the devil was the proper plural? Shentavi? Shentavae? Whatever. He pointedly ignored them, leaving them to deal with whatever it was they needed to be dealing with. He himself was feeling his mood lift by the second, approaching that crux point where the baseline negative disposition would lift entirely.

That was something to look forward to.

That he also smelled blood was...unsettling, but not unsurprising. His own preferred form of sustenance tended towards a balanced diet of meat and grains, ideally with vegetables mixed in. He tended to eat a lot of fruit, as well, as the sugar helped sate his over-active metabolism.

Rae'l looked into the depths of whatever it was in his glass, his left hand dancing upon the grip of his whip-knife, as if contemplating action, though it was really just a tick. A need to do something with his hands, as it were.

This was, perhaps, the first time in a very long time that he'd been dependent on someone else for his own basic needs, and it wasn't terribly pleasant. His automatic assumptions kept on making him come across as arrogant, which was on the one hand a useful ploy, but on the other not so much.

In the meantime, he pushed off the wall, -finally- demonstrated the motion that triggered his right warband, speared an apple on the end of the stiletto-thin blade, then returned to his spot prior, biting into the apple. He trusted his immune system to deal with any...toxins. If they were being sneaking and lacing the food with some sort of...thing...that would assist in completion of the mission, well...

That would be bad. But there wasn't anything -he- could do about it, as he wasn't about to spend the entire training period doped to his eyeballs.

Like most of his kind, Keyton hated mechanical flight, or any sort of flight for that matter. If he'd been meant to fly, there'd be wings jutting from his back and he wouldn't be strapped into a shoddy metal seat, awaiting a touch-down that would allow him to get off the damned thing. Perhaps that was why he'd taken so well to airborne operations, jumping usually got him out of the vehicle that much faster, and with the aide of gravity and some nylon, got him on the ground that much swifter.

He knew full well that he was going to be late, typical military red-tape had tied him down for the up-teenth time, mostly in regard to his equipment. Keyton wasn't carrying anything strange, aside from the tomahawk bouncing on his right hip. When he'd first been chosen to attend the specialized training he'd been through, he'd decided to read up on the subject. American special forces members had carried more tactically-minded tomahawks during the Vietnam War, and Keyton had decided to investigate the topic in greater detail, to the point of carrying one into the field on several occasions. He'd found that the blade didn't just cut flesh, but cracked bone more effectively than any knife he'd ever owned. Combined with the small size and its usefulness around a camp-site, it became a staple in his arsenal. When the Internet had become available to his service station, Keyton had purchased an interesting book off of something called 'Amazon', detailing the use of the tomahawk in conjunction with a long knife in close combat. Shortly afterward, a SOG Armory Tech Bowie knife had also found a place on his belt.

Firearm-wise, his equipment was fairly standard for a former Assault Infantryman. Where the rank-and-file infantry carried a specialized version of the M16's little brother, the M4, Assault Infantry were issued the more powerful SOCOM II, a shortened M1A from Springfield Armory that also featured a cluster-rail system on the forearm of the weapon. Chambering the mid-sized 7.62x51mm NATO, or .308 round, it reliably killed most humanoid targets it hit center-mass, with a high guarantee of instant death when delivered to the cranium. Keyton's personal weapon had a Surefire Scout Light attached to the left accessory rail, a Trijicon Reflex combat optic for accurate close-range shot placement in addition to the back-up iron sights, and an M1A Scout-model trigger package for fully-automatic selected firing.

Keyton's handgun was also from Springfield, in the form of the M1911A1 'Operator' model with an accessory rail machined into the dust cover. It, too, featured one of Surefire's excellent weapon-lights, an X200 LED. The sights were also a custom job, with a green fiber-optic front and red fiber-optic rears dovetailed into the slide. It had been further customized with an ambidextrous safety selector, a custom-length beaver-tail grip safety, be-leveled magazine-well, and a set of Hogue rubber grips to provide a secure grip even when wet. The greenish finish featured a few nicks, showing some heavy use.

The rifle was packed securely into a Pelican-brand weapons transport case, along with ten twenty-round magazines. The Operator M1911A1 had a collection of Wilson-Combat eight-round magazines, six in total. The forty-five automatic rested securely in an underarm holster made from black leather, and probably a Bianchi design. Keyton preferred the Bianchi, but he'd taken whatever he could grab quickly. His large green rucksack was stuffed with a few additional uniforms, an extra pair of jungle-boots, additional socks, several boxes of ammunition for both his rifle and sidearm, a spare green beret, and a set of binoculars he'd stolen from some air traffic-control sergeant on his way to the chopper. A MOLLE-capable IBA was attached to the front of the over-sized backpack, and already sporting magazine and grenade pouches. Standard-issue BDU's for Argonian Army personnel were the old tiger-stripe pattern, as that was what could be procured the cheapest from surplus stores. It worked, for the most part.

Keyton angled his head forward slightly, adjusting the green beret situated between his fin-ears, and making sure his eye-patch was still in place. Very few people enjoyed staring into an empty eye-socket rimmed with scar tissue. It was a simple one-band set-up, with a cloth-wrapped steel piece covering the socket itself. He was never sure if he looked more like Snake Pliskin from 'Escape from New York', or some queer-bait pirate. In either case, no-one had informed him and Keyton wasn't going to ask.

'Good god... 'Queer-Bait'... I've been around humans for far too long...'

His dialect was beginning to include words Argonians didn't even have translations for. Keyton, true to his experiences during training with human drill instructors, made regular use of all the nasty language, more out of habit than any real understanding of what the words were actually describing, at least when he chose to speak. Since his left eye had come out, he hadn't been one for casual conversation. Verbal communication was invented to convey ideas and information, not kill time between operations. The pilot flipped the green light on in the passenger portion of the UH-60, snapping Keyton from his semi-doze mental reflection and into a state of alertness. Without much in the way of thinking, he swung the rucksack onto his broad shoulders, situating the ballistic vest in such a way that it hung over the backpack and out of his way. The rifle case went into his left hand, leaving his right free to access his sidearm or render a proper salute if needed.

It was a long step from the helicopter, as the damn thing hadn't actually touched down on the lawn of the manor he'd been directed to report to. The pilots had been a little twitchy on the way over, and probably didn't want to leave an imprint in the lawn. That free right hand of his spun itself in a circular motion, signaling his ride to head towards home. Having a bit of difficulty getting the oblong rifle-case through the front door, Keyton finally managed to get himself and his equipment into the foyer, being careful not to upset the exquisite rug as he padded softly towards what looked like a reception desk. He was expecting a serious dressing-down for a late arrival, but he was used to catching flak for other people's mistakes. It came with the territory as an NCO, after all...

Navi sensed the visitor as he got to the doorway, her ears now picking up her footsteps; she handed the empty glass to Ravelyn and set it upon the table, and made her way out of the reception room. She went to the desk and walked behind it, giving the man his key. Her mind swam with his thoughts, and his name was easily determined. She placed her fingertips to her temple and said, “The reception is upstairs. Grab something to eat after you put your belongings in your room, and meet your team members, instructor, and patron.” The girl’s eyes were oddly reflecting the light in the room and were turquoise in color. Her long silken black hair fell over her shoulders and blended in with her simple dress. As she spoke, her new fangs were visible. She hadn’t gotten used to talking with them yet, but managed fairly to say the least.

She then headed up the stairs, back to the reception.

Keyton nodded, somewhat confused. Had she actually spoken to him or was there some sort of telepathy involved? He wasn't totally sure, but it didn't matter. Following the directions to the best of his ability, the Argonian stowed his equipment in his assigned quarters, which were much better than he'd expected. Standards here were noticeably higher, at least to someone who lived out of a bunk-bed and wall-locker for the past several years.

After nearly slamming his tail in the door Keyton went about unpacking his clothing. Everything was neatly rolled up to minimize wrinkles, but he'd run an iron over them if he would be attending something formal. His boots already bore an impressive shine, he'd taken an hour or so prior to his flight to remove the caked mud and twigs from the treads before carefully applying four or five coats of Kiwi, then sealing it in with a lighter and some cotton for that inspection-quality shine. The Special Forces instructor took a moment to look himself over in the mirror, making sure the beret was securely tucked in his belt before making sure the safety on his sidearm was still in place. The 1911 was designed to be carried with a round in the chamber, and even with the manual safety off, the beaver-tail grip safety would prevent any accidental discharges. The thumb-break single-retention was also securely fastened, which would prevent anyone from taking it from him without a fight.

Keyton debated removing the tomahawk and knife from his belt, but decided against it. He hadn't been directed to disarm, and he didn't intend to unless directly ordered to do so. He had, however, been instructed to return to the upper floor to mingle with his squad-mates, instructor, and apparently the owner of this fine manor-house. Keyton locked the door carefully, making sure not to catch his tail this time. With a confident stride, he moved off in the direction of the reception hall to grab some chow. Judging by the state of the manor itself, he doubted there'd be anything he was used to eating, but food was food.

As he entered, Keyton immediately picked up on a cluster of well-dressed humans (at least at first glance), standing off from the main group. He felt a bit out of place, considering his current choice of attire, until his eyes fell on another human, dressed more casually than the others. The ear-fins on either side of his head pricked up slightly in surprise. Oddly, his canine-like sense of smell detected... Blood. Fresh blood. Wine was in abundance, mostly the red stuff, which had thrown his eyes for a moment until he watched the way the stuff moved. It was thick, almost like a sauce, in comparison to the consistency of the wine. The satellite group seemed to enjoy the substance a little too much, as Keyton watched them sip at the substance with his good eye's peripheral vision...

'It's not possible...'

Disbelief was a foreign emotion to Keyton Kerrich. Cannibalism was something he'd witnessed before, but such vampiric tendencies left him to wonder what exactly was going on. Had he been sent to serve as an exotic meal for the owner of the house? Was all this food there to simply fatten them up? Did they intend to train the Hell out of them to increase hemoglobin levels? That last thought made him wonder. Did the amount of hemoglobin enhance the flavor? He'd have to ask someone with some more experience on that subject if, or possibly when, he returned home.

Still slightly uneasy, Keyton made a selection of the hearty fare, then seated himself across from another one of the selected operatives...

"I assume we're here for the same purpose. I am known as Keyton Kerrich..."

It was a bit awkward for him to make an introduction, but a unit that could very well die together had no place for a stand-off-ish attitude, especially if they were to deploy in any reasonable length of time. This human had a very pious aura to him, at least that was the best way Keyton could describe the overall vibe he caught from the man. The absence of wine near his plate only strengthened his hypothesis. A crusader of some sort? Keyton didn't see the outline of a sword anywhere on his person, but that didn't mean it wasn't well-concealed...

Ryan entered the reception area casually, just as he was dressed. Sometime in the early part of past few years, it had become popular for PMCs and other quasi military groups to adopt the polo and cargo pants dress for field operations. They thought it helped them blend in, he thought it made them look even more like mercs. However, he also found it to be quite comfortable, and whenever he decided to relax from the Imitoran standard DPM style fatuiges, he often wore the polo and cargo pants mix.

The Beretta on his hip was covered by the polo shirt, but everyone in this room was obviously armed in some way shape or form, be it physicall, or as he had seen earlier, supernatural. He at one point had his doubts about the realm of that beyond the comprehensive, shaken when told just four years earlier that his father, well, his biological father, had been killed on an operation in the attempt to save a vampire human hybrid. Right. His belief in what he knew was further shaken when he was showed the impliment of death, a solid steel stake that had pierced his skull, just above where it met the spinal column. He was finally proven wrong when the woman who brought his father's body back managed to conjour up and send blasts of fire from her hands.

It was at that point when he started believing, but not accepting. Since then, he had taken his father's last name, the name of his stepfather becoming his middle name. He did his reading, and learned all that he could about Robert Fortier, and did that what he could to model his life after the man some called the greatest Imitoran. However, his mind was not now on his father, though he had made a mental note to speak with Pietro about it when given the chance. He was browsing over the food, looking for something more casual for his palate, he had ruled out hot wings and beer. He drank water, and glanced around for something simple.

He managed to get a plate full of some finger foods and drowned them with ranch dressing, and began to lightly pick at them. He noticed the entrance of the Argonian, another race that he had heard of but never met. Rumor had it, and in his chosen field 99% of all rumors were true, that the lizard types could fight, and he was hoping that was the case. So far, he knew he couldn't simply blow his enemy away, that they were fast, strong, and ruthless. So, he knew he'd have to be faster, stronger, and fight even harder, and the help of an Argonian would definately help. The lizard made his way over to Pietro, and the one refered to as Jin stayed with the receptionist who had been shot earlier. Not wanting to be the social outcast, he made his way over to Rae'l, who was eating an apple. He posted up on the wall next to him, and nodded, taking a swig of the water. It tasted fine, and he wasn't really expecting to be poisioned.

"So, whatcha thinking?" he asked, casually, glancing to the door way every so often. Old habbits were hard to break, especially when you were taught that those habbits would possibly save your life.

OOC: Got permission to join, so hush.

IC:

There was a soft rustling of leaves, a very light crunch sounding underfoot as the dark clothed character slipped through the shadows lining the walls of the Shentavo mansion. He watched as the various figures inside cast their shadows around, visible only in the high windows far above his head. Glancing around for a moment, he shook his head momentarily. In his mind, he reviewed the mission granted to him as part of an initiation rite as a full-fledged member of the Raxhun culture back home in Tarlachia.

Approach success. So far, nothing wrong. Yet.

Slinking along in the shadows with deliberate care, he snaked his way along until he was on the far side of the mansion where the windows were dark. Checking a low window, he delightfully found it unlocked, and it swung open quietly without much noise.

Getting the girl won't be too hard if she's alone. he mused as he delicately placed his feet on the wooden floor, ensuring it wouldn't creak under his weight. Just have to get her before she's turned into one of them.

Approaching the doorway, the young man lowered himself to the floor and peered between the gap just above the floor. He looked carefully, stilling his breath as he did so. After several minutes, he was pleased to find not even the slightest tremblings in the floorboards.

Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob, he turned it slowly, using his other hand to press somewhat firmly against the door to still any potential noise from the door itself as it scraped against the doorframe in its movement.

Several moments later, he was down the hallway, carefully taking each step as he slipped from shadow to shadow, searching for the girl whose face had been memorized.

Come on...where are you? he wondered silently.

Moments later, his answer was given as he watched the girl being escorted by a male. Exhaling quietly to himself, he stole down the hallway away from the dining room where it seemed everyone was. That must be the room where the shadows were seen through the window. he realized as he stopped before a door that had been left ajar. It was this room, he had been told, where his objective resided as she awaited the fate that was suspected for her. Setting the door back exactly as he found it, he then moved in and slipped into the closet, a decent sized walk in closet in which there were a ton of clothes. Ugh. Women and shopping. he thought to himself in disgust for a moment as he adjusted his hiding spot to perfectly mirror what had been there before. Here, he would wait, and here, she would disappear from.

“I am going to rest, I don’t feel like being here,” Navi said to Ravelyn, who nodded in reply and continued to watch how the others interacted. She understood that Navi needed time to rest; she was a recently turned Shentavo. Rest was due. Navi made her way back to her room, closing the door behind her and locking it. She had lost some color to her skin but not all of it. She had been light skinned to begin with. She lay down on her bed, pulling the purple covers over herself and shivering. Her blood ran cold. Her long black hair spread out about the covers like a dark satin veil and her eyes gradually began to return to their normal darkened blue. There was something about them that was different, for now when they caught the light they reflected part of it. She closed her eyes and the world was drowned in sound. She tried to block it out, and after several minutes got it down to a bare minimum. It was then, that she heart someone’s heartbeat, and it wasn’t her own.

Jin continued to watch the proceedings, like Ravelyn. They were both flies on the wall. Jin took up another glass of white wine and downed it. Ravelyn had some how acquired another glass of the sanguine liquid and sipped it slowly. There were no marks on her wrist from the turning. She concluded, after searching through their surface thoughts, that no one really knew what happened, and they did not know Navi had been turned. It was quite convenient. There were less questions to answer.

Rae'l shrugged his shoulders, "Hard to tell, these days. This whole thing..." he made a gesture to indicate that he was referring to the mission, mansion, everything that had occured since he'd arrived, etc, "is more than just a bit overwhelming, I suppose."

A moment's action had retracted the stiletto-blade of his warband, earlier.

He finished off the apple and toyed around with the core for a few seconds before he spotted a trash can. At that point, he under-handed the core into the can, pointedly not missing. Then he dropped his right hand to his hip and thumbed off the restraining strap, drawing his pistol. Even that casual draw didn't completely hide the speed at which he was capable of performing the motion.

"Sentinel-Knight Model Eight Combat Pistol, four lines, ah, that'd be .40 caliber here, nine rounds in a single-stack magazine. Long-slide variant with a six inch barrel, suppressor threads, underbarrel accessory rail. Tritium night sights, custom grips, To be frank, it's a superior-quality customized clone of a Colt Delta Elite. Shoots our own version of the 10mm Norma Auto round. Hits harder than a .357 Magnum."

He held the gun flat in his hand, looking down at it.

"I've never, in all my years, encountered something that I couldn't hurt with this gun, even if I had to beat the thing over the head with it."

He dropped the mag out and caught it with his left hand, pocketed it, then racked the slide back, ejecting the chambered round. His left hand flashed out and caught the free round, which he also pocketed. He brought the pistol up in a two-handed modified Weaver stance, he preferred Weaver for picked shots, though he point-shot reflexively.

His index finger tapped the side of the trigger guard and he mouthed the word 'bang.' Then he laughed lightly and reversed the pistol in his right hand, holding it by the barrel, and offering it to Ryan for inspection. Of course, the custom grips configured as it was for Rae'l's hands, would probably feel a bit off...but. That was only to be expected. His pistol was a reflection of himself, versatile, accurate, maybe not the most subtle thing in the world -- the long-slide M8 wasn't really designed for concealed carry.

"The sword I wear on my back is a far cruder weapon than my gun, despite what some people would have you believe. There is nothing at all 'glorious' about swordfighting, and there is no more 'honor' to be gained from killing with a sword than there is to kill with a gun. I've killed with both, many times..."

His eyes turned down, looking towards his feet. "Too many times. I see what our vaunted employers, hosts, whatever you want to call them, are doing...and I wonder. Sentinel-Knights are the result of an extensive program of genetic alteration carried out for the express purpose of creating a soldiers capable of safeguarding our home...against everything. But we're not...we're nothing compared to what we," and here, he used 'we' to mean Ryan and Himself, possibly the others, "have seen here."

He shook his head, his eyes coming back and a wicked grin forming upon his lips, showing even rows of white teeth.

"I don't know, man. Something just...feels...wrong. Sets me a little bit on edge. Let me tell you, I'm not going to be going to sleep without a pistol under my pillow anytime soon."

Nikolai entered the room, and immediately caught Ravelyn glare. “Why don’t you just turn into a bat and sod off,” he said low under his breath, and she laughed at him, not at the joke. She emptied her glass and handed it to him. “Looks like my drinks empty. Be a doll…” She said with a light growl in her voice. Nikolai’s eye twitched. He muttered something about Ravelyn being Satan and walked out of the room. She walked toward the two whom were speaking, and could hear them from across the room as clear as day. “Are you afraid that we bite?” she said with a beautiful smile befitting her, exposing a double set of fangs with a feminine elegance. Those were not fake. “Nikolai is human, an anguisette but human. Navi has a teething ring, and I am the only other one in the house you know. Are you implying that it is me that makes you uneasy?” she shifted her wait to her left hip, and tilted her head ever so slightly. She would have looked normal save for the blood-red eyes and fangs; the clear nails and cold skin. Her form was one carved out of marble by the famous Greek sculptors. Wouldn’t they die to know that her body was created in a lab.

“I can assure you, if I wanted you all dead I would take a more direct approach. You would not be here to talk with me right now,” at that point Nikolai walked in with another drink from her. It was blood, no doubt. She took it, and raised her glass to the expression on their faces. “Cheers,” she said in a melodic voice with a laugh that would haunt both dreams and nightmares. It was enchanting and floated through the air like a delicate scent. She took a sip from the glass, and departed from the room.

Keyton awaited a response for a moment, but the man seemed lost in thought. That, or he was simply being ignored. There was a slight shrug on Keyton's part, before he began to eat. He'd consumed an MRE on the chopper-ride over, a filling choice for a meal with roughly 2400 calories, about two-hundred more than his usual non-deployment intake. Not eating offered food, however, could be percieved as an insult to his host, or hosts, or hostess for that matter, he'd never been introduced to anyone...

Then again, the beautiful female seemed to flex the most authoratative muscle, judging by the way her male companion had promptly executed a rear-march and returned with another glass of what Keyton was now sure was blood. Their hostess had fangs, too. Keyton himself had a set of enlarged teeth, but that was mainly a genetic leftover from a time when his ancestors killed each other with fangs and claws. In a modern setting, his claws ruined the grips on every handgun he'd ever shot, especially wooden ones. The rubber ones lasted a bit longer, which was one of the many reasons he'd removed the standard double-diamond hard rubber grips, and replaced them with the Hogue model designed for 1911 models. The forearm of his M1A was scarred deeply with claw-marks as well, and what was once a handy tool to tear your neighbor's throat out became a nuisance when firearms were added to the equation. Outside of the close confines of the swamps he'd fought in for the past several years, one rarely got close enough to shred an opponent at point-blank, at least on purpose.

He'd selected very little to eat, and so finished quickly...

"Perhaps we'll talk later..."

Keyton desired to maintain a decent relationship with anyone on the team, and understood if his unusual appearance threw people off. Taking the plate back towards the serving line, he deposited it in a bin he hoped was for used dishes, but it looked like he was the first to finish eating. A pair of humans in the corner, the casually-dressed individual from before and an eccentric-looking male, were examining an interesting firearm, which had a 1911-ish look to it, but clearly wasn't from a major manufacturer. The his companion had a slightly larger hip on one side, which Keyton figured was a firearm of some sort, most likely a large-frame service automatic.

The Argonian lingered around the buffet-like spread, occasionally selecting something interesting to sample. Their hostess made a somewhat dramatic exit, stating that if she'd wanted them dead, they would have already stopped breathing. It was a comment that sparked a hot flash of rage in Keyton's stomach, or that could have been whatever it was he'd just eaten. He went with the former, and decided to keep a better eye on the woman...

Jin was the first to approach the newcomer. He had not seen the demonstration. He used sign language, but figured it wouldn’t help. His fully covered form left only his eyes visible. It seemed that he wouldn’t be of much help, but stood by the new comer. Why didn’t anyone these days understand sign language?

Pietro had been occupied with food stuck in his teeth when the reptilian sat, ate, and then left. Guy had pretty much eaten two rolls, the way he consumed food quickly. Deciding to try and make nice with one of the few friends that were available, Pietro approached Keyton.

"Sorry, but you caught in the middle of five things, of which three were entirely mental in exertion. Pietro Szedvilas. If it gives you trouble, I answer to the English "Peter" as well. Makes no difference."

He had noticed the man's slight change of complexion at Ravelyn's remark, though he couldn't be sure about the biological processes. "Don't worry about her. Her name is Ravelyn Shentavo. Former angel. Turned to a fiendish demon, though she threw off that yoke. Now she's a demon, a neutral, serving no interest but her own, from what I gather. She can't kill us without cause. We're protected by the Law of Hospitality. High planers such as our hostess and myself must abide or suffer. Stay within the bounds listed, and she won't have any reason to kill us. Not if she intends to keep her power.

"I must apologize for my ignorance, but I have never met any creature such as yourself. You're sentient, but you appear to be of this plane. What exactly are you, Mr. Kerrich?"

"If she kills you, she keeps her power. It would change nothing. And they aren't demons." Those were the first words uttered from Jin's mouth. His voice was delicate, and feminine, quite unexpected for a fighter. So he wasn't a mute, but he refused to say anymore, and respected his patrons wishes. The definition in this empire of a demon is one who hails from hell, an angel one who hails from heaven. It might be different in other places, but here that is the meaning. Ravelyn's spirit was sent as a punisher; Azrael the angel of death; but her body was created in a lab, though that was very accute knowledge to a few.

Jin set his glass down, his fully clothed form leaving nothing to look at but his amber eyes.

Ryan accepted the hand gun, and examined it carefully, checking down the barell, hefting the weight, and a quick shot down the sights. He handed it back to Rae'l, and drew his own. "Beretta 92FS. Standard issue for the regulars, but I dunno, I just couldn't get rid of it when I moved in to IMSPECWAR. I like it, fits the hand well for me. Most of the other guys in my unit have customed 1911s in some way shape or form. I'm the only one sticking with the Beretta."

He mimicked the motions of Rae'l, dropping out the magazine, slapping the slide back to eject the chambered round, and engaging the safety. He handed it over to Rae'l for a similar inspection.

Too many times. I see what our vaunted employers, hosts, whatever you want to call them, are doing...and I wonder. Sentinel-Knights are the result of an extensive program of genetic alteration carried out for the express purpose of creating a soldiers capable of safeguarding our home...against everything. But we're not...we're nothing compared to what we have seen here.

"Its the same way for me. I got a rifle sitting back in my room that I've used for well, my entire time in the service. 6.8 SPC, hollowpoints. I have custom loaded 9mm hollowpoints in the Beretta. Everything I have ever met I could kill easily with the rifle or my bare hands. And now these folks are telling me I gotta give up my weapons for theirs just because mine don't spit out enough rounds fast enough. Last time I checked putting a round center mass into someone's face killed them just as dead as putting fifty into their chest."

He shook his head, taking another sip of water. "I dunno man, just something aint right about this place, 'bout these people."

Let me tell you, I'm not going to be going to sleep without a pistol under my pillow anytime soon.

"I know what ya mean. I'll be packed when I fall asleep tonight."

He picked at a carrott, taking back the Beretta after Rae'l was done with it.

"Shit, the least they could do to calm us down is some beer and wings."

His former table-partner had approached him, and now he was engaged with another odd individual. Distracting, yes, but not debilitating...

"I am an Argonian, and I don't much enjoy flying, if that's what you mean..."

The burka-garbed man spoke in a cryptic way, something about their hostess killing him would change nothing, and that she wasn't a demon. He disagreed on the first point, if she killed him the universe would change because there would be one less Argonian Special Forces operative in it. Keyton's personal opinion of Ms. Shentavo's 'specie', as it were, would have leaned less towards demon and more towards megalomaniac vampire. The amber-eyed individual's statement only confirmed what he had already dismissed, despite the soprano delivery of the aforementioned information...

"And what exactly are you, Mr. Szedvilas? You seem very concerned with the paranormal..."

Keyton was eager to see if his earlier hypothesis was correct. The man in the burka had ceased with his gesturing, and Keyton had no idea what anything beyond the simple tactical commands meant when spoken by the hand. He fished his ever-present notepad, something any soldier never should be without, out of a pocket on his BDU jacket, followed by a pen, and offered it to the man...

Ierenn had been present for the demonstration, and the receptions afterwards, though curiously silent. In the time between the two, he had already begun rather extensive research - thanks in part to his particular augmentation - but that had run into a wall, titled appropriately "Insufficient Data".

Ierenn simply needed _more_, but he was patient. He had been counting off the nanoseconds during the demonstration, logging, and recording all the relevant data, and the 'paranormal' was something that a traditional machine mind would not have been able to observe.

He moved, almost without doing so, with an unnatural stealth and fluidity. His selections for the dinner consisted primarily of the items that had been alive more recently than the rest, and he deigned not to imbibe any of the alcohols present.

Thoughts danced through his mind. Unlike some others present, Ierenn was not easily mobile when moments were scant nanoseconds long, without great exertion. His observation of such timescales did, however, allow for an unnerving response, which provided a defense that most did not expect.

Still, with the perfectly controlled movements, wasting not a joule when possible, Ierenn ate, and pondered.

Thine patron revealed / corruption and woe / So Iu says, Soluns be.

Insufficient data / revelations await / a malice unknown, a duplicitious soul.

Ierenn's thoughts eventually turned to how one would most fortuitously make an attempt against his current patron. It was... an interesting puzzle.

Jin looked at the pen and let out what appeared to be a sigh, and took the paper and pen.

My name is Jin, I’m the initiate from this empire.

You shouldn’t speak badly of your host, her hearing spans beyond many rooms, and her temper is not one to ignite. You are lucky to be in her household.

He was a man of few words.

Keyton penned his own response back...

My name is Keyton Kerrich

You seem to know a lot about our hostess

He, too, didn't enjoy the act of speaking, and did it only when nothing else would suffice. His letters were bold, heavy, and easy to read, a common trait among those in armed service...

I am of her nation and of her household, while I am not what she is. I am her protégé, but she thinks that Nikolai should train me as well.

Jin replied writing skillfully in a cursive handwriting that was neat and quite impressive. He was painfully effeminate, but something about his posture said that he could hold his own.

I’m glad I am not the only one who doesn’t like conversation.

After Ms. Ravelyn had made her exit, Rae'l slowly unclenched his hands, almost as if it required a great effort to perform the simple action. The simple truth of the matter was that she did make him uneasy, likely as she seemed hell-bent on perpetuating that effect. But it was not her he had referred to prior.

He accepted his own pistol back, and with a practiced motion, slapped the magazine in, racked a round into the chamber, dropped the magazine out, fished the spare round from his pocket, topped off the mag, then returned the magazine to the well. He checked that the safety was on, then returned the pistol to its holster and accepted Ryan's Beretta.

He gave the weapon a thorough look-over, liking the way the oversized trigger-guard would make the weapon easy to use, even with bulky gloves. Point of fact, the 92FS was an excellent service pistol, primarily due to its 15 round magazine. But the Sentinel-Knights needed something with a bit more...oomph. Thus the 10mm Auto. He flipped the pistol around in his hand and returned it to Ryan with a grin.

His unease wasn't something he could pinpoint, just a general sense of something being...awry. What he hadn't explained to Ryan, or to anybody, was exactly what the Senior Scribe had meant when he noted Rae'l's aptitude for the Art. Part of that aptitude, presumably combined with his augmented senses, served to give him a sort of sixth sense. It manifested as such things generally did, gut feelings, aches, so on. This was one such thing.

Besides, if it'd been Ms. Ravelyn making him uneasy, he wouldn't have said that he'd be sleeping with a pistol under his pillow, now would he? Especially considering that she had proved so convincingly that projectile weapons would be quite useless against her...kind.

Still, that wicked grin was returning, and he allowed himself a slight chuckle. "Tell me, Ryan, do you know of the poetry of Keats? I have a particular one in mind..."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then began to recite, though not the entire poem, he did not even bother with the introduction.

"I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful -- a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild."

His blued-steel eyes flickered with a fatalistic mischief as he continued, skipping over much of the poem...

"She took me to her elfin grot
And there she wept and sigh'd full sore
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd -- Ah! Woe Betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried -- "La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side."

Rae'l laughed as he finished, "Perhaps not Keats' best, but apt, I think. Perhaps too apt. The title translates to 'The Beautiful Lady without Mercy,' by the way..."

Then he sobered up, or so it would appear. Poetry always lifted his spirits, and the chance to actually get some of this off his chest was quite nice.

"I think I'll wait and see what sort of weaponry they want us to use before I make judgement. Just because I personally am a traditional kind-of-guy when it comes to firearms doesn't mean that there isn't a very good reason for whatever kit it is that they wish to provide."

He stepped off for a few moments to fetch up something a little more substantial than the apple, which had vanished into his stomach by the time he'd returned. He spent a few moments watching the others, then, seeming to grow more relaxed every second, though that twinge of unease was still present...

So, they are narrow minded about their definitions. So be it. Interesting, though. I have never encountered such ignorance about the Law of Hospitality. "I find what you say regarding the Law interesting. I must ask for your reasoning. Though it may be that our hostess would keep her power, and simply be required to serve some other penitance. It has been repeatedly claimed that she isn't evil. Then how come you claim that she would be able to transgress upon one of the greatest of laws with impunity?" Pietro swigged a full glass of water. If Ravelyn was overestimating her leeway in Divine Law, then she would reap the consequences.

Pietro turned to the lizard man. No sense in provoking a debate with Jin about Divine Law. "Interesting firearm, Keyton. Do they have to make the grips custom for your claws?" This was signed along with the speech.

Keyton again answered via the pen and paper, although this was becoming tedious...

I have no tolerance for idle chatter

Are you able to speak?

This way of talking is becoming annoying

He hoped this would allow for a more rapid exchange of information in the form of an informative conversation, where he could gather facts without wasting paper...

Are you afraid that we bite? Nikolai is human, an anguisette but human. Navi has a teething ring, and I am the only other one in the house you know. Are you implying that it is me that makes you uneasy? I can assure you, if I wanted you all dead I would take a more direct approach. You would not be here to talk with me right now.

Ryan chuckled, slipping the Beretta back into the holster. He admired Rae'l's poetry recietal before leaving, and Ryan found himself alone on the wall again. He made his way over to the others calmly, making note of his position in the room. He slid into an empty spot not to far from the three, and let them talk, not interupting, just listening. He picked up another glass of water, and sipped at it.

As he handed the pad and pen back to the mute, the Argonian angled his head to respond to Mr. Szedvilas' remark...

"No, not really. They just need to be broken in, as it were. Hogue's half-wrap grips work very well, they're thicker than Pachmayr and therefore don't tear as easily..."

The Operator's grip would have shown a pattern of shallow scratch-marks, had Keyton been left-handed. The motion of drawing the weapon and wrapping his hand around it, combined with the stiff recoil of the .45 ACP, drove the claws on the tips of his fingers into the rubber material, something that Keyton attempted to correct by keeping them as short as possible. It was working pretty well, but throat-ripping had become a bit more difficult without that extra penetration...

"Do you have a use for firearms in your profession, Mr. Szedvilas?"

He drew the weapon from its holster, ejecting the Wilson-Combat magazine before ejecting the round in the chamber. The casings gleamed in the light, an almost glossy black finish. The black nickel casings on Hornady's TAP FPD rounds increased the ease of feeding, where the jacketed hollow-points topping them off were some of the finest the company produced, resulting in a 2.5x caliber expansion. Keyton handed the 1911 to the man. The scratch-marks were the beginnings of the break-in process Keyton had been talking about. Eventually, the thick rubber would feature cavities that the claws wore away, resulting in an extremely comfortable grip. He supposed he could get custom ones made, that wasn't something he'd thought of before. He'd need to look into that...

"Springfield makes some excellent semi-custom items, and married to SureFire's X200, makes for a very versatile sidearm..."

Ierenn observed the exchange, and the appraisal of weapons. This 'Sentinel Knight' had been somewhat anomalous at first, though it appeared that the initiates that had arrived followed in the same pattern.

He finished his 'meal', if it could be called such, for he did not partake in a particularly large amount, and moved to join Rae'l. Speaking so softly as to be barely audible, Ierenn may or may not have completely defied what was expected of him.

"The unimpressive are often most useful, to those with power.

The patron/corrupt, she challenges us... I have thought on this/many cycles.

Perhaps there is a mode/passage unseen... An arrangement overseen, by a corruption most heretical."

The last sentence was delivered with scarcely a breath, never mind a sound. Even mechanical means would have a most difficult time discerning any of it from the background noise.

Jin wrote again. I can, and I have spoken once today, I will not speak again. He looked toward Peter, and gave him a reply in writing. Because she is an angel of death. Their life is their own punishment. And he explained no more, he bowed lightly. He was the only one in the room not wearing any weaponry. He then handed Peter another note. Go ask her yourself, what she is...and she will tell you, that she is Azrael, and nothing more.

Keyton scribbled another response, while he was beginning to tire of writing notes back and forth like grade-school children, he reminded himself to respect the wishes of an individual their host had taken a serious interest in...

What happens if you're in combat, and you've already spoken once that day?

Do you leave your friends without information, and force them to throw you notes?

This was a serious concern. He wasn't about to go into combat with someone who wouldn't yell 'Grenade' if one landed in their vicinity more than once...

I will be able to talk then. he wrote down. Right now you have gotten all the words you will get out of me until the time comes where I can speak once more. I am able to speak, but I will not, but when we go together, you will hear my voice more clearly.

His voice had been quite muffled before through the covering, and it was rather indeterminable.

Keyton's response was simple...

"Noted."

He turned back to Pietro, awaiting his evaluation of the weapon he'd been handed. That was all he was going to endure with the note-writing, and the note-writer seemed unwilling to divulve any more. Keyton wasn't liking the premium that had been placed on information, in fact, it seemed almost criminal to keep those you summoned to assist you in the dark on most every facet of the conflict they were throwing themselves into. His opinions being his own, however, they were not going to interfere with the mission he'd been sent to accomplish...

Failure was not an option, nor even a word, to Keyton Kerrich...

He shifted his stance, as if a natural action, dropping his head down slightly to catch Ierenn's last breath. It would have been impossible to hear were had he been mere centimeters further away.

Rae'l himself did not respond, simply made a short jerky snapping motion with the thumb of his left hand, followed by a blurringly rapid series of hand motions. He paused, then executed a complex combination of hand motions, followed by a querying look on his face.

There were some things that he would not trust to sound...and this was one of them. He hoped that he'd understood Ierenn properly. He would, likely, soon know.

Pietro considered Jin's response. His own being the son of two high angels was bound to complicate things.

Turning back to Keyton, he returned the gun. "Very nice. I'm a Paladin, member of the Sixth Vatican Order, the Longineans. We're the division on paranormal affairs. My main weapon is the Dragon Blade, the sword used by Saint George the Dragon Slayer. If I need it, I use modified Desert Eagles. I use mercury core bullets, with a silver and copper alloy striking plate. Nine times out of ten, that alone will do enough damage to slow down or incapacitate my quarry.

"You'll have to excuse my disagreements with some of the claoms of our hostess and her household. My parents are angels that had been assigned to a rather extended task on Earth. As such, it was ordained that I undergo a series of seven tests to be allowed a choice. My use of Free Will is diminished, but I can still choose my own path. The counter to this is that I possess certain abilities above what one would call normal. To that end, I am still developing them. Could I stand up against our hostess? Not on her territroy. I'm inherently weaker. On neutral ground, though? God alone would choose."

Pietro took another sip of water, then continued. "But I came to do a job. You did too, my Argonian friend. Let her make all the comments that she wants about what she can do. Remember, she can't do the job, which is why we were brought in, so let her have her petty victories. We also get a chance to train extensively, which is something I'd not pass up. We're the ones that will be in the thick of it when it matters. Right now, you're a merc. We get training for the particular job, we go in, we do the job, we come out, and we get our pay." Pietro looked at his watch, then set his galss nest to the empty plate in the receiving bin. "I am afraid that it grows a little late for me. I'll see you in the morning." Pietro shook Keyton's hand, said farewell to Rae'l and Ryan, then looked about for Ravelyn. Unable to see her, he was forced to return to his room and put off his compliments for the meal until the next morning.

It was, of course, second nature to Ierenn to catalogue and cross reference. The signals were recorded, checked against known sets, and quite simply analyzed for several nanoseconds.

He responded with a brief phrase and a curt nod. It was, sometimes, easy to misunderstand Ierenn.

This time, not so much.

Keyton tightened his grip ever so slightly...

"Then I bid you good-night..."

The handgun was reloaded, then replaced in the shoulder-holster without much after-thought. Desert Eagles tended to be too large and unwieldly for someone as mobile as himself, and a forty-five killed pretty much anything he shot center-mass, head or otherwise, with it. The TAP FPD rounds only increased the odds of terminating the target. Keyton guessed that this fellow must be hunting something large, as he did use the term 'quarry'. Mercury core rounds seemed like something that would be exotic, as did anything with a copper-silver alloy jacket. He also mentioned a sword, which seemed entirely useless in modern squad-based combat. A good knife, or in Keyton's case, a small axe and knife, usually did the trick...

'It seems I am the only one here who was trained for the modern battlefield. Everyone else seems to be black operations or special services of some kind...'

That could be either an advantage or a disadvantage, depending on how one looked at it, but he wasn't going to examine that now. He might as well grab some rack time, no telling when wake-up call would be. Keyton retired to his room, being sure to lock the door behind him. Changing into a pair of physical training shorts, the 1911 Operator went under the pillow, and his right hand on top of it. He lay on his face, shielding the soft tissue of the stomach and throat from any sort of clandestine assault that might occour during night. His knife and tomahawk were nearby, resting neatly on a table near the window. If he emptied the entire weapon and still had a threat to deal with, chances were that he'd be able to get to his close-up tools easily...

Rae'l nodded gently to Ierenn and the others, then made his own exit. He returned to his room, opening the door with his key and sweeping in, toeing the door shut behind him. He swept the room with his eyes, then went immediately to his info-war kit and got out the bug sweeper and gave the place a quick sweep. Not to remove them, but simply to mark them with a little red flag, so that they could be avoided. He also set a white noise generator on the rock in the center of the room.

He stripped off his clothing, save for his shorts, then lay down on top of the bedcovers, laying his sheathed sword beside him and the pistol beneath his pillow. He wouldn't need the blankets, simply closed his eyes and drifted into a deep, troubled sleep. He would awake at the slightest movement or noise, and likely awaken many times before morning, as he didn't sleep so well anymore. Images, memories...horrible things, all relived in his dreams.

Images of impossible things, human shapes, burning. White flames, burning swords, and most prevalent, two eyes staring out of a black field, burning with a silver flame.

He revisited his past battles, desperate fights against incredible odds in the tight confines of the Shadow-world. Ramming his sword through the chinks in the armor of a giant many-legged monster, barely holding on as he made his way up to the head to deliver the killing blow. Fighting against countless hordes of the doglike shadowhounds, emptying hundreds of rounds only to see the gaps made vanish. Like fighting the tide with a knife.

It usually ended up with swordwork. He disliked it intensely, but he was very good at it. Almost too good. That he'd survived those brutal melees was a testament to his skill...

Back in the real world, sweat beaded upon his face, and he tossed and turned upon the bed, his muscles tensing and relaxing strangely in line with the battles he fought in his dreams. He was mostly silent...the screams wouldn't begin until the nightmares began, which wouldn't occur for a few hours, and even then...it wasn't loud. Just...persistent.

What was odd was that he lifted up off the surface of the bed about an inch, seemingly floating in mid-air, and his hair escaped the neat band he had tied it with to float about his head, as if he were floating on a body of water. Had his eyes been open, they would have shown a distinct metallic glint. But they weren't.

“Are you going to continue to follow me into my room?” Ravelyn asked, not turning around to Nikolai, whom was behind her.

“What do you keep locked up there? Surely you’d allow people to even look in your room if you weren’t hiding something. What is it?” he questioned, his emerald eyes flashing behind his now unkempt blonde hair.

“Anematha,” Ravelyn responded simply, opened the door, and walked in side, slamming the door in Nikolai’s face and locking it promptly. He turned, and walked back down the stairs, heading to his room.

As Ravelyn entered, she walked across her circular room. There was a bed suspended in the air by chains from the ceiling and a white fur rug in front of the fireplace. There were two leather couches around a coffee table with red roses in a cylindrical vase atop it. The windows were tinted, and it was anyone’s guess that you could only see through them if you were on this side of them. There was a plethora of books among several bookcases along the back wall. Many of the books had not been touched for a while, while most of them had been read. Towards the opposite windows was a large glass case, and inside it was Anematha.

She walked over to the case and removed the covering, taking it within her hands and running her fingertips along the intricate shaft of the weapon, then observed the black blade which shifted in color towards the tip. She spun the scythe around in her hands before taking it with her to bed. Some people slept with guns underneath their pillows. She slept with her scythe. There was one time when she had had a lover, and it would be him, but no longer. He was dead.

He awoke screaming, roughly five hours after having fallen asleep. It wasn't a particularly loud sort of scream, but a scream nonetheless, which was quite odd for the normally unflappable Rae'l. He rolled off of the sweat-matted bed and fell face down onto the floor, simply laying there, breathing far more heavily than was his norm.

He had not been nearly so emotionally distraught when he had actually fought the battles that haunted his dreams. Perhaps that was the price he paid for his icy calm in battle -- that the emotions that he did not feel at the scene were instead relayed to him in his dreams. He was not a man who scared easily, but there was something truly terrifying in those memories. He knew, also, that there had been more than just recollections of past experiences, but as usual, could not remember what that 'more' had been.

He rose up to his knees and placed his hands on the side of the bed, pulling himself up to his feet, then unsteadily lurched towards the bathroom, running the tap on cold for a few seconds before he splashed water onto his face. The shock of bitter cold was like a slap across his face, yet strangely refreshing. He doubted he would be able to attain further sleep that night, and so showered quickly, then dressed in a fresh set of combat blacks and retrieved his sword and weapons belt.

The pistol he had slept on top of was unloaded, meticulously cleaned, reloaded, safetied, and holstered. Then he performed the safe process, mindless and automatic from daily repetition for many, many years, upon his carbine. He wiped his sword down with oils, tested the edge, and found that the blade was, perhaps, slightly less apt at slicing the hairs along the back of his hand than he would like.

He retrieved his whetstone and gave the thirty-six inch blade a good working over, then finished with a fine cloth and leather strap, honing the blade to a perfect edge. After a good rub-down with a special type of oil, he returned the sword to its scabbard, slung over his right shoulder.

His muscles were stiff from disuse, and the slight exertion of the maintenance activities did not suffice. Thusly, moved to a spot reasonably clear of obstructions within his room and dropped into a combat crouch. The first set of hand-to-hand drills was done in real-time and superficially slow, seeking exact form and beauty of motion rather than any sort of combat-effectiveness.

The Sentinel-Knight hand-to-hand style, Vris-Ka, or 'Fighting Wind,' consisted of two primary forms: Tri-Ka, or 'Slow Wind' and Mari-Ka, or 'Fast Wind.' Tri-Ka was a traditional fighting style, with an emphasis on rapidly disabling an enemy through precision strikes and a heavy emphasis on the entire body as a weapon.

Mari-Ka used the Art, making extensive use of dropshift as integral to certain moves, as well as the heightened sensitivity and intuition bordering upon precognition that were also possible through the Art. Rae'l would perform both drills, but began first with the Slow Wind, as he wished primarily to stretch out his muscles.

He completed the first set of drills, then slid smoothly into the modified Mari-Ka 'Striking Crouch.' It was not as well balanced as the Tri-Ka crouch, but allowed for faster movement from it. Motions that were blurringly fast became simply invisible as Rae'l dropshifted, seeming to almost teleport from one strike to the next, though that was quite impossible.

He finished up his little round of exercises with a simple set of sword drills, nothing complex, just a few basic thrusts and parries before returning his white-steel blade to its scabbard.

He simply stood in place for a time, breathing, his muscles limber, his vision clear. He had recovered fully, now, from the separation trauma, and a strange sort of smile came to his lips.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed and slid his hand beneath his shirt to feel the raised scar-tissue of the three great slashes across his chest, placed their by the claws of a great beast, a noble enemy, and now, quite securely deceased.

That particular bit of reminiscing done, he re-made the bed and fetched a supplement from his bag, choking it down on the spot. Then he would take up one of his books, Grossman's On Killing and settle down to read a spell.

Ryan dismissed himself as the party came to a close, making his way to his room. He stripped out of his clothes, pulled on a pair of running shorts, and, as he had stated, he placed the pistol, loaded and armed on the night stand next to his bed. He collapsed into the bed, pulling the covers over him, and closed his eyes. Sleep came easy for him, and he slept a calm, dreamless sleep. He hadn't brought an alarm clock, there was no need. He always had had the ability to wake himself naturally, simply by telling himself how long he wanted to sleep. After deaming that waking at what he believed to be 5:00am enough sleep, he drifted off.

Pietro spent the night in meditation. It was the closest he got to actual sleep. His thoughts turned to Home. Heaven. Paradise. He was frobidden from entrance, barred from passing the gates until he overcame the great sins. Eventually, his mind wandered to Ravelyn and this Genesis. He would have to begin claering his mind, focusing his conscious if his newest quarry was psionic. Faith was enough to keep a vampire out of his mind. How Genesis would be countered was another matter. He just hoped that Nikolai had a mind focused, or at least hardwired enough, to be immune to any sensations of pain under her duress.

Pietro refocused on the world around him. He took the Eagle out of his bag, and removed the clip, then ejected the chambered round to hold it in his hand. They had these things back in Vietnam. How much longer before the Lycans and Vampire trash that i hunt evolve past these darts of death? Pietro reloaded the gun, looked at it, then placed it next to his pillow. He would have to send for his sword. He didn't like it, but he didn't have much choice. He would send word the next time he got a free moment.

“I am going to rest, I don’t feel like being here,” Navi said to Ravelyn, who nodded in reply and continued to watch how the others interacted. She understood that Navi needed time to rest; she was a recently turned Shentavo. Rest was due. Navi made her way back to her room, closing the door behind her and locking it. She had lost some color to her skin but not all of it. She had been light skinned to begin with. She lay down on her bed, pulling the purple covers over herself and shivering. Her blood ran cold. Her long black hair spread out about the covers like a dark satin veil and her eyes gradually began to return to their normal darkened blue. There was something about them that was different, for now when they caught the light they reflected part of it. She closed her eyes and the world was drowned in sound. She tried to block it out, and after several minutes got it down to a bare minimum. It was then, that she heart someone’s heartbeat, and it wasn’t her own.

The room fell silent as her movements ceased. Only then did the intruder silently remove the items that had covered his body and place them on the floor. Rising to his feet, he moved with delicate steps to the partially opened door of the closet, peering out the crack.

He could see the still form under the covers, curled up for warmth. So far, so good. Pushing the door open more and catching it with a gloved hand to prevent it from hitting the wall, he advanced stealthily upon the sleeping girl. Hands went into his pockets and retrieved a rag and a vial of chloroform, the contents of the vial being emptied onto the fabric. As he took his last step closer, he turned his eyes to her face.

And became very still.

Her hair fanned out around her face like elegant plumage, catching the dim light of the moon that came through the window above her bed. Her face was peaceful, albeit a bit pale, even for the night. Still, he gave no indication that he realized what had happened. Even with this, her face was more than fair, with a strong hint of innocence.

Continue... he willed himself as he brought the rag upward and paused for a moment, still captured by the face she owned. Continue damn it... With a sudden movement, he leapt upon her and pinned her arms down under the covers with his knees, stradling her as he pressed the chloroform rag to her mouth and nose, his free arm used to hold her down across the shoulders and throat.

Navi instantly screamed but her mouth was blocked by a rag, and she was being held down. Her piercing blue eyes reflected the light as she struggled, but he held her down. She could smell the chemical; her internal computer was processing its components. It would have worked; had she not been turned just a day earlier, but he did not know that. Slowly, she let her body relax, and without breathing, it looked very convincing as she closed her eyes and faked passing out. There was a look of peacefulness spread over her face, even more so than before; as if she were dead. Perhaps the girl was allergic to chloroform, and her throat closed. Who is to say, and way, when the spider comes into the flies den only to find the roles revered, and captured in a web of deception with a new, hungry, vampire, so close to your body. And you can’t hear her breathing.

Ravelyn... she called out silently.

As she succummed to the effects of the chemical, he relaxed slightly, whispering, "Sorry. It's for your own good." A hand reached up to the window latch and opened its lock, then pushed the window's frame outward. There was a cool breeze of air that came into the room, quickly dropping the temperature several degrees.

Hoisting the girl into his arms, he removed the comforter and stood on the bed. A foot planted itself on the window sill, and with a concentrated mentality, he leapt forward onto the ground outside, nearly stumbling as he dropped to a knee to counter the inbalance.

Moments later, he had her slung over his shoulder, as typical to be seen in combat, running as fast as he could toward the beach whose waves rolled noisily upon the sand.

In his mind, he was congratulating himself for pulling this off without error.No way they can't ordain me now.

Reaching the waterline within a minute, he turned in direction and continued to move quickly away from the mansion with her body bobbing with each step, held firmly by his hands.

“Coro…” Ravelyn muttered in her sleep, and then woke up with a start. It was Navi calling. It was nearly morning and the sun was rising above the horizon. She calmly slipped on a pair of dark pants with the black tank top she was wearing, and in bare feet lifted her scythe from her covers, and opened the door, yawning lightly. She was normally a night person, but her circadian rhythm was thrown off. She gripped the scythe tightly. She hadn’t seen Corothisia a month, and worried about him. The last time he went away he didn’t come back for many, many centuries. To lose him again for whatever reason would render her legally insane. A person can only loose so much. She headed down to Navi’s room at a brisk pace, hopping the banister and dropping two levels before landing swiftly on the ground and continuing. To find Navi not in her room, and the window unlocked, she leapt out the window, her wings expanding just as she was about to hit the ground.

She carried her scythe, and saw him running with her. Hello…Navi… she whispered internally. The fledgling opened her crystal blue eyes. A low growl emitted from her throat, and she shifted her weight up and bent down to his ear. “Now who might you be?” she questioned in a vicious voice.

Rae'l set his book aside with a yawn and a stretch and began to pace. He simply couldn't get the feeling that something was out of whack out of his head. Normally, he'd have been up in arms by now, scouring the damn place...just to be sure. But that would have been impolite, and he still felt he was on very shakey ground, at present.

His eyes flitted about to locate a clock, check it, his lips curled back into a snarl. He flung himself forwards, hands convulsing, snapping the stiletto-blades of his warbands out. The only truly effective close-in style with warbands centered almost entirely around the concept of desperation and absolute ferocity. You had to seize the initiative and never allow the enemy to regain it, because you didn't have much of a chance of blocking anything with the needle-like blades.

No, warbands were meant for assassination. It was the simplest thing to wander up behind somebody, snap out one of the blades, and stab through the kidney. Rae'l wore them as lightweight, quick-access, concealed back-up weapons. Useless as they were in real combat, they had saved his life more than a few times when something unexpected happened...and practicing with them certainly did help to alleviate tension.

He threw a serious of short, vicious punches, aimed low. His mind adding images of the gushing blood that would result from the strikes to the femoral artery. Then he jerked back, put his weight on his back foot, shifted to front and sprung forward, launching another incredibly fast combination of jabs and elbow-strikes, this time so as to pierce both jugular vein and carotid artery.

He threw himself back, then repeated the exercises. Finally, after nearly ten minutes of constant motion, each strike perfectly executed...and utterly silent, save for the swish of steel slicing through air, Rae'l retracted the needle-thin blades and sat down on the floor, folding his legs under him. He was breathing a little heavier than normal, but only barely noticeably so...

He dropped his head into his hands, feeling...feeling...grrarrrgh!

He let himself fall backwards, laying sprawled out on the floor of the room, his blued-steel eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. He could not calm himself down. Well, that wasn't quite fair. He was perfectly calm, it was simply that a fair number of his warning signals were being tripped by...something, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He didn't even know if it was something of consequence, could be a stray cat! It was like an itch he couldn't scratch...utterly infuriating.

He convulsed on the ground, utterly helpless and singularly frustrated. It would almost be worth it, but he wasn't ready to push any further yet, damnit. His Art was screaming at him, now. Screaming 'GET UP AND DO SOMETHING!,' but the gift never said exactly what it was he had to do, and he couldn't just go wandering about until he figured it out.

Finally, he sprang to his feet and threw out his right hand, the bare skin bursting into a sort of silverish flame, about the same shade of 'gray' as his eyes were at the moment, though the flame lacked the same blue tinge as his eyes..

He brought the flame close to his face -- there was no more danger to him, it was a 'flame' in appearance only, there was no heat, for such was not necessary for what he wished to do. He looked into the silver fire, his lips forming two words in the High Tongue, the Tongue of the Art.

"Show Me."

The flames flickered, as if considering...then an image rose above the silver fire. It was instantly recognizeable as the mansion that Rae'l himself was currently inside of. He strained and squinted, trying to pick out detail...but there was nothing unusual. The image vanished, replaced by a single black stick figure, female, in the manner one would see on signs for public restrooms. Then flames flickered out.

Rae'l cradled his head in his hands and laughed, a distinctly manic sort of laugh. Fat load of help -that- had been, it could mean anything. For all he knew, it could have been in his 'in-box' and originally meant to tell him not to bring Johari with him...that was about as likely as anything, except that particular issue had been resolved...with no possibility of error, he would -know- if something happened to Swifty, even at this inordinately long distance.

So that couldn't be it. It could mean anything, though. A warning against, a warning for...arrgh! Nobody ever said the Art was easy, or good for one's peace of mind. He paced more, more...his path taking him ever closer to his medkit and the syringe containing a dose of tranquilizer contained therein. But he couldn't. He redirected himself to a chair and sat down, closing his eyes and squeezing the arms of the chair, barely managing to keep enough control over his muscles to avoid harming the wood.

He couldn't take the easy way out, because that particular dose of tranquilizer wouldn't floor him -- very little would -- but it would make him slow...and stupid. Sort of like being very, very drunk.

He rose from the chair and continued pacing, drawing his sword from its scabbard and cycling it about in slow, tight circles. The simple repetition helped more than anything had, thus far. Still, it required every ounce of will that he had to not go a-prowling. But he managed. Somehow, he managed.

Pietro sat above the floor, approximately three feet away from the foot of his bed. His mind had finally come to rest. Now it was peaceful. Soon the sun would rise. Nikolai probably had a twisted early morning muster planned. So be it. Pietro was ready.

Grandparents four, to you my obligation.
Let my heart never wander, and forever know my station.
Pass to me thine message, thine is the saving word,
And let the dove accompany me, that ever peaceful bird.

The poem went on. Pietro's mind calmed. Soon begin the trials.

“Coro…” Ravelyn muttered in her sleep, and then woke up with a start. It was Navi calling. It was nearly morning and the sun was rising above the horizon. She calmly slipped on a pair of dark pants with the black tank top she was wearing, and in bare feet lifted her scythe from her covers, and opened the door, yawning lightly. She was normally a night person, but her circadian rhythm was thrown off. She gripped the scythe tightly. She hadn’t seen Corothisia a month, and worried about him. The last time he went away he didn’t come back for many, many centuries. To lose him again for whatever reason would render her legally insane. A person can only loose so much. She headed down to Navi’s room at a brisk pace, hopping the banister and dropping two levels before landing swiftly on the ground and continuing. To find Navi not in her room, and the window unlocked, she leapt out the window, her wings expanding just as she was about to hit the ground.

She carried her scythe, and saw him running with her. Hello…Navi… she whispered internally. The fledgling opened her crystal blue eyes. A low growl emitted from her throat, and she shifted her weight up and bent down to his ear. “Now who might you be?” she questioned in a vicious voice.

With a startled cry, the man tripped and fell over, the girl thrust forward ahead of him onto the sand. With an oomph, he was on the ground, then quickly rising up to his feet.

"You weren't supposed to wake up..." he growled as he lunged forward to grab her, the rag with the chloroform in his hand again. "Not till we got away!"

In his reaction to her awakening, he had never seen the woman that followed...

Navi hissed, exposing her very, long well-sculpted fangs. Ravelyn grabbed the man by the back of his shirt, preventing him from going any further, and hooked the scythe around his neck with the blade cutting a thin line in his skin. She was a muscle contraction away from severing his neck. “My dear my name is Azrael, the angel of death, and it would seem that you tried to take one of my daughters from me, this I cannot allow. I suggest you talk quickly before I end your life.” He looked at the chloroform rag, and it caught on fire in his hands. “Also, don’t move…movement excites me.” Navi looked coldly at the man and stood up in the sand, brushing herself off with a disgusted look at him.

Rae'l seemed to relax all at once, and it felt very good. Whatever had been setting him off had abated...for now. He would come to suspect, probably, what it was. He would be wrong, mind, this to was known.

He padded over to his bag and produced his palmtop, woefully lacking the Snet connectivity card that usually made it the center of his resource-net. None-the-less, he attached it to his belt via a simple clip and slipped the earbuds into his ears, then thumbed through his extensive collection of music, primarily atmospheric pieces...

There were a few pieces from his own kind in there, but very little. He did not choose one of them, instead, the opening riff of a cover of Wesley Willis' 'Vampire Bat' made its presence known, and he chuckled in spite of himself. The lyrics were mindless but catchy, somehow.

He settled down into the chair as the simple lyrics began to strip away his lower-level thought, leaving only the uncommonly brilliant mind up above, the expert tactician that had achieved nearly two centuries of victory. He thought about the upcoming mission, and all of a sudden, he had his answer. He couldn't help himself...

"How do you catch a unique vampire...?" He chuckled to himself...

"You Nique up on her." He rim-shotted with his two fingers on the arm of the chair...even if the answer was likely enough to prove true.

The alarm sounded, the wake up call which was clear for Nikolai’s recorded voice nearly screaming for everyone to GET UP AND GET DOWN TO THE FIRST FLOOR TRAINING ROOM. Then there was a pause, and then “in 30 minutes”…then a laugh. The transmission stopped, and instruction would begin today. The training room was a nearly empty room save for Nikolai with his blond hair scattered every which way. Some strands were bleached with probably peroxide. It was a bit humorous for a man who was so damn…testosterone filled. Jin was the first to enter, and bowed to his instructor. By Nikolai’s expression, it was clear he disliked the boy. He wondered where Navi was. It was under Rave’s order that she was to audit the class but not participate.

Peitro heard the announcement. Thirty minutes was plenty of time. He showred, donned one of his lose training outfits, and was in the training room with ten minutes to spare. He noticed Jin, and waited for the others to arrive. Before doing so, however, there was one requirement that he had to observe. He had brought with him a simple wooden knife, and drew it as he approached Nikolai.

"As thou art to be mine instructor, I am obligated to offer a symbol of respect. In my culture, a wooden knife is given to a teacher for as long as one is a student." He held out the knife to Nikolai. "I don't enjoy standing on ceremony, but my conscious is such that I must offer such a knife to you for as long as i am training under you."

Nikolai, a bit perplexed took the knife. You’ve got to be joking… he thought to himself. “Whatever kid,” he said as the war veteran he was. Jin stood up, and took one of the biggest swords off the wall, knelt before Nikolai, and offered him the sword. Looking up to his instructor, there was a brilliant glow in his golden eyes of laughter. Nikolai took the sword and swung at Jin, who flipped over the chair like an acrobat and stared. He shook his head. “You are too damn much like Ravelyn for my liking Jin, have a seat.” Immediately Jin sat down with his legs tucked under him and his hands folded on his lap. This boy was going to get on his nerves.

Rae'l depowered his palmtop and removed the earbuds as the 'alarm' sounded. He recalled the first day of his original Sentinel-Knight training; old Jeric, the Armsmaster at that time, had gotten together a group of his friends and carried the new trainees, not a one of them over eight years of age, down to the small rocky beach at the foot of Shadowholme. They had moved with such careful balance and silence that none of the trainees had awoken...until they were thrown into the freezing cold waters. Somehow, he doubted that such things would occur here. To be truthful, that did not bother him entirely all that much -- once having been Armsmaster himself, he knew entirely well that Sentinel-Knight training methods were a little...over the top.

Rae'l rose from the chair and quickly washed and finger-combed his hair. He changed clothing, so as to allow the smart-cloth to deal with the traces of his night-time exertions, which weren't much, into a black short-sleeve shirt that was tight over his chest and a pair of black combat trousers that were identical to the pair he had just taken off. He slipped on his web-belt, leaving the weapons belt behind. His sword, securely slung over his shoulder, would be his sole weapon, save for the warbands on his arms and the pair of skeleton-grip throwing knives in his boots.

He tied his hair back with a single ribbon of black cotton, checked his boots for scuffs, then gave himself one last look-over in the mirror. The tight shirt served to accent his physique...which wasn't all that special. He was muscular, but they weren't 'honed' for appearance. He wasn't a huge fan of 'gym' exercise, and generally stuck to only what was necessary to keep himself in fighting trim. He ran a lot, though, and swinging a sword around for a few hours wasn't exactly not exercise. That didn't mean he wasn't physically powerful, quite the contrary. He was far, far stronger than he looked.

Rae'l's eyes dropped to his watch and he nodded to himself, grabbing a few pieces of hard candy and a supplement wafer on his way out the door. He arrived at the training room in plenty of time, and it was quite impossible to tell that he had jogged the way down at a fairly brisk pace -- he could run silently, especially on a carpeted floor, and back home he made a practice of running a few miles a day. In full kit.

As he stepped into the training room, and off to the side, there was a certain bounce to his step that hadn't been present the day prior. It was a new day, a better day, and he was a much happier person. There were reasons for this beyond his recovery from separation-shock, but they were complex...and effectively classified. Not anything he even allowed to the forefront of his mind for active consideration, much less felt was necessary to discuss with others.

He nodded to the others present, but made no further action. Sentinel-Knight's didn't even salute their superiors within their own Lines. Respect that required indoctrinated action to continually reinforce it wasn't really respect at all. Sure, it meant that every so often somebody challenged somebody else, but that was good and healthy. At least...it was to the mind of a Sentinel-Knight.

Ierenn awoke rather instantaneously when the alarm sounded. He had, while his body slept, been furthering his research thus far, and allowing a slight bit of rest time for the mind, he had spent about an hour in Sor-Kal, 'relaxing.'

He rose quickly, and garbed himself in his usual attire - appropriate for training, at the least, though it was no different from standard mission attire, perhaps except for the lack of complete covering of the face.

It took, perhaps all of ten minutes for Ierenn to prepare himself fully and reach the training room, and, as usual, he entered without any sound whatsoever. He also gave no salute, no item of respect to his trainer beyond what was required between teacher and pupil. Sor-Kal had no such traditions.

Navi hissed, exposing her very, long well-sculpted fangs. Ravelyn grabbed the man by the back of his shirt, preventing him from going any further, and hooked the scythe around his neck with the blade cutting a thin line in his skin. She was a muscle contraction away from severing his neck. “My dear my name is Azrael, the angel of death, and it would seem that you tried to take one of my daughters from me, this I cannot allow. I suggest you talk quickly before I end your life.” He looked at the chloroform rag, and it caught on fire in his hands. “Also, don’t move…movement excites me.” Navi looked coldly at the man and stood up in the sand, brushing herself off with a disgusted look at him.

The man froze completely as the scythe came to rest against his throat, it's blade tasting his blood. His eyes nevertheless were locked on Navi's fangs, and in his mind he cursed silently. She's been turned...I was too late...

His hand had already dropped the tainted rag, the faint glow of the flames reflecting off Navi's eyes and fangs. As he watched the girl in front of him, he spoke carefully in a measured tone.

"Talk about what?"

Without warning, he was shot in the back of the knee. Navi eyed the pistol. That was Vaughn's gun. Her eyes widened, and she walked around to stand behind Ravelyn, cold eyes glaring at the man who tried to kidnap her. "I won't ask again, you tried to kidnap my daughter," she groweled, and the gun clicked, the next bullet ready. The scythe moved back, digging more into his flesh. "Are you ready to die, or ready to explain yourself and get a painless, quick death? Either one i'm fine with."

The gunshot was instantly followed by an anguished cry as the man collapsed to his knees, emotions of pain filling his eyes as he looked upward at the woman who was starting to really scare the living daylights out of him. She'll kill me...she'll fuckin' kill me...oh God, it hurts!

Through clenched teeth, he replied haltingly. "Demitri...Nova clan...Tarla--Tarlachia...sent to rescue her..."

Inwardly, he hated having to succumb to her demands, but he was in no position to extricate himself to a better advantage. He had some training on prisoner tactics...but he had never been tested in the field like he were now.

"Please...mercy..." he whispered at last.

“Oh, in that case…” she commented, and then shot him in the other knee. “Navi…help me carry this ignorant uncivilized fuck…” She spat at him. Ravelyn swore…she was pissed. Navi dragged his wrists with a new found strength and Ravelyn whistled as she watched the long line of blood trail across the beach. “What happened Navi?”

“He tried to attack me while I was resting. He put chloroform over my mouth and tried to take me…I relaxed and pretended it worked.” She became nervous. “I don’t know who he is.”

“We’ll find out, don’t worry. Right now, we can retain him in one of the cells. What we need to focus on right now is saving Hevn and killing…killing Gen…”

Another anguished cry rent the air as the other knee was rendered useless, and they soon were dragging him through the sand.

"Wait! Wait...You're trying to save someone? I can help!" Demitri gasped as he bore each jolt through his knees.

"If I fail...then I'll not be your problem anymore..."

Ravelyn pointed the gun back at him and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, there were no more bullets. When they reached the mansion, Ravelyn jumped from the ground, her wings carrying her as she held the man by one arm and thrust him through a window in the mansion, blood pouring onto the floor. It was on the first floor, and Ravelyn walked through the halls, carrying the bleeding body as Navi trailed behind. The man was alive, barely. He would make it if he got care immediately. Ravelyn paid no mind to the few students who saw them pass as they looked out the doorway, and ignored Nikolai’s perplexed expression. “Navi…could you get a mop or something and clean up this blood?” The young girl nodded, and Ravelyn dragged him onto a metal table in the observation room, and locked his legs down. She placed her hand on both his legs, and the metal rolled out of his skin, very slowly.

“I don’t think you and I understand each other. Why would you kidnap my daughter? She is not yours to have, nor yours to make decisions for. You want to ‘save her from vampirism’. Is it a disease that should be gotten rid of?” She trailed the scythe along his body, enough to rip the fabric of his shirt. “If you don’t pass out from the pain, I’ll be back in four hours. Have an answer prepared.”

"Goddamn you bitch!" he cursed as the bullets wormed their way out of his flesh, chased by a new flow of blood. He was feeling lightheaded already. If he kept losing blood at this rate, he knew he'd die.

To both his relief and dismay, she merely turned and departed. He raised his head to look at the restraints, cursing as he struggled to slip his limbs free to no avail.

"Goddamn bitch..." he cursed as he thumped his head back and closed his eyes. He saw the girl's face in his mind, the way she had lain so peacefully on the bed.I should have known...impossible to pull that off here... His eyes flickered opened again as he sighed and resigned himself to await the next four hours. If only I hadn't been on that damned mission...I might've kissed her... he thought to himself. I've been betrayed by my own kin... he realized. There was no other explaination for the bizzare mission given. Usually, Raxhun were given missions to complete within the borders of Tarlachia, not outside.

"Damn it!" he cursed quietly again, his head rolling as he struggled to remain alert, then closed his eyes at last.

"I don't see the point", General Booley III stated as he read the request.

"Then your not looking at the whole picture, Sir", General Micaya Quester-Benn replied, "besides, I've already sent him."

"Without MY approval?", Booley asked in a low voice.

"Yes, Sir."

"That could be considered insubordination", he told her.

"It could be. Or it could be considered a gamble that could pay high yields", she replied.

"I don't see how. Perhaps if you could enlighten me?"

She ignored the condescending tone and nodded. "Of course." She stood up and walked over to the wall holo of the Central Worlds systems. "Following the Hudathan wars, and the fact that the humans took the brunt of the fighting, the president made it a priority to combine all of the fighting forces of central worlds. That is, the humans, the hudathans, the clones, the ramanthians, the thraki, all of them. That was 20 years ago and we're no closer than we were before. Our present President wants the same thing, and it is coming to the fore. You saw fit to dump this in MY lap. So be it. I intend to succeed."

"So what has that got to do with this request?"

"Everything", Micaya replied. "The biggest problem that faces us is that each race believes that integration and co-operation of the military forces isn't feasible. IF your son can pull this off. IF he can join a totally new, completely interracial combat unit and have it succeed, THEN I will have the proof to take to the senate that it CAN be done, HAS been done and that we CAN do it."

Booley sat for a moment considering her words. Micaya was older than him and would be in his position except for the fact that she had refused it. She liked being out with her troops, and she was DAMN good at her job. He sighed, "Your a pain in my ass."

"At least your ass is all natural", she replied, referring to the fact that in 50 years of combat she was almost 70% cyborg now.

Booley grinned but nodded, "Alright, it's approved. Belatedly. Next time, come to me first. I'm not unreasonable."

"That's not what I heard", she replied, giving her most innocent look, which wouldn't fool a newborn.

"Get the hell out of my office."

********

Space seemed to erupt as Helva dove out of probability and entered the system with the Empires of Rave Shentavo. She opened a channel as soon as she was clear of the probability displacement, which disappeared as soon as she was through.

"This is Helva of Central worlds, requesting clearance to land. I have Corporal William Booley of the Legion, he should be expected." Then she waited for a reply.

Pietro sat a row behind Jin. Taking out a pad and pencil, he wrote a simple sentence, tore off the paper, and handed it to Jin.

You and I must talk sometime today.

The sooner the better.

He watched Jin carefully. He was positive now, but he wouldn't say anything public for a while.

Jin took the note but did not read it; instead it disappeared in his hand. Jin mocked Nikolai with his eyes. He was there only for one thing; and that was, well…to learn, perhaps. If it were up to Nikolai; Jin would not be joining them. Oh if he only knew. Nikolai began, seeing that everyone was present. “I’m not too worried about the Loki, to be completely honest. This is why all of you had military training previously or some other form. You know how to shoot a gun and blow things up. It’s not as easy as that. Since Genesis cannot know we are there until we actually are right behind her, it is crucial we work as a team. I need to know each of your strengths. If everyone says bashing someone in the head, really hard…or ‘killing’, then we might have to drop a few of you and let you go, we need people with a variety of backgrounds which is why there is one person from each nation.”

Jin drew from his back scabbard a rather large broadsword and rotated it in his hand. Nikolai glared at him. He sighed, and backhanded Jin across the face, who took the blow rather well, and had put up no resistance against it. He knew Nikolai was a harsh instructor. He was really asking for it as well.

“Navi will be our navigator. The girl is entirely metal so long as she keeps the heating liquid flowing through her veins. If her temperature should drop below a certain degree, the metals will fail and loose their solid structure, leaving her to fend for herself. Due to recent events, she has become a Shentavo thanks to filling her with my bullets, and luckily…she hasn’t taken after her maker,” he smirked. “She’ll be able to keep her temperature regulated. She’s taken after Genesis rather than Ravelyn…so I need no replacement for her. Jin, although completely set to test my limits, is fast and agile. He will be our distraction…” Jin’s eyes widened momentarily, before nodding. So basically, he gets the hell beaten out of him and prays that they are fast enough to kill her. He wondered silently if Nikolai would wait till he was dead before calling the signal, and narrowed his eyes.

“We need three people on ranged fighting; those with the highest precision, and two people for close fighting besides Jin. I would prefer the two in close fighting be the more agile ones. They will have to deal with both Genesis and Loki if the range fighters don’t pick them off. Those with sniper training will automatically be in ranged fighting, but we will train you with our weapons as they are most effective. Tell me what you think you’d be best in, and I’ll evaluate you. If you don’t get what you want, there is a reason for it. We will then split off into two groups, and the training will commence for today.

“If you tried to kiss me I would full your body with lead,” Navi commented still in the room. Her eyes were green, and she took a syringe from the medical table, and injected something into each of his knees. A pink putty like substance filled the wounds. No doubt it hurt. “I had to stop the hemorrhaging,” she explained, then sat down in a chair across the room. “I don’t care who the hell you are, but you are going to help me develop this serum. You are going to be my guinea pig whether you like it or not. Next time you think about messing with our family, I suggest doing your research and decide on something else to do in your free time.” She typed on the computer and continued to work on the formula. It was supposed to be a heating liquid to keep the body temperature regulated, as well as keep her own temperature regulated. It would have to be doubly strong for her, or so she thought. One thing was for sure, Ravelyn’s body just simply wouldn’t handle the cold.

She picked up a vile, and injected it into his arm. “Test one,” she said, recording with a small speech recorder in her hands, and then she watched him. “Subject has been injected with serum 73-215.”

Pietro levitated out of his chair. "My grandparents are the four archangels of Catholic tradition: Micheal, Gabrielle, Rapheal, and Urielle. For some reason, I was born male. My own angelic abilities aren't highly developed. I can fly at speeds approaching Mach 4, faster in space, as I've recently discovered that I don't need to breath. I'm about twice as strong as a body builder, and I have resilience to telepathic attacks, though I was hoping to receive some form of training in that area.

"As far as training is concerned, what you need to know that isn't in my file is that I am better with a sword than a gun. I don't have the telescopic vision, at least, not yet, that makes me superaccurate with a firearm. I know close range fighting, though I trained for urban encounters with the IRA. My experiences as a paladin have given me almost a sixth sense about blade fighting. I know unarmed combat pretty well, though I don't claim to be the greatest brawler that the world has ever known." Pietro dropped to his feet and calmly sat back down.

"I do not concern myself with who your grandparents are. Keep in mind, different cultures have different religions, and whoever they are in your religion, they may be someone else entirely within ours. The catholic religion means very little to me, considering I am not a religious man. Against Genesis, religion won’t help you, so I suggest you drop that as a weapon here. A religion has no strength in a land where there is no faith to support it. Any abilities that angelic or otherwise, any thing of a magical nature you have gained from race or otherwise are negated within this city. It is what we call a dead zone…It is pure technique, no enhanced abilities. If we needed someone to fight with magic, then we could have used Ravelyn. Her strengths rival Genesis’ easily, but without her hell fire or heavy psionics to shield her mind from memories, I fear that her emotional background with Genesis would interfere. Compassion often gets the best of her.”

“What the issue is that we will be stripped of all our abilities save for our skill in fighting as well as our range. Genesis, however will not. These dead zones only respond to those with souls. It was created when Great Wars occurred and the dimensions got fucked up. We are going in as warriors, and nothing else. Genesis has no soul, and her abilities will be unaffected. You see why it is such a big deal she is a psion and an elementalist. We have nothing to counteract that.”

“In order to train, you will be stripped of your racial benefits and skills and train as any normal person would. It will feel awkward, I realize, but it is necessary to train without them so as to not become dependent on them. No matter how much you argue you can rely on your skill without them, you all came here for training, and you would not be training if you could already do this.”

He picked up his cell phone, “Navi. Bring serum 182-21 with you, we are starting training.” He then hung up.

---

Clearance granted. It was the only signal sent out by Navi’s computer system.

Helva entered the most direct flight pattern to the landing area and made a graceful landing. Once down she scanned the area and then dropped the ramp.

"We've arrived, Corporal, good luck", she told him in her melodious voice.

Booley stood, grabbed his gear, checked his uniform and then deassed the ship. At the bottom of the ramp he looked around, trying to see where he should go.

"Thanks, Helva."

"Your welcome", came the reply on her external speakers, "I'll wait until your on your way."

Booley smiled, "Thanks again, it would be a hell of a long walk otherwise."

Rae'l blinked once, then again, then shrugged. He could not imagine living without the Sentinel-Knight augmentations, did not believe it was possible to simply 'turn them off.' At least, not without drugging him first, then in effect reversing the original genetic engineering...but. Perhaps Nikolai simply meant 'supernatural' powers, which probably included his Art...probably. That he could live without...probably. This 'dead zone' business did not bode well, though. In truth, something inside him kept saying that this entire thing could be avoided with a little application of the famous Rys-Mak'anrae wit...but...he wasn't feeling up to it at the moment.

Similarly, he did not point out the absurdity to Nikolai's claim that if he, or any of them, could 'already do this,' then they would not be training. Maybe if he were a warrior...but a Sentinel-Knight was a soldier. It was his job to fight, and his fighting skills were a sharply honed tool. It was uncertain if he could get any better than he already was.

This was not simple confidence, he was, at heart, a mere human. True, he benefitted from some genetic augmentations - abnormally strong immune system, enhanced capacity for agility, flexibility, endurance...but they were -natural- augmentations, and they came with a price. That price was his over-active metabolism and the requirement for certain trace elements that necessitated his consumption of a supplement wafer twice a day. It was uncertain if he could actually survive without the augmentations, as one could not simply 'dial back' biology. In effect, the Sentinel-Knights were a subspecies of humanity...this was all very confusing to him.

Similarly, the reference to sniper training...disturbed him. He -was- a trained sniper, technically, even beyond the level of every Sentinel-Knight, who were as a whole masters of what would have been a DMR - Designated Marksman's Rifle - on Earth, the longrifle that they fired while mounted. But he wasn't sure he wanted to mention that, as sniper training was almost useless in real battle. It was all about picking out a target from an extreme distance, and it took -time.- The only worthwhile mark would be Genesis herself, and as had already been noted...

His personal skill was with his blade, but the...trick...that made him better than anything else he had ever met was his Art. Without the ability to dropshift, he was simply a master swordsman. Which would be unlikely to be sufficient to down a...creature...such as Genesis.

Whatever. Rigid role structure was useless in CQC. This was one of the very first things that a Sentinel-Knight learned. Everyone had to be able to do everything, because the one guy who could disarm the bomb...though that was seldom an SK mission...might bite a ricochet through the eye and die, and that was just no good. But Nikolai seemed to have moved on, so he simply remained silent and waited...

Because his greatest weapon was not his skill with a blade or his accuracy with a firearm. His greatest weapon was his mind, and nothing could strip that weapon from him. Ever. It wasn't that he was uncommonly smart, though he was. It was...something else. Call it quick wits, call it cunning, call it whatever. It was what his Line was famous for, and perhaps that was why he had been sent. Perhaps.

OOC: Rave, I talked to Rob today, and he gave me the OK to go ahead and play as Ryan till he returns. If you don't want me to, just say and I'll stop.

Ryan listened to the explination, and nodded in a way. "Well, I can do whatever you need me to. Although I don't really sword fight, and seeing as how you said that rounds on target wont take out this Genisis character, I guess I'll be staying back a bit. My team, for what its worth, was really designed not to do one thing perfectly, but to do everything damned near perfect." It wasn't an exageration, Ryan had spent time perfecting his skills at just about everything, from small unit room clearing to long range recon patroll. "I can do anything you want me to do, just give me the word."

Ryan was by no means a sniper, but he was a marksmen. Everyone who went through the training for IMSPECWAR was. Those that were better marksmen simply went into sniper programs. Fortier, on the other hand, had been a door kicker and CQB shooter, and a damned good one at that. The training regiment for the 1st SOGD-D daily had them put thousands of rounds on targets in kill houses and shooting ranges. And the training never stopped. Durring peace time, or even durring war but off operation, they went to the kill houses and ranges every day, developing blistered thumbs as they hand loaded every single thirty two round magazine for their customized rifles. And every week or so, they changed to a submachine gun, or a rifle from another nation. Somtimes he went in with an LMG from Imitora or abroad, sometimes they did the runs with just side arms. There was one thing an Imitoran Special Operations specialist could do, and that was shoot.

He could also hold his own in hand to hand, but he had never used a sword, and these guys were waving them around like toys. He had been trained to effectively use the kurkhi like knife issued to him when he joined the 105th, and the specialized airborne unit was all but famous, or infamous depending on what side you were on, for the damage they could do. But they were just big knives, not a full sword. His other knives, a Microtec OTF HALO III and a fixed blade SOG Seal were no where near big enough to mess with someone swinging a battle axe, the impression he got out of the situation. Of course, his hand to hand training, both from the military and personal, could give him an edge in getting up close and personal. However, he knew it was not his choice to make, it instead was up to Nikolai on where to place him.

“Yes, Ryan,” Nikolai said. “After reading your application I figured I could use you as one of the snipers.” He did not smile. He did like this Ryan character. He was simple; efficient, and knew that he would be reliable. He wasn’t dependent on many of these abilities others would loose, which made him one step ahead. He walked over, and removed a gun from the wall. It was all metallic black, a bit heavy, and as one gripped the handle, a cover shifted over their entire hand. “Rather than use mechanical firing pins to shoot bullets one by one, this gun holds multiple bullets in the barrel -- one behind the other. Electronic charges set off in different parts of the barrel, just fractions of a second apart; fire the bullets in blindingly fast succession using traditional gunpowder. The result is akin to a laser beam of lead and it offers several advantages over a regular machine gun. First, the new gun is solid-state and electronic, meaning there are few mechanical parts to jam. Second, more bullets can be fired with one squeeze of the trigger before the gun recoils. But perhaps most remarkable of all, the unique ballistics of firing projectiles close together means that the bullets farther back of the pack actually push those in front of them, thereby increasing bullet velocity. They were patented by me a while ago, and now was one of the top weapons in the military.” He held one in each hand and the grip crossed over his wrists. He handed one of them to Ryan.

“The recoil is hectic, if you don’t have any augmentations, so you’re going to have to build up enough strength and stamina to keep firing and keep the gun from recoiling at all,” he said. “Right now they are loaded with blanks, but when we go, bullets being designed by Navi will be used, each sniper possessing a different kind. They are still in creation process as of now.”

Shit. I hate Dead Zones. The paladin training had only ever touched this twice. And it was probably the toughest thing he had ever had to do, and even then, he barely scraped by in what was probably something one tenth of the difficulty of this. Still, he had his sentience, his logic, the slef awareness that made him an individual. He would need his sword. True, the Dragon Blade would be almost useless, but it would be a comfort, and that would matter. He had to talk to Jin, and soon.

Ryan took the rifle, giving it a once over, and then let the barrel fall forward, catching the fore grip in his left hand, his right holding the grip. The weapon wasn't to heavy, but it wasn't light either, and the description gave Ryan not so much a suprise but a general amazement. The idea was the same as the Metal Storm family of weapons, and the Imitoran military had made good use of them as large scale defensive pieces. However, he had never seen one like this.

"The sooner I get to shooting, the better then," he commented, taking note of Nikolai's warning.

“Yes, I suppose I’ll give you free practice before I supervise. There is a shooting range in the room of to the right. I suggest you start getting used to it before I start working with you, as it will make things a lot harder for you when I start,” he said, and dismissed Ryan. “Jin…” he said to the man who was now staring straight ahead as usual with his broadsword. Nikolai walked over to the wall and removed a large black blade. It was probably the widest there akin to a broadsword. It was made out of the same black metal that the gun was. “This weapon is quite heavy…I do hope you can handle it.” He tossed it to Jin, who caught it in his hands easily. Nikolai glared at him. I know your not human he commented softly to the student. You better hope that your strength is not inherent. I sense that you’ll need a lot of training. Start with push-ups, 150lb weight to your back, and pray your strength does not give out when this room strips you of your power.

Jin nodded, and walked over to the wall, grabbing a heavy weight and tying it to his back quickly, before starting on his knuckles. His eyes showed raw determination. Something from his demeanor said he was screwed when that switch went off.

A man walked into the room with bleach blond, almost white hair. He was passive, and simply handed Nikolai a small box, then made his way out of the room. He glanced at Jin, and shook his head, then disappeared.

"The motion hidden / strikes most fierce. The chosen precision / values silence above all.

The body is but a vessel / to be commanded as seen fit / what services required / Are offered but once."

Ierenn's own weaponry had included devices similar to pistols and rifles, in that they served the same purpose, though they utilized a different ammunition.

On the subject of the "laser of lead", there was some experience.

"Thine shard deflected / a threat unseen. Its brothers numerous / and velocity most keen."

Ierenn was currently _wearing_ all of his weapons, though it was perhaps not immediately obvious. Many were knives and daggers, possessed of biting edges and wicked curves, though more obvious was the sword he wore across his back, similar in shape and style to a tulwar.

It was with startling speed and precision that he moved, and the weapon found itself dangerously close to his current instructor.

"What is a drop of rain / compared to the storm? A herald, a sign / a revelation delayed."

Ierenn had aimed to slice Nikolai's clothing, and in the moments of that attempt, he had integrated a series of hand signals into his movement, forming a perfunctory message, that said all that was required.

He would be present, after this bout of training.

Ryan nodded as Nikolai pointed him in the proper direction, and he headed tow the firing range. Upon entering, he noted that it was like most ranges he had seen, but there was hardly any way to really change up a firing range. It was usually all the same; a few short ranges, a few long ranges, and some pistol ranges. He selected one of the longer rifle ranges, designed for training long range shooting, and placed the rifle on the stand, stretching out first. When he had completed the serries of stretches, aimed at pulling tension from his body, he picked the rifle back up, shouldered it, and looked down range.

The red dot style scope was similar to the one mounted on his own rifle, and easy enough to use. The weapon itself wasn't to heavy, but it was bulky, and took some time getting used to feeling it in the hands. He leaned forward slightly, puting weight on his left foot, and angled his upper body so that the shock from the recoil would go down through him to the floor, and not straight back. He pulled the stock into his shoulder, and pushed his cheek down onto it, giving him a short distance of eye relief with the scope. It wasn't the best sniper shoot position, but he would need an out door range with a level target to get into a ground position. He tucked teh rifle in securely, and pulled in a deep breath, holding it.

In the silent room, all he could hear was his heart beat, the pulsing in his ears slowing. The best snipers in his unit could slow it down to something close to a stop, as at the ranges they shot and the sensativity of their weapons, even the pulse of blood through the body from the beat of a heart could throw the round off target. Ryan wasn't that good, but he could slow it down enough so he could almost guess exactly when the pulse would be off just that one second to fire. He calmed his breathing, clearing his mind, focusing down range. He counted beats, and just as his heart pumped out, he squeezed the trigger.

The silence was destroyed by numerous, back to back crakcs that almost sounded as one long single sound. Each round leaving the barrel, slamming though the sound wave, screaming towards the downrange target, let off its own noise, but the rate of fire was so close together that it sounded as if someone had simply fallen a tree. The recoil was indeed massive, throwing the rifle upwards and back as Ryan absorbed it with his body, rolling back on his heels slightly. The scope had come up and off the target, and that would make follow up shots difficutl, especially against multiple targets. However, thats what he would train for, and hopefully they would give him the time here to practice like he did back home: round after round after round, day in and day out.

He placed the rifle down, and mashed the recall button, bringing the downrange target in. The paper had been torn nicely by the rounds, the grouping so tight it looked as if it has only been it by one large round. The accuracy was good, despite the recoil. After all, by the time the recoil from the first round was felt, the last round had left the barrel. Now all he had to do was learn the weapon, learn to feel it and controll it, to make it one with himself. That, and as he looked on at the rifle, he also had to learn how to reload the damn thing.

Sor-Kal lunged at Nikolai, and his eyes narrowed, taking on a catlike emerald color as well as shape as he reached his hand backwards producing a blade, then his right producing another. He deflected the attack bringing his left blade across in a diagonal position, deferring the attack and delivering a swift knee to the initiate’s stomach. Nikolai was fast, very fast. But he was human, wasn’t he? He didn’t have any fangs. He sure as hell wasn’t a Shentavo. Both of his knives were pointed at the man’s arms. If he attempted to attack him, Nikolai would disarm him. “I didn’t say go…” Nikolai said coldly. There was a tone in his voice that was different from before. It was thirsty for something…thirsty for death. Jin removed the weight from his back, and picked up his knew weapon, bringing it into his hands, but not moving.

“I just asked for people to tell me what they are best in. If your going to be sword fighting, we will test that in a bit on me. If you are going to be shooting, you will test that on Jin.” Jin’s eyes widened, then remained calm. Looks like he was going to be taking some bullets.

Booley stood for a time, then seeing no one began to approach the nearest building.

"Maybe it's off, or maybe I'm too late", he said.

The answer came through the small contact button that he wore to keep him in contact with the ship.

"Or maybe your off the list", came the females reply, her normally beautiful voice a bit tinny on the tiny contact button speaker. "You are late after all."

"Talk to the brass, I had been minding my own business, doing my job out on a patrol. They chose me."

It was Lotus whom opened the door, and while he was a recluse he was minding Navi’s job of receptionist while the scientist got to work. His short white hair fell over one eye as he opened the door for the initiate. “Welcome,” he said in a reserved tone. “Sorry for being late; our receptionist doubles as our scientist, and no one had heard of your arrival; only the computer systems.” He let the man in and briefed him on what exactly was going on. He spoke of Genesis, Hevn, Navi, and what exactly they were going to be doing. He led the man to his room and gave him directions on how to get to the training area, where the lessons were already commencing. Lotus then walked back downstairs and took Navi’s seat then proceeded to bury his eyes within a large, old-looking book.

Before the old man started Booley held up a finger.

"Helva? Deactivate the button and go ahead. I'm in, and part of the agreement was no exchange of information with an unknown party."

"How am I unknown?" she asked.

"You're unknown to them, and I'd rather not have my fuzzy ass shot off. So I'll contact you when my mission is completed."

"Valid point. Deactivating now, and lifting. Good luck Corporal."

"Thanks, safe journey", he replied.

Booley's 'fuzzy' comment was due to the fact that he was part Naa. Naa resemble humans, except they have a coat of fur, nostrils that they can open and close at will and their feet are somewhat wider and have no toes. Booley's fur wasn't as thick as a pure blooded Naa, but he did possess a fine pelt that covered his body. It was soft, black and helped keep him warm on the cold nights on Algeron. It also helped some on Frio II, but even then and with full gear it was cold since even the daytime temperatures got no higher than about -20 degrees. He was handsome for a human with cool blue eyes and fine features. The Legion, being what it was, had hardened his body and kept him strong. Like his peers among pure blooded Naa he possessed Ganglia just below the dermal tissue at the bottom of his feet that allowed him to feel temperature gradients to within 2 degrees, a heightened sense of smell that could detect something from 10 to 200 yards away depending on how strong the scent was and excellent night vision.

Booley paid close attention to what the man told him. The difficulty in fighting on thier grounds didn't bother him. He was a member of the Legion, and the Legion was always the first wave on the ground, the exception to being entirely first being that of the Navy who might have to clear a path for the dropships. Capturing the woman was another matter entirely. His orders had always been to kill. Win by attrition. That he understood. Capture had never been an option.

"Well", he muttered after the man left, "looks like I have something to learn after all." The whole soul thing would have bothered him more if Central hadn't already become familiar with Dragonsreach. The leader there was a vampire, and they stole souls didn't they? He couldn't remember now. They drank blood, that killed you, enought strikes for Booley right there. Except the Queen, there, was kind, wise and rather good looking. He remembered meeting her briefly when he accompanied his father to a meeting with her and the King of Highport. The red hair had really gotten to him, not that he showed it. He had a weakness for red heads and he could still remember the way it cascaded down her back.

He didn't bother unpacking, leaving it for later, and unsure what to expect he took his rifle, sidearm and knife. The rifle and sidearm were powerful, heavily modified for his hands and silenced. The knife was of excellent craftsmanship, having been made by sharpedge knifethrow, a Naa friend of his father's. Then he followed the directions to the training area to report for duty.

Pietro looked at the sword racks. Might as well figure out what to use now. He turned to Nikolai, and began with a series of questions.

"Will Genesis be armored?"

"Will her minions be armored?"

"How fast will they be?"

"What types of armor are we looking at? Relative frequencies?"

"What types of mundane armaments will she have?"

"What kills her dogs?"

No sword could do everything. Especially if one was the physical inferior to another. The biggest mistake in judging a sword that a person could do was to not know the enemy it was designed to kill. Hence the first rule of the sword: Know thine enemy.

Rae'l watched Ierenn go into action, and it would probably be difficult to notice the subtle changes in his stance that would allow him to free his white-steel blade from its scabbard and launch an attack in a single blurring motion that was reminiscent of Japanese Iaido or Battojutsu forms, albeit faster and with a blade far less specialized than the katana.

A few moments later, he relaxed, though this was much more mental than physical. There was a bit of a dilemma -- he was certainly a superior swordsman, probably better with a blade than he was with a firearm -- technically, anyways, but so much of his more advanced fighting styles, styles that had long since become simple reflex, were dependent upon his dropshifting...

Then again, he hated the very concept of Metal Storm-esque weaponry that Nikolai seemed so proud of. The very, very first thing that a soldier learned was to never, ever, ever, ever autofire, unless you were either at ungodly close range, or you had a weapon heavy enough to do so, supported with some kind of bipod or pintle-mount. Not to mention the simple fact that you could field-strip and service a traditional firearm in the field, but there wasn't much of anything inside a dratted Metal Storm gun save for a silicon chip, so if it broke...it broke.

On the other hand...

He approached Nikolai, his expression making it very clear that he was choosing, in his mind, what was -probably- the lesser of two evils. Then he spoke very slowly, cooly, and calmly. There wasn't an ounce of bite in his voice, it was almost...machine like.

"Give me a rifle. I'd rather have to move forward from the rear than fall back, you understand...and...I'm pretty good with a gun."

Pretty good was a bit of an understatement. He was sniper-qualified, as an instructor, as a matter-of-fact, kinda came with the Armsmaster position. This wasn't with the DMR-by-any-other-name Longrifle, either. The standard Sentinel-Knight sniper rifle was a bullpup semi-auto that fired a hybrid ultra-long-range three line round, effectively a copy of the .338 Lapua Magnum. On a fair day, it wasn't uncommon to shoot at .2 MOA with the so-called 'firelance' rifle...and for a good rifleman, killshots on a human sized target out to well over a kilometer and a half were quite possible.

Rae'l, by the way, was a very good rifleman. On the other hand, he also knew a thing or two about autoweapons, and the first rule of autoweapons was 'mass.' He didn't have the kind of mass that really let one absorb recoil -- strength could help, and in his case it did, but he was just a bit too slender and quick. He was accurate as hell on picked shots or tight bursts, but he couldn't handle long-term sustained fire, especially with the damned cannons that the Sentinel-Knights deemed 'squad automatic weapons.'

Perhaps his standards were simply too high. Most people would have trouble with handling the recoil from an LMG that had been derived from an anti-aircraft weapon. Originally mounted on a tripod as used for point-defense, some bright mind had simplified the action, reinforced various things, slapped on a very fast tool-less barrel change system, a foregrip, and a fancy recoil absorbing stock...and deemed it a 'squad automatic weapon.'

What said bright boy had forgotten was that it was -still- a five line weapon that fired a round that had been designed to deter low-flying aircraft. Still...give it to one of the truly humungous individuals that graced the Sentinel-Knight Lines, and you had a weapon that could put very, very big holes in things. Which was always useful.

Keyton had waited with patience at the back of the group, rifle slung low in a one-point tactical harness. He wasn't a specialist in a single area, but more of a highly skilled generalist, he was a Special Forces instructor, after all. He'd better be good at more than one thing. Between the knife and tomahawk on his belt, he was more than capable of quickly dispatching an enemy up close. He preferred the butt-stroke to the head followed with a point-blank double-tap, but the hatchet worked, too. The single-round head-shot was still his favorite, however. It required so much less energy and effort, and was so much more effective, and was most likely always delivered from beyond arm's reach.

The Argonian creedo was almost always to kill at close range, unseen if possible, and always as fast as one could. The important part was the killing, though. As long as you survived and the enemy didn't, it didn't matter how you pulled it off. It was this particular part of his psyche was sending little warning messages to his brain right now, at the mention of two things he really wasn't keen on: Swords, for one, and those damned electronic-firing bullet-hoses the eggheads referred to as 'Metal Storm'. Keyton had lived by the 'One Shot-One Kill' method for the better part of his military career, which was why he'd switched to the older M1A design instead of the M16-style AAR-16 the Argonian Infantry were standard-issued. The same was true for his sidearm, a beefy forty-five in lieu of a high-capacity Para-Ordnance Tac-Five nine-millimeter. A long-range lead-sprayer seemed an oxymoron, they'd wind up riddling their companions in addition to their foes.

Swords were what really worried him, though. He'd earned all of his credentials on the business end of a sword, fighting anti-modernist rebels in the close confines of the Black Marsh. Keyton had quite a collection of scars from those encounters, mostly the damned 'Silk-Swords' from the Longtail-clan smiths, which were basically Asian katanas with an edge running down the back half of the weapon, and didn't have as much of a curve. The shaft of his tomahawk had more than a few knicks from hairsbreadth deflections, while the wide blade of his Tech-Bowie usually came upwards under the sternum, through the jaw, or into the arm-pit.

The only thing that seemed to be going for him was that he didn't have the special powers this Nikolai fellow had been talking about. Aside from being able to smell acutely, and breathe under-water, he was basically a scaly human with a tail. His night vision was a bit better, but with the lack of a right eye it was on par with that of a healthy human, and as such not much of a factor. He could burst-fire the Metal-Storm rifle, but then again, how would he reload it? Like an old-school muzzle-loader? That seemed more of a step backwards than forwards. He'd prefer a bolt-action rifle for the ranges they were supposed to be facing, or at the very least a semi-automatic. His sniper training had included plenty of range time with a full-sized M1A, an M24 bolt-action, and the beastly M82A1 anti-material semi-automatic, and he'd done very well. Field-craft in an arctic environment would be easy enough, simply use a burlap cloth wrapped in a sheet, to disguise both body temperature and coloration, paint your weapon white, and you were good to go.

Close-on, he'd be hacking and stabbing, using his claws when needed to remove a larynx or rip out an eye-ball. He was agile enough for the job, strong by any standards, so long as they weren't augmented or supernatural ones. They wouldn't be handling demo on this operation, which was something else he was capable of doing, so that negated his position as a bomber-man. His hatchet and knife didn't have the range or damage potential of a sword or large axe, but were capable of removing a limb in short order if needed. By the sound of things, these weren't normal things they'd be squaring off against. It would most definitely be interesting...

Keyton decided to let the others take their pick, and position himself where he was needed most, which would be whatever was open when the other positions had been filled...

"You've most likely read my personnel dossier, so I'll let you decide..."

Pietro located his preferences in blades. Depending on the answers he received, he would select one of these.

He had toyed with using a gladius, but the effective space meant that unless they made the absolutely absurd mistake of charging into this in a packed formation, the gladius was out. He disdained the traditional broadsword, as it was generally a weapon used in tournament fighting. The Scottish variant, the claymore, which also drew heavily from the longsword, was one of the best anti-armor weapons ever devised, but it was unlikely that the enemy would be utilizing plate-mail armor.

Thinking up of a pun for the situation, he analyzed the other edge of the blade. The Roman Spacha, the sword used by officers and later field units, was more versatile than the broadsword, and was better for strikes and slashes. As was the scimitar, or the sabre, single edged weapons with a back curve that made slashing easier and more fluid but eliminated thrusting. The katana was the best known of the eastern swords, it most resembled a scaled up version of a saber, also single edged, and generally designed to be either two or one handed.

Pietro found these blades along the wall, then turned to await Nikolai's answers.

Nikolai looked at Peter with annoyance. When would people just learn to do what they are told? “Shut up,” he said to him monotonously, his demeanor never changing. “Just shut the fuck up. I asked one simple question, I didn’t say this is a good time to ask me whatever the bloody hell you want. Maybe if you pay attention you would have already had some of your questions answered,” he scoffed. Yes, he was furious, but did his best not to show it. He managed to turn his attention over to Sor’kal, and edged away so he would have more time to defend himself.

“Ierenn, I want you with training with Jin for swords. Ryan and Keyton, I need you both as snipers. You four I want for Genesis, and I will be joining you as a sniper, or a duel wielder if I have to. Rae’l and Keyton, you will be going after Hevn together with Navi as your navigator. As for Peter…” he said. “I’m not quite sure where the hell to put you. You are far too cocky, far too boisterous, and you haven’t seemed to grasp the limitations this mission puts on all of us.” A quiet buzzing noise started in the walls, as if something had just started up. “If you want to act like the end all be all of this mission I’ll send you against Genesis alone with the sword your holding and send Azrael your soul. We all have limitations; Ravelyn can’t be near temperatures that cold without serious risk because she cannot protect herself without magic, I cannot fight Genesis from that close a difference because I am an anguisette, Navi’s fast but due to the metal running through her limbs and electronics, she cannot fight there. All of us have our limitations, and you will not be immune. I am the only one who can teach you about what we need to do. I am the only one here that can formulate you all into a team TO WORK TOGETHER, so just shut up and follow my orders.”

"I will not have you be the failure of this mission because you became arrogant."

The entire 'demonstration' saw Ierenn more or less locked with Nikolai. His attack to the stomach had effectively gone unnoticed, and Ierenn's blade remained in dangerous positions, just as Nikolai's were now.

Cross referencing... searching databases

The moment had been recorded, and now? Analyzed, checked, analyzed some more, and such data collection would continue throughout the training exercise.

Ierenn returned his drawn sword to the scabbard he wore, with one fluid motion, putting all of a foot of extra distance between himself and Nikolai in the process.

"And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it;
and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them."

Ierenn said no more, and, having a better appreciation of Nikolai's skill, followed these orders without hesitation.

Still, he concealed brief signals within his movement, so subtle as to be nearly impossible to pick out, unless one were actively searching for them.

He would assess the threat that may come against some of his less-natural parts shortly.

Keyton was a bit confused by that last statement...

"You've got me with Ryan and yourself as a sniper, against something called 'Genesis', and with Rae'l after something called a 'Hevn'. Will we be pursuing these targets separately, or simultaneously?"

It was also possible he'd be positioned in a nest with firing lanes over both targets, allowing him to engage both at will, but that was more than hopeful. He'd have to keep an ear open for someone sneaking up on him, and be ready to plant a forty-five in their forehead at a moment's notice.

He was sure Nikolai meant for someone else to be paired with Rae'l, since logic dictated that no-one could be in two places at once. Once that question was answered, he'd grab one of those ridiculous rifles and join Ryan on the range to familiarize himself with the thing...

"Hevn is the girl we have to get back," Nikolai said in return. "And you will be part of both of these missions. You will start with Hevn, and once she is accounted for Rae'l will take care of her, and you will move, lead by Navi, to where Genesis is in case we are in need of extra...assistance."

"Both you and Rae'l will be using both weapons, or whichever one you prefer for close combat."

The Argonian nodded slowly, to show his understanding...

"Indeed. Thank-you for your clarification..."

Keyton took one of the bullet-hoses down from the wall, and moved to join Ryan on the range. The weapon, equipped with a fore-grip and a simple red-dot combat optic, seemed to be better optimized for close-quarters combat. His own rifle, the shorter brother of the M1A, the SOCOM II, was capable of close-quarters use, albeit with a powerful cartridge, which also translated well into distance use of about three-quarters of a mile with the optic he currently had mounted.

He unslung his own weapon, laying it atop a table to keep it out of the way. His first position was a kneeling one, pulling the rifle firmly into the pocket of his shoulder. If he was going to be using this unwieldy weapon in a long-distance support role, he'd definitely need to attach a bi-pod, as he'd be shooting prone. Keyton took a moment to steady his breathing, with a long inhale, an exhale half as long, and he held the remainder, pausing for a brief second before squeezing the trigger with constant pressure.

It was a brief squeeze, what would have been a single-round shot from a normal automatic rifle, but in this case he sent close to fifty rounds down-range. The recoil wasn't bad, at least when fired in bursts of fifty. Normally he'd be shooting bursts of six to nine, but this wasn't a normal machine-gun. Keyton, ears ringing from the nearly constant buzz-saw like noise of the weapon, wheeled his target back towards him. The entire center was gone, replaced by a ragged hole. He swapped out targets quickly, laying that one aside so he could study it later. The next target went out farther, and Keyton lay prone, resting the barrel on one of the lower spars of a folding chair in the absence of a sand-bag or bi-pod. He repeated the breathing ritual, then tapped the trigger. Around ten rounds exploded forth from the weapon, and Keyton repeated the action with another ten-round burst before calling the target back.

The entire center wasn't gone this time, it seemed wedging the barrel under a chair helped to negate a lot of the recoil. It wasn't exactly a pattern to be proud of, but it was tighter than his previous grouping. Keyton swapped out target again, and set about further familiarization. He wanted to know exactly what he was capable of with this thing, despite the noise and excessive recoil...

Dead Zone. Finally. Now I can get somewhere with this guy. "Alright then, where do you want me?"

Pietro was put off by the sword comment. He wasn't holding a sword. He hadn't even touched any. He merely eyed them. Nor had he spoke about his reasoning, he simply analyzed his options entirely within his mind. Either Nikolai was telepathic, or he was going crazy. Pietro put money on crazy.

Ryan had missed the encounter and the brief match between Nikolai and Ierenn, and missed the tirade. He instead had spent the past few minutes staring at the weapon, trying to figure out how to reload it. Not that it much mattered, he didn't have any extra rounds on him. Instead he just hefted the rifle, getting used to the weight. It was heavier than his own, and a bit unwieldly compared to the easy to handle CAR-68.

It was then that the Argonian came in, and began shooting as well. He watched as he tried a few stances, letting off a few bursts, and waited till he was finished. He was used to being interupted when shooting, hell, most of the time it was part of his training. However, he didn't know how the other had done it, so he paused, letting the other shooter get off a few more bursts. When he had assumed that he was done, he spoke up.

"Hey, quick question, ya have any idea how to reload this?"

Keyton shrugged from his position on the floor...

"Your guess is as good as mine. The few examples of this technology I've seen had to be taken apart to reload. For these, carrying enough extra ammunition to reload even once would be ridiculous, not to mention heavy and bulky..."

They really hadn't been briefed on how to reload their weapons, which seemed a vital skill to have once one entered a combat zone. Otherwise Keyton would wind up throwing the empty weapon at the nearest enemy before tearing him apart...

"I hear ya there," Ryan replied, looking down at the rifle. "Isn't that always the way though? The more complicated it can get, the more freely they hand them out. I'm still trying to grasp why a burst from this would kill them any more dead than a burst from any other rife. Then again, ours is not to reason why."

He trailed off towards the end, and glanced down range. He then looked back at the Argonian, and approached, hand out. "Seeing as we seem to be the shooters at the moment, might as well. Name's Ryan Fortier, from Imitora. First Special Operations Group," he said, not adding the Detachment Delta at the end. Just like the famed US counter terror team, the 1st, SOGD-D didn't officially exist.

Of course, any research into the matter would come up with the First Special Operations Group being a command and control center just outside Trent, Imitora, at Ft. Stenis. It was the place where the military sent all the Special Forces commanders who were to old or out of shape to do field work. It was there that they retired to thinking up war game scenarios and congratulating themselves for conquering the universe. It was not the type of place where one would expect shooters and snipers to come walking out of. However, it only helped with concealment.

"Any idea of what the hell any of this is about, beyond what we've already been told?"

ooc: hey guys i'm driving home today, so i won't be able to post till late. sorry. i've had a few rough days lately.

OOC: It's understood, we all have such days from time to time.

IC:

The Argonian got up from the floor, catching the extended hand in a firm grasp, trying his best to keep from digging a claw into the man's hand. That wouldn't have been well received...

"Keyton Kerrich, First Special Operations Group, Training Detachment Alpha, Argonian National Army..."

Their unit names sounded identical, but Keyton was sure they couldn't have been more different, at least where methodus operandi were concerned. This Fortier individual did, however, seem to be of the more conventional unconventional warrior, along the same lines as himself. Keyton had been worried that he was the only 'normal' soldier present...

"You don't seem the type to have supernatural powers. Am I correct?"

The man reminded him of his own instructors from the private military corporation that had trained him in the ways of soldiering. There hadn't been an Imitorian within their ranks, however. Most had been American, ex-SEALs or Green Berets, with a few Rangers here and there. There'd been a Delta or two, he was sure of that, although none of them mentioned it. The first rotation of government troops didn't have Argonian instructors, neither did the second or third. Keyton was of the first training rotation, and one of the few survivors of that class.

In those days, there was inexperienced leadership on the field, which had landed Keyton his first promotion, from a buck private up to a sergeant in one fell swoop. Everyone was green then, even the now-respected Assault Infantry, the Argonian equivalent to the Army Rangers. He'd been promoted on the grounds that he was the only survivor in his squad, after a vicious ambush from anti-modernist rebels who revered the old ways of the Marsh, and were willing to kill, and be killed, to preserve those ideals. One of the insurgents slung a grenade from a common sling used originally for stones into their midst. The explosive struck the squad's sergeant squarely across the temple, and a second or so afterward, it detonated. Keyton lost his left eye in that attack, and had an ear-fin partially shredded, luckily he had been standing behind another soldier at the time. His rifle was undamaged, however, and Keyton put a pair of three-round-bursts into their attacker's chest. Medics found him two hours later nearly dead on the perimeter of the forward base. He'd come out of that hospital a much more focused and driven individual than before, and wearing a stack of chevrons.

He wasn't exactly proud of how he'd gotten his start, it could just as easily have been him standing next to the grenade, but he used that wound he received as a constant source of motivation. It had carried him through his Special Forces training, the sniper course, and his selection to serve as an instructor at the newly-formed Special Warfare Center. He hoped it would carry him through this oddball mission.

He was actually hoping that this Ryan Fortier knew a bit more about it than he did...

“Jin,” he said, addressing the man now sitting, meditating, not doing what he was told. “Get the hell out of my head. Some of what I here puts me in a bad mood.” Cocking his head to the side, Jin seemed to say, ‘who me?’, as if he had no idea what Nikolai was talking about.

“Everyone who is going to be using a sword, stay with me…Jin you are target practice for the guns.” Jin reluctantly got up, walked across the room, motioning for those who were left that were using guns to follow into the shooting range. Was he terrified, yes, but hell…he could handle a few of these bullet no problem. He was trained to do so. He looked as they tried to figure our how the guns were handled, picked one up, and pressed a small button on the side. It locked over his arm, he held it out straight, aimed and fired at one of the targets. With a quick slash like that of a sword, a vertical line was shot straight down the paper, with no breaks or gaps in between shooting. He looked at them, and by his eyes you could tell that he was smiling underneath that fabric.

Nikolai sighed, and picked up one of the rather large swords that looked like a broadsword. “Jin uses this sword, as it suits him well. He can wield it with both hands quite easily. For the rest of you, you’ll have custom blades made or what weapons your used to working with, but it must be made out of our materials, so we will design it for you. For now, pick up a blade from the walls that seems right to you…and try to attack me.”

Rae'l had nodded as Nikolai gave him his assignment. He was perfectly content with it -- let the others take care of the hit. To be honest, he was quite relieved, as if a great weight was lifted off of his back. He'd been stressing far too much over the kill portion, now he simply had to focus in on his portion of the mission: getting the girl and getting her out alive. Simple, clear cut. He grinned a little as he took one of the bulky rifles down off the wall and checked it over.

Mental Note: Get a friggin' manual.

He made his way towards the range somewhat distractedly, his attention focused on the electric-fired rifle he held in his hands. The handgrip-shield thing was little strange and annoying. He didn't like restrictions on his grip, as a general rule. Still, it had a foregrip, which was nice. The reloading conundrum bothered him more than a little bit, though.

The way they did it with the Aussie Metal Storm guns was to stack the bullets up in tubes or similar and ram them down the barrels...but the way he would do it was to simply have the whole 'barrel' section of the gun rest on a central rod, then you could simply flick a catch and tilt the weapon forward, causing the barrels to slide off. Slap another one on, spin it to 'locked' position, ensuring proper alignment, and off you go. Of course, he didn't like the design at all in the first place. An AK-47 didn't fail when HERFed, he wasn't so sure about this blasted thing.

Another design would be to have the 'barrel' portion tilt forward, like a break-open shotgun, then you ram the 'ammo sticks' into the barrels and snap it shut. This was probably the best method, as it required the least movement, but the 'throw away barrel' method had its advantages -- namely, it replaced the barrels, which had to take a -lot- of punishment, what with all the exploding going on inside of them, very close together.

He made his way to an open shooting lane, noting peripherally the other two shooters, checked his left and right, feeling a little foolish...but...old habits died hard. He still muttered "Range Hot," but it wasn't particularly loud. Screw it. He checked over the target, deemed it satisfactorily -- he was a major proponent of human-shaped paper targets with clearly marked kill-zones -- 'sniper's triangle,' heart area, etc. He did a few rapid shoulder rolls, then checked the weapon over for a safety and brought it up into his shoulder.

He leaned forward, putting a lot of his weight on his right foot and bracing with his left, then he ensured that his grip was correct by feel alone, then, and only then, did he let his index finger bend ever so slightly, touching his fingertip to the pad of the trigger. He squeezed back smoothly, his whole body tensed and still, yet slightly loose. His left hand was tight on the foregrip, ready to counter-act the inevitable barrel climb, which begun...

NOW! It always caught him by surprise, every time, just as it should. The red dot sight was about right for the weapon -- it would be effectively useless at long range, so why bother with a long-range sight? His left arm eased into action, smoothly counteracting the increasing barrel climb. His finger eased off the trigger, smoothly, no jerking.

His thumb flicked the safety on and he set the weapon aside, business-end down range, then hit the recall button with his fist. His hand was shaking a little, but not too badly. His shot-group was...ragged as hell.

Well, for him, anyways. The 'head' area of the target was no longer attached to the 'torso.' There were a disturbingly large number of fliers, but that was expected...accuracy with this thing would be impossible. For him, at least. Oh, he'd still kill the guy he was shooting at dead, but there was no skill in it. He'd once had the chance to fire a system designed similar to the American 180 - a light cartridge, .22 LR in the 180, .17 in the system he'd fired, fired fairly rapidly with an extremely large magazine. That had been fun. This was...annoying.

Rae'l took a series of deep breaths, forcing calmness upon himself. He simply had to accept that he wasn't going to be as good with this dratted rifle as he would like. Ah, well. He'd have his sword, and even if he couldn't dropshift...well, he wouldn't be able to call himself a swordsman if he had to dropshift to fight, now would he? He'd manage. He always did.

Maybe he should see about getting a smaller weapon, something he could shoot one-handed. He wasn't exactly ambidextrous -- his right hand was dominant over his left, but he could shoot well enough with his left, and he'd done the sword-and-pistol thing more than once.

He took the target down with a sigh and put a new one up, then sent it back out and hefted the rifle again. This time, he didn't bother with all the prep-work, simply flicked the safety off and began firing. The first few shots were off target, but he rapidly adjusted and leaned steadily into the recoil, his left hand on the foregrip serving to keep the muzzle down.

He walked the burst across the target at neck height, the idea here was to see how effective the weapon was at 'unaimed' fire, which wasn't a big deal with an autoweapon like this. The answer, by the way, was 'alright, but not great.'

The obscenely fast rate of fire meant that one wasted a lot of bullets walking the fire into place. Very irritating, but remedied with a pistol. He was quite good at point shooting, his natural kinesthetic sense was absolutely excellent, which helped quite a bit. Something to think about, but not worry overmuch about.

When Jin made his entrance and picked up the gun, Rae'l watched in vague interest, still bemoaning his own poor showing. Jin's fire pattern damn-near made him laugh, though. The technique was called 'zippering,' except Jin had reversed it. It was generally used when bringing a weapon up from 'low-ready, and only at close quarters. Whatever.

Rae'l ran in the target he'd been shooting at and swapped it out for a fresh one, ran it out, and took up a more standard rifle stance, but didn't bother to acquire a sight picture, just focused. He barely brushed the trigger with his finger, and a tight hole, clean, appeared in the upper portion of the target's 'head' zone.

"Huh..."

He fired again, light-touch. This time, the burst was straight through the 'heart.' Maybe the damn sights were off, or maybe he'd just been overcompensating for the recoil. Whatever it'd been, he could point-shoot just fine with the damn thing.

He grinned. Wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Just needed a little boost from Fairbairn, Sykes, and Applegate. Go figure.

“Good,” Jin said, looking at Rae’l. “For close range fighting, you can use it like a sword with a limited blade, for long range you can simply use it for decapitation.” It was the first sentence Jin had spoken in a while. His voice flowed like melted butter over Rae’l’s ears. It was smooth and soothing. He walked in the shooting range, pushing the targets back, and looked at the initiates holding the guns. The door slammed shut, and Jin readied himself.

“Now…try and shoot me. One at a time. I am not Genesis, but aim for anywhere but the head. Unfortunately, Nikolai and I don’t see eye to eye. He thinks this a punishment. I see it as endurance training. Go. GO…hurry…hurry…” his voice was hungry for them to shoot, as if he wanted the bullets. Perhaps it was simply the crazed look in his eyes that said he was crazy. Perhaps it was the fact Ravelyn Shentavo was standing in the corner of the room, watching, with her own crazed look about her eyes. She was wearing a black dress which suited her, laced shoes with stiletto heels. Her long auburn hair fell over one shoulder, and she seemed interested. Her blood red eyes engulfed the scene. She was very interested.

"Go.GO...hurry..." she whispered softly, repeating after Jin. She knew those words. They were her words. He was filled with her spirit, but was not controlled by her. She would beat Nikolai at his own game. That, and she would not see him cause such a great deal of pain to her fledgling.

"I suppose I might as well go first..get this over with."

He moved to a roughly centric position then let the rifle fall to his side and extended his left arm, his hand at full extension, the tips of the fingers pointing at Jin. Then he curled his fingers back, all but the index. He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It wasn't an expression that Rae'l routinely used.

His eyes were hard, gray with a hint of blue. His mouth moved, tradition had its way.

"The range is HOT!"

Then he whispered one more word. That word was "Bang."

The rifle came up, rapidly, his left hand flung open and clamped around the foregrip. He fired, shifted his point of focus, fired. It was a simple drill. Focus, fire, focus, fire. He hadn't bothered to aim, or even brace the weapon properly. The recoil was a bastard, but it wasn't so bad when you used it to rise to the next point of focus.

He was faster with a pistol, but this was pretty damned impressive. Jin wasn't going to stand still...but he'd purposefully fired for inner targets, likely to achieve hits even considering motion. In the time it would take most people to simply come on target, provided he hit with every burst as intended, Jin would have sustained tight bursts that would have severed the femoral artery, punctured both lungs, cored the heart region, and punched a gaping hole in the abdominal region.

He lowered the rifle and flicked the safety on, then straightened from the firing crouch. He lay the rifle down on the line table and stepped away from it. He did not announce cold, as he did not know enough about the be-damned weapon to make it truly safe. Oh well.

Rae'l brought his hands up, palms forward. He had yet to actually look at the results of his firing session -- he shot at parts of Jin's body, not at Jin himself, and had already switched his focus by the time the bullets impacted. Call it tunnel vision if you like, that was accurate enough.

He certainly hoped that he hadn't killed the fool. But...who knew with the damnable zip guns. He'd never done much rifle work on an indoor range, it felt kinda odd. All his tricks were for pistol shooting, something he was quite good at. He wasn't just 'military' good, mind. He was 'competition' good.

Jin was fast…very fast. It seemed that he was a shadow, gone from the place that Rae’l just fought. Ravelyn was away from the wall now, standing, watching, and perhaps helping. Jin took a good ten bullets to the abdomen, and one to the neck, and when Rae’l stopped firing, Jin was still standing. Ravelyn saw the blood and licked her lips. She hadn’t fed off of real blood in days. She didn’t need to, but it was a distraction. Jin cupped his abdomen, then straightened and pulled the bullet out of his neck. Shentavos were especially trained to take bullets, a good round of them, but they couldn’t go on forever. Could Jin have reached Rae’l before he fired off all of them and stopped? He hadn’t tried. The question remained unanswered.

“Good,” he managed to say, then waited for the next assault with one hand on his abdomen, the other hand out.

You don't seem the type to have supernatural powers. Am I correct?

Ryan nodded. "You got it. One hundred percent natural earth born earth bound human. Nothing special save my training." Ryan returned with a grip that was firm, but not challenging. He knew the Argonian would win out in a pure strength contest, and Keyton was also special ops. There was no need to show off, no need to try and impress the other. The community stretched across the planet, and for the outsiders, across space, and it was one that held a stronger brotherhood than any other orginization. After all, when you couldn't talk about ninety percent of what you've done, the only thing you can do is hope that someone like you has done something along the same lines as you.

"They grow you boys big back home, don't they?" he chuckled, looking the lizzard like Argonian up and down.

There meeting was cut short by the entrance of Jin and Rae'l, who Ryan assumed would be the other two shooters. He watched as Jin let off a burst with the rifle, slicing across the target, and displayed the body language that seemed to reak of smugness. The shot itself was good, yes, but Ryan wondered exactly how effective it would have been on a live target. Despite the fact his own rifle had a full auto setting, he rarely took it off semi, prefering to match each round fired with a trigger pull. In a tense combat situation, the switch would click over to full, but even then, it was well timed bursts of no more than five rounds, knowing that to simply spray and pray was onle effective with machine gunners in movies.

He watched Rae'l get a few practice shots in, nice groupings as well, and then heard Jon command the group to start shooting at him. He didn't protest, what he had seen the past night firmly convinced him that he was in a realm not to the norm. However, he still marked it as something unusual, and stepped back as Rae'l offered to shoot first.

He took it all in, observing Jin's movements, the way he more or less danced across the open downrange floor, moving around to not get hit. He observed his speed of movement, his dodging actions, and made mental note of all of it. Then, as Jin healed himself up, he stepped forward.

"I'll take a whack at it." He shouldered the weapon, ignoring standard range etiquite. His own training included firing live rounds in small room with paper targets, but live, human hostages. He remembered the first time he sat in the cold metal chair as the fake wooden door exploded open, the flashbang going off, and the stacato of pops and cracks from rifles. The action had taken seconds at best, and the instructors told the operators that they needed to know what it was like to be on the receiving end of a takedown to do it effectively. They also had to get used to being in a room that may be no bigger than a large cubicle, and have 6.8mm SPC hollow points zinging around towards targets. He had learned after that day that there was no such thing as a hot or cold range or hot or cold kill house.

He sighted the red dot in on Jin, and squeezed off a short burst just to get the him moving. As he danced off to the side, Ryan led him, keeping the rounds aimed towards his arms, the general purpose being that at his speed, the rounds aimed for arms would hit the chest. With a moving target and the Metal Storm like weapon, he kept all rounds aimed for center mass, not wasting time with neck or leg shoots, and heading Jin's request to stay away from the head. After a few moments of burst firing, the gun clicked silent as the circuts had no more rounds to ignite, and he placed the weapon on the shelf in front of him.

Rae'l whistled appreciatively. Give these Shentavo chaps their due -- they could take a licking and keep on ticking. Even dodging most of the rounds, the ones that hit should have been fatal. Well, that was assuming that the goofball zip guns packed the power-per-shot of...well...ten rounds of nine-mil to the gut and one to the neck should be lethal...eventually. You sure-hell wouldn't stay standing..

He'd been shot before. It wasn't fun. One through the upper shoulder, twice in the leg, and one that had gone clean through his left hand. They'd had to rebuild his hand almost from scratch -- it was mostly ultra-strong composites now, so as not to set off metal detectors, and because metal wouldn't last as long as he himself would. Perhaps that was the reason he favored his right hand...he couldn't really remember when he'd taken the shot. Long time ago. Fuzzy.

Anyways, after-action was simple. He didn't have the mindset for the rifle -- simply putting lead into space stroked him the wrong way, as it were. He was too used to the sort of vital-shots that were necessary in a situation where a stray bullet could end some poor old woman who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time's life. The answer to the conundrum, of course, was in a scabbard on his back. The white-steel bastard sword of a Sentinel-Knight, quite indestructible. His was odd, in that it was effectively unadorned. Even novice Sentinel-Knights had at least some sort of precious gem set into their blade somewhere...

It held an edge like nothing else, and could punch through...everything he'd tried to punch through, as of yet. Which had included a sample of ceramo-composite tank glacis armor. That had impressed him. He wouldn't complain about the stupid zipgun, though he did need to check about a pistol variant, but the sword stayed. It was...more than an honor thing, more than a lucky charm. It was the way things were. A law of the universe, if you would. Right up there with 'Chaos and Order must always be in balance' and 'There are three things you can't have too much of: women, money, and ammunition.'

He set himself down on the corner of a table mid-way towards the rear of the range, formally noted the presence of Ms. Ravelyn with a glance and something that might have been a grin, then set to trying to rub feeling back into his hands. The damn rifle -shook- like a mother.

Ierenn's own sword was perhaps less impressive than Rae'l's, though just as deadly, no doubt. It held a barely-perceptible blue-white sheen, identifying it as a composite titanium/seneres alloy, the latter increasingly rare Kajali element offering an unprecedented strength, and the titanium affecting it with a somewhat lighter blade than a pure seneres composition would offer.

There were numerous other elements mixed in, in the interests of longevity, keeping the edge as keen as the day it was forged, and so forth, and Ierenn had little doubt in his mind that his particular blade was likely capable of slicing neatly through some of the swords on the wall.

It had taken a little bit of work, however, to renew the edge, after cutting through a cerafibre weave on one mission, which otherwise granted the wearer a near-immunity to gunfire, though less effective when confronted by extreme heat, in that the weave would eventually cook the wearer to death long before it could melt.

Finding few weapons on the wall approximating the style of his own, he chose that which appeared most suited, though with visible disdain. He took some time to evaluate the weapon, analyzing it, determining the exact weight and forces required for the most devastatingly efficient use...

Tick.

His perception of time lapsed to counting microseconds, as opposed to the nanosecond tick that it was normally assigned - such fine control was vastly useful in sniping missions, though his own reaction time was sufficiently slow in the perceived length, limited of course by the rate at which muscle could respond to signals by the nerves.

His augmentations had primarily focused on the mental and physical modification of the brain, though the remainder of his physiology had been boosted to respond to the commands issued to it much more quickly than baseline.

Tock. Ierenn was upon Nikolai again, his method of attack visibly different, taking into account the past incident. The movements of the sword were rapid, though slower than desired, due to the rather weighty nature of it.

Still, his current intent was to maim, albeit slightly, and the sword work showed that.

Pietro selected the spacha. It was properly designed for Nikolai, at least, but thinking it over, Pietro decided to go at this florentine, and grabbed a gladius hispanicus for his left hand. Nikolai wasn't armored, and he was well versed in schools of sword fighting, though the paladins had favored the ancient Latin schools of the gladiators of Rome.

The blades would require some augmentation, but they would suffice. He took his place, waiting for Ierrenn to finish. He observed the work carefully, noting the way the combatants moved, their grips, and their footwork.

Keyton hefted the weapon, turning away from Ryan...

"Let's see how this works..."

He'd never liked firing from the hip, but point-firing with a machine-gun was pointless, especially with something that spit lead like this little contraption. Keyton cradled the weapon in the wedge between his left bicep and forearm, locking the buttstock area under his right arm, which ought to keep the weapon steady during prolonged fire. While he wasn't huge, his 183-pound frame did have some bulk to it, mostly in the upper body and thighs. His feet were a bit wider than shoulder-width, to compensate. He'd seen the techniques used by the others work fairly well, and hip-firing was the only method as yet unused. It worked pretty well when one was moving forward through thick underbrush against an unseen foe. People tended to keep their heads down when you sprayed hot lead at waist-level at a high rate of fire, or risk being cut in half.

Keyton would wait until the burka-wearing mute finished his dodging, then attempt to spray the Hell out of him. It was one thing to dodge something aimed at you, but doding fire coming from every direction was extremely difficult. The Argonian braced himself for the recoil, and laid his trigger finger above the trigger guard...

“If you tried to kiss me I would full your body with lead,” Navi commented still in the room. Her eyes were green, and she took a syringe from the medical table, and injected something into each of his knees. A pink putty like substance filled the wounds. No doubt it hurt. “I had to stop the hemorrhaging,” she explained, then sat down in a chair across the room. “I don’t care who the hell you are, but you are going to help me develop this serum. You are going to be my guinea pig whether you like it or not. Next time you think about messing with our family, I suggest doing your research and decide on something else to do in your free time.” She typed on the computer and continued to work on the formula. It was supposed to be a heating liquid to keep the body temperature regulated, as well as keep her own temperature regulated. It would have to be doubly strong for her, or so she thought. One thing was for sure, Ravelyn’s body just simply wouldn’t handle the cold.

She picked up a vile, and injected it into his arm. “Test one,” she said, recording with a small speech recorder in her hands, and then she watched him. “Subject has been injected with serum 73-215.”

Blinking in surprise at her ability to read his thoughts, Demitri swallowed nervously. However, he didn't get long to think about that.

The excruciating pain as the pinkish putty expanded and pressed against his broken bones. Barely hearing her explaination, Demitri was only vaguely aware of a needle penetrating his left arm. As he looked over to the arm, he watched as she withdrew the needle and spoke audibly into a recording device.

With a slightly disoriented look about him, he asked, "Guinea pig...for what?"

Jin did worse with the second round of bullets, and took more, but it was to be expected. He fell to his knees as a good ten bullets were still traveling at him as Ryan put the gun down. Jin took eight, Ravelyn took two in her arm, purposefully. As Jin fell, she caught him and looked at the bullet wound in her arm. “That’s some pretty damn good shooting,” she responded without turning around, and lifted the covering slightly on Jin’s face to press the wound to his mouth. He clamped his hands around her arm. The bullets fell out of her arm, and the skin began to heal as Jin drank hungrily…her blood. She continued speaking. “I’m glad that you have joined us. Shentavos are renound for their sword skills, not shooting, save for Navi.” Jin was soon sitting up, still drinking. “That’s enough Jin…I’m not an endless supply,” she commented, and pulled her bloodied arm away which now had two puncture wounds in it. Jin pulled the edge of the black cloth back down over his chin. Jin gradually stood up, holding one hand to his side; but the bullets he had taken were all lying on the ground. Damn there were a lot of them. Blood seeped through his abdomen. He had also taken some in the leg. Ravelyn ripped the edge of her shirt exposing a tight sliver of white skin and wrapped it around him skillfully. She helped him up, helped him walk to one of the chairs at the back of the room and sit down.

She walked out on the range. “Try and hit me,” she said with a light smile. “You will be aiming for Genesis for a kill…so aim for my head. Let’s go…hurry before I get bored.” She was enjoying these initiates. She really liked them. They were so promising.

“Good,” Nikolai commented while bringing his arm up to meet the side of his sword and get it away form attack. “Genesis will need fast attacks, you can’t hope to get much power, just speed.” He looked at the blood on his arm and grinned. It felt good to him. His body was so messed up, “These weapons are designed for killing her kind. They are all made of specially synthesized material. You need to attack faster, you’ll be doing a great deal of working out, my friend.” Nikolai matched in speed, changing his straight forward; I’m going to bash you in the face, technique to something very refined and thoughtful. He shifted as if it were no problem for him to do, and matched his opponent immediately.

“She’ll start to pick up on paterns like I am, not to mention she will be using her…abilities.”

Keyton lowered his weapon, there was no point in continuing. They'd most likely kill their target if they where not careful, and it was hard to be accurate 'spraying and praying'. He'd follow Ryan's technique in combat, it seemed to have worked the best.

This appeared to be a small victory for the rest of the non-Shentavo members of the team. The vampires and their familiars seemed a little haughty when he'd first arrived, but they looked to be warming up to their guests a bit...

"I guess that concludes the shooting demonstration..."

The Argonian nodded in Ryan's direction...

"Excellent shooting..."

The human had earned his respect to a further degree. The fact that he'd stepped up to compete with the likes of the other super-human-like contestants spoke volumes of his confidence in his abilities. His performance justified such confidence...

Then their hostess stepped onto the range. This would be interesting. Keyton brought the weapon to a more conventional position, shouldering it like a rifle. He'd need the extra precision and stability to pull off a headshot from this range, especially with such an imprecise weapon...

"Are you ready, madame Shentavo?"

He might as well be polite, seeing as he was going to be shooting at her head in the next few seconds...

“Stop me before I reach you,” she said, walking to the far back of the shooting range, and spreading her wings to the side. “Ready when the first shot is fired,” she said, and she did prepare herself. She smiled, wondering if he’d be able to tag her. Jin held his abdomen. Blood had seeped through the black cloth over his mouth from feeding from her, but he could not tear his eyes away. Did she like taking bullets?

Precision above strength, Discretion before valor.

Vector prediction, and unending analysis of all actions taken thus far continue. Ierenn is doing what Nikolai is, in that he's reacting to the attacks, identifying patterns, favored tactics, stances, defenses.

Mentally, his reaction time is astoundingly quick, though now, with the change of technique, his body is starting to protest.

Technique change - adapt existing models to fit. Methods change to those matching prior technique by almost nothing. Catalog, analyze, react.

Wounds are inflicted momentarily, and a working knowledge of the technique established. Reactions are of the same precise nature and speed - Ierenn's technique has now changed visibly, shifting more towards the death of a thousand cuts than a precise - if blunt - systemic attack upon vital areas.

Speed increases despite the body's protest, as variation of technique continues. Responses are drawn from a multitude of available references, each considered for utility both defensive and offensive.

Elements of many techniques can be picked out at first, before they themselves are altered to allow more precision and agility within the ever-increasing framework. This new style is evidently more suited to the blade Ierenn has selected than that he had worn upon his arrival. Attributes of the weapon are known thanks to trial by combat - creative uses discounted before are now viable.

Ierenn ignores wounds inflicted, but is aware of them on a base level - his attire, on the other hand, has grown somewhat ragged.

The protests of the body have grown. Death is no longer the goal, rather, a stalemate. Unacceptable unless both parties experience similar levels of exhaustion. Endurance has always been afforded to Ierenn due to precise control of movement and use of energy. Such frantic combat is energy intensive - adaptation must be quicker, while retaining precision, allowing for the most efficient use of energy.

Increasing available energy is of equivalent priority.

By now Ierenn's efforts are still by all means impressive by modern standards, but in comparison to those recently observed, he's slipped a little. His technique is now defensive - completely useless except to prolong the inevitable.

Ryan chuckled at Keyton's comment. "Well, I can't fly, drink blood, or control the elements," he looked down at the rifle, "I gues I better be good at something."

He nodded in thanks at Ravelyn's equal praise of his skills, and stepped back as she asked for Keyton to try on her. His own weapon had clicked dry, well, as much as a weapon that used electronic pulses to 'ignite' rounds could click, so he stepped back, and gave a cautionary glance towards Jin. Part of him was concerned for the Shentavo, he had taken some serious shots. The other part was afraid that if the training ever extended to one on one combat, his mastery of the Israeli martial art of Krav Maga, and basic skills from the Filipino Eskrima, would fall very short of Jin's supernatural powers and speed. You could only induce injury and death in hand to hand combat when you could lay your hands on your opponent.

He would reload his weapon shortly and then take his hand at shooting towards their patron, but again, he would use this time to observe her movements, and gain a general knowledge of how she would dodge bullets. He hoped, that if this Genisis was of the same kin, that they would spend most of their time practicing on her. If the lower targets moved like Jin, then Ryan would be able to develop a technique for hitting them after some range time, but he fully believed it would take more than range time to figure out how to take on Genisis.

Nikolai grimaced as the blade slashed through his side, then smiled at its pleasant sting. Both were growing tired, but perhaps Nikolai was a bit more apt than Ierenn in the field of endurance. He could take a beating and keep going; because he enjoyed it. “Good Ierenn…very good,” he commented. “You pick up my style very, very quickly. It’s impressive. You work like a computer. Navi would love you.” He grinned, and lowered his blade, signaling the man to stop. He looked at Peter. “Care to try?” God damn! His wounds were already healing. He sure as hell wasn't a vampire either. Hmn...

~*~

“Subject test of 73-215 has acute arrhythmia,” She took a syringe and injected it into his arm. The area turned blue, and extremely cold. “No effect against elemental nitrogen,” she commented, and watched him further, before pulling another needle and injecting him again. The cold stopped.

“Next serum, 73-216.”

The heart's sporadic beating caused Demitri to gasp in moderate pain as he felt his body chilling beyond normal levels, causing his muscles to twitch in an attempt to warm them against the liquid nitrogen running through his veins.

"N-n-n-nitrogen?!" he chattered out as he looked to Navi with a fearful look of the next syringe that now was empty as she held it up for a moment. In a moment the coldness disappeared.

"What the hell is that?!" he demanded as he distinctly felt the new serum coursing through his veins. It was an odd sensation, like feeling the rumbling, churning force of a strong wave.

His head slammed back to the table as he arched his back in response to the extreme cold that seemed to lock his entire body in ice. His skin turned pallid, taut, and the tears that struggled free of his eyes turned to ice as they reached the corners of his eyes. His breathing slowed to ragged, coarse gasps as he felt every muscle burning, his body's attept to send adrenaline through them and save them from becoming frozen. After several moments, Navi could see that there was a quarter inch of ice seeping through his pores, his teeth even locked up with solid ice.

There he lay, frozen to the table, his life seeping away with each ragged breath...

Rae'l watched with some interest as Ms. Ravelyn took Jin's place on the range. He spared not a thought for the man in the gimp mask, his own skills in healing were almost assuredly inapplicable in such a situation. On the other hand, that the majority of the bullets had lodged in Jin's body told him that the bullets weren't...as effective...as he'd prefer.

A full-power battle rifle round would punch through a human at quite a long range. Rae'l's carbine, short barreled as it was, fired a three-line round, equivalent to a .30 caliber. It was a bit more powerful than the 7.62mm NATO round, but not much. Kicked like a mother and auto-fire was effectively useless at anything beyond, say, ten meters...but, then, if you were auto-firing at range with a weapon designed primarily for CQB, you deserved what you got.

He thought about stepping out and finding the others who were working on their swordswork, but...his technique was more than developed enough. Rae'l had begun training with a blade when he was five. Two centuries of combat experience and training had made the blade on his back into an extension of his will. He was on the crest, as it were, and the only place to go from there was down.

No, he didn't even want to bring the subject up, so he'd stay here. Besides, he wanted to see what happened. There were any number of situations that could develop where he could, potentially, have to put up an effect fighting withdrawal, package in tow, with something equivalent to Ms. Ravelyn barreling down on him.

He would have to make a decision, then. Run and gun or stand and fight. Either choice held a significant chance of failure, defined as being unable to extract the package, likely due to his own unfortunate demise. In such a situation, all the sparring against Nikolai in the world wouldn't help him.

He slipped a notepad from his pocket and began making a list. Things to bring with him, for just such a situation. Smoke grenades, flashbangs, caltrops, things he could chuck behind him with one hand while running. The three frisbee-like tracer grenades he had in his kitback wouldn't be enough. Not even close.

Of course, what he really wanted was a few batteries of 155mm artillery and a radio. But that was unlikely to be made available to him, and he hadn't packed any with him. Stupid oversight. Snicker. Snicker.

The one nice thing was that he already had a developed 'go to hell' plan, being the blade on his back. If he was going to die, he'd rather it be with his white-steel longsword in hand. Die like a Sentinel-Knight. If it came to that, so be it. He'd beat the odds up to this point, and they'd been this slim before. Slimmer.

The first time the Great Shadow had invaded had been worse. Its forces had overrun almost all of the New Lines in mere days, leaving only the Seven and Jaime Kir's Golden Guard standing between the Great Shadow and victory.

The Sentinel-Knights had won, though outnumbered over a thousand to one.

Flash

The shadowknight charged forward, focusing its great mass and momentum into the striking-face of its shield, intending to knock its opponent back, then bring its massive black sickle-sword scything around to finish the Sentinel-Knight off. It would have worked, had the shadowknight been fighting a mere Sentinel-Knight, who, for all their vaunted agility and reflexes...couldn't maneuver enough in the mass melee being fought in the streets of the once magnificent city of Kar-kan to avoid the lethal combination strike.

He dropped to his knees, folding back so as to avoid the extended shield, then stabbed upward with his sword. The white bladed sword burned with a silver-white light, slicing through the darkness with incredible strength. The blade slammed through the shadowknight's pelvic guard, up, through the internals, and out the back. The shadowknight fell back, and he rose, pulling the glowing sword free, black ichor steaming in the presence of the silver-white light. He continued on.
Flash


Rae'l almost cried out as the flashback ended, but didn't. It was impossible. The First Incursion of the Great Shadow had been two hundred years before Rae'l was born, in the time of Kor Rys-Mak'anrae and the other Seven. He'd been there for the Second and Third Incursions, and he had fought a Shadowknight, but never in such constrained quarters. His sword didn't glow, either.

He tossed his head minutely, clearing his thoughts. It must be the stress, screwing with his head...or his Art telling him of some distant future occurance. It had never happened to him, that was certain. Mreh.

He returned the majority of his attention to watching the other two shooters and Ms. Ravelyn. He didn't plan on trying his skill with the rifle against Her. That would be pointless, as he could not foresee a situation where he would have to engage Genesis with the rifle. The probability that shooting against Ms. Ravelyn would merely reinforce a conclusion that he had already arrived at -- namely that he could not rely on the rifle to neutralize his enemies -- approached unity.

So be it. It didn't overtly bother him, and it wasn't unprecedented. Shadowknights, the Great Shadow's field commanders, had armor that was effectively impervious to small arms fire, even the ridiculously over-powered 'light machine gun' that the Sentinel-Knights used. The usual way to drop the Clinkies as to call in artillery fire. Close-in, only the most skilled of Sentinel-Knights had a chance...Rae'l had killed four of the things, all with the sword on his back.

It was somehow right that it should be this way. That did not bear further contemplation, as it was not a logical feeling. Rae'l couldn't stop himself from grinning a bit at his own silliness...and tendency to think things to death. Eyes front.

“Oh, interesting…” Navi commented, and then left the room for a minute. This man’s life meant absolutely nothing to her. She came back with a hair dryer in her hand and held it up to him while recording the results. “Subject is rapidly cooled. These being the control experiments it is to be expected.” She held the hair dryer to him and waited for the ice to stop melting. She sighed softly. Where was Ravelyn when you needed her? “I would do this faster but I can’t fit you in the microwave. The oven, maybe, but not the microwave.” She flicked her black hair over her shoulder, and prepared the next syringe. She injected it into his solid, freezing, arm, and waited impatiently. She was a woman of science, and had no trouble testing on humans.

The blow dryer seemed to be a ray of heat that offered the slightest glimpse of survival, and so Demitri attempted to warm himself and melt the ice that had seeped through every pore and solidified as one on his body. When the next serum was injected, he felt nothing at first as he attempted to regain some self control, to overcome the numbing effect of the ice.

He lay there quietly, feeling, and occassionally hearing the ice break up like minature glaciers in the grip of global warming. Drawing in a full breath in what seemed to be an eternity, he exhaled slowly.

Then, it began. The serum had by now subtly slipped into every part of his body, causing him to feel a small pop in his ribcage, somewhere in one of his organs. He winced, but kept his tongue, until the first wave of chemical induced reactions hit his brain in one swift powerful kick.

His forearms bulged as they pulled at the straps, causing him to break one in a surreal strength and reach out to her, pulling her arm close. As he did so, the hand moved upward and yanked her head forward by the back of her neck and brought it near his.

"Why are you doing this?!" he hissed before releasing her and slumping back onto the table. "Why?!" he cried aloud as he felt his insides seeming to almost melt under an intense fire that broiled through his veins. His eyes became deeply bloodshot as sweat seemed to flow freely from beneath his skin.

"What are you doing with this?!" he cried aloud to her, although he at the moment more wished for an end to this. Another wave of pain hit him, causing him to rear upward suddenly and grapple at the other bindings on his limbs in an attempt to free himself. Water...water...I need goddamn water...

"I am impressed by the stamina that you are afforded. If you care, I won't mind if you kick the nullifier up to full power. Your choice, as I have no preference either way." He moved to face Nikolai, and held his blades in the crossed salute, saying "Ave. Te moritu salutus." He led in, following the mantra of the paladin blade training: Never repeat the same pattern of sword strokes more than two times. He was impressed by Nikolai. The man held himself well, and he was happy at least to see his wounds nearly completely healed by the time he started.

Pietro's swordsmanship was most rooted in the ancient style of the Galli, the heavyweight swordfighters. They had held the widest range of opponents, and their training was designed to maximize field endurance. Pietro doubted if Ierenn knew, but that man would have been an excellent Galli.

“Because I need to find a serum,” Navi said, dissatisfied with her attempts. “Why the fuck did you try and kill me?” She questioned, bashing him in the face with a swift back hand. She spit at him, then readied the next vile as she spoke. “Subject has muscle spasms, pain, severe dehydration. Serum 89-715 being injected accordingly, starting now.” She injected the liquid into the same place she had before. This would be her last attempt. If all went well she would try again tomorrow after she worked on the formulas more. She hit him again across the face, grabbed his wrist, and tied it back down. She scratched her nails across his wrist. “Next time you do something like that, remember, I have your life in my hands.” She hit him again. And again, then backed off, and waited for results from 89-715.

Tasting blood upon his lips, Demitri looked up at her incredulously, "Me kill you? I never have even entertained the thought! I was trying to extricate you from this place. My clan were obviously misinformed...and I'm paying the price..."

She scratched his wrist, causing him to wince slightly, for his senses were sharply acute right now. However, he remained still, looking upward at the ceiling. Without looking at her, he spoke softly this time, closing his eyes momentarily as he did so. "However...what I said about you earlier...I meant it..."

He honestly didn't know why he still felt as he did. She was practically torturing him for the sake of a search for a serum. Yet, he found that he couldn't dismiss what he felt somewhere deep inside.

Time passed as they both awaited the response from the current serum, until at last he got impatient enough to state the obvious.

"Nothing's happening."

“Son of a bitch,” she cursed as she turned off the recorder and pushed it to the side. She glared at him, then picked up a gun and aimed it at him. She looked at him, flipped the pistol around and hit him hard in the head. He soon fell unconscious with the blow with a large welt on his head. She undid the bindings and lifted him up, carrying him out of the observation room to another room. It was a regular bedroom except there were no windows. It was meant for those guests who did not like sunlight. She threw him on the bed, walked out, and locked the door behind with her key card. Ah the beauty of technology…but to be safe, she locked the main lock as well. He was going nowhere, until tomorrow, where she would continue.

Pietro's movements had been shifting, sliding as Nikolai and he adapted to each other. After a few minutes, Pietro reoriented his fighting, using strokes that borrowed from the Italian fighting schools of the Rennaiscance. It was more conservative, using the wrists and forearms to simply force glancing blocks and quick parries. Pietro kept at this for only a few minutes, before throwing in German techniques, ones that had radically reoriented swordfighting since their introduction.

As he deflected another strike from Nikolai, he kept the motion of the spacha's blade, bringing it almost directly back, meanwhile bringing the gladius up to push against the hilt. Then he used both hands to shove forwards, hitting Nikolai full in the face with the pummel. The guy probably loved it, but it did knock him back a little. Pietro remebered the saying that "the blade is not the only part of a sword."

Nikolai took the shot to the face easily, baiting his opponent. The blade was not the only part of the sword, but it was the most effective. Nikolai was not using a weapon, but it made it easier for him to dodge. It made it easier to show just how fast Genesis could be. He dropped and delivered a swift sweep of his feet, causing the initiate to fall the ground. Navi chose that moment to walk into the room and smile as she saw Nikolai get pummeled in the face with the end of the sword. She laughed. Nikolai stopped and backed off of the initiate as his sword sliced his leg. Nikolai winced, but did not cry out. He limped to Navi, and her eyes lit up at the sight of his bleeding leg.

“What the hell happened to you Navi?” he questioned, a bit concerned for her.

“Someone tried to kidnap me.” She said plainly.

“Inside the mansion?”

“Yup.”

“What happened?”

“I pretended chloroform worked and Ravelyn went all death angel on him and shot him, a lot…”

“Where?”

“Both his knee caps…he’s my new test subject now.”

“Your horrible.”

“Yea, I know. How’s it coming?”

“Good.”

“Give me a try with them?” Navi asked, and as Nikolai was about to protest, she held up a syringe. “I’m the only damn Shentavo that doesn’t have magic. Leave it to my machinery.” She grinned, Nikolai shook his head.

“Practice against Navi until my leg heals. Give it forty five minutes.” Navi looked towards them, and injected the vile into her bloodstream. Her eyes turned green. She flicked her black hair over one shoulder. She was still in a plain dress and heels. She slipped off the heels and tied her hair back with a small clip. Then, she waited.

Pietro had rolled back up almost as soon as he was down. He returned the blades to the wall, after cleaning the gladius of the blood from his instructor's leg, then sat. By rights, Ierenn had the next turn. He was a bit put off by the exchange regarding their new prisoner. If these people use their opponents as test subjects, God in Heaven knows what Genesis will do.

He knew the manufacture for his sword now. He would wait to see exactly how Navi would physically hold up, as it allowed him to guage the required weight, corss section, length, width, and pattern of the blade.

Ierenn had tended to his wounds briefly, as well as discarding the pile of tattered rags that had been one of his vests. The skin suit he wore beneath betrayed the presence of wounds, with neat little rips around those that were deemed light enough to not require treatment.

He would take a bit longer to heal than Nikolai, though the level of control over the body allowed him some benefits.

Small wounds ceased bleeding quite immediately, while larger ones took a slight moment longer. As far as weapons were concerned, he did not exchange the blade for another, as it appeared well suited to this unpredictable combat.

He removed a small supplement tablet from his gear, and swallowed it. It would afford increased energy for the moment, having been designed to be processed quickly by the body - and given Ierenn's own enhancements, the results were quite quick.

It was not unlike the tablets Rae'l consumed, though unlike those, these were not expressly necessary, being more akin to a highly advanced caffeine pill than a meal in a tab. Over-dependence on such items would eventually lead to a basic immunity, however, and as such, endurance training was still priority.

Deeper wounds had already closed to the point that they would no longer hinder Ierenn, and he assumed a ready stance. He wielded the one blade to start, though a smaller blade was ready at his side.

Navi, in all likelihood, would be a more difficult opponent. This considered, Ierenn's opening attack was one more of misdirection than of brute force. Within moments of the initial feint, the second blade, as a wakizashi was to a katana, emerged to make the first actual strike, even as Ierenn now maneuvered for the second.

He was fast, of course, but it would undoubtedly take moments to adapt to Navi's style, and to assess her physical prowess. Such things considered, however, his own work was already more difficult to predict than during the sparring with Nikolai, and movements had been refined in a short time to squeeze every joule of energy from his body.

This attack was quite efficient in comparison to the final motions of the earlier match, and quite visibly deadly, to any normal opponent.

Keyton's good eye glared down the simple red-dot optic, centering the circle slightly below their hostess' sternum. With the recoil, it would be over her head within an instant, but he hoped the wounds inflicted between there and then would be enough to slow her down. He doubted that, but techniques would need to be attempted and failed before a suitable one was found.

On second thought, he'd use the hip-fire method since she would most definitely move once the first rounds left the barrels. It would allow him to walk his shots on target and keep her from dodging in a particular direction. In short, it would be like a rather odd game of chess, with a few thousands pawns being hurled at a queen in an attempt to overwhelm her.

Keyton's trigger-finger tensed, then applied a steady, constant pressure that sent dozens of rounds screaming from the multiple barrels of his weapon...

[will post later. work is killing me]

And he hit her. He hit her hard. She met each blow with a block, but her skin did not bruise. She watched as his own attempts leant him his own bruises. She said nothing until he ripped off a good chunk of her skin. It bled, yes, but underneath it was very clear from the black shining metal that her body was not completely normal. She backed away, and looked at her arm. “Damn now that’s got to heal,” she whispered. “Memory metal…through my entire body. The alloys are heated at extremely high temperatures, and mixed together. Because the atoms are so different in size, they can’t shift like a normal metal from plane to plane. It’s quite hard to break. This metal is called adamantine after the ‘unbreakable metal’ used in chains found within the Abyss. I discovered the formula for it many years ago, before constructing a grid for my own body, and performing most of the surgery on myself with anesthetics of course. This memory metal is activated by the serum I injected into my skin. It warms my blood and causes the memory metal to react and go from its martensite back to its austenite phase. If it gets too cold, It won’t shift at all even with the serum, which is why I am your engineer, and not your instructor.”

She looked back at Nikolai. “Did ya’ll get what you needed?” she questioned him, and he nodded, standing up. All vampirism granted her was fast healing. She had all she needed already within her body; loads of adamantine.

With the first shot she was already heading towards him, moving like the shadows with a keen hunger in her eyes. She wanted them to be good. She wanted all of them to be the best they could be so she wouldn’t have to deal with signing their “We are terribly sorry for your loss” to all of their families and nations. The politics involved. She would not have any of that. So she gave him what he wanted; how fast Genesis would be. Genesis; her protégé…the one she had trained so damn well was now nothing more than a Lokust. She counted the bullets as they were shot from the gun, her mind working quickly to determine the angle of their impact to avoid it. She moved like the wind. He was aiming for her head, she had no choice. Then, she reached him. The final shot rang out which caused her head to turn. She put her hand to her cheek and felt the blood seep through.

She coughed a bit, and then lowered her hand, exposing a very large missing chunk of flesh from the left side of her once flawless face. “Good,” she said in reply. “Very good…” As she spoke you could see her jawbone move as she did so, her left fang exposed as well. The tissue began to rebuild itself right in front of them. It was a good minute or so before the skin had healed. IT was viciously red as if it were a bad sunburn, but it was healed. She was flawless once more. “I’m glad to have you all with us. I’ll let Nikolai know you’re ready for the real ammo tomorrow." She looked at Keyton. "And with that shot, my boy, you might have damn well killed me." She laughed that haunting laugh of hers. It was as if she had filled the room with her melodic voice and it caressed the darkest corner of their minds, taunting them with approval.

Ryan watched the demonstration with intrest. If she moved like Genesis, then life would become very interesting when the first rounds came out. When she stopped, he noted the damage, the round having gone right into her cheek. He made a mental note of the shot, and the comment that "it could have killed her." So with Genesis, only rounds hitting above the neck would have any serious effect, or at least thats what he got out of it. He nodded, and surveyed her own healing action. Damn, he wished he could do that. He nodded at her laugh, and waited for the next step in training.

Rae'l had watched with his usual intentness -- which tended to give the outward appearance that he staring -through- Ms. Ravelyn, his attention concentrated on a spot of wall to her rear. It was more than a little uncanny, but...but the results were worth it. He'd answered one of his own questions...or, at least, he thought he had.

If Ms. Ravelyn had been moving as fast as Genesis could move, or the other...whatever-they-weres, then Rae'l had a fair idea of their speed. She was fast. She was very, very fast...and he'd noted the telltale signs of that same sort of kinesthesia, situational awareness, that Rae'l himself possessed, albeit not to the same extent. If Rae'l hadn't known what to look for, he wouldn't have been able to tell, but he did know, and so he could tell that Ms. Ravelyn's kinesthesia was a deliberate thing, as compared to Rae'l's innate...call it a 'sixth sense' if you like. He just -knew- where things were around him, couldn't really explain it.

Still, Rae'l possessed nothing like Ms. Ravelyn's healing. The cheek-shot she'd taken wouldn't have killed him, assuming the bullet hadn't continued on through the back of the throat, which would have been quite likely fatal. Otherwise, he probably could have kept fighting, the pain dulled and the bleeding stopped by the effects of the battle-high...until he inevitably came down, and then he'd have been out. O-U-T, Out. Intense reconstructive surgery and months of recovery.

She'd just...fixed herself.

Rae'l was no stranged to battlefield injuries, but that shook him. Even though he'd known it was coming, seeing it happen...was a bit unsettling. He chuckled softly, a man who'd seen men blown apart before his eyes, unsettled by little bullet hole...healing before his eyes. Mreh.

He folded his right leg up at the knee, his hand dropping down to slide the small knife from its concealed sheath. It was a length of simple steel, perfectly balanced, with a skeleton grip of wire. The double-edged blade was razor sharp and lacquered black. It was something of an oddity that Rae'l had taken the knife out, as they were traditionally back-up or silent takedown weapons, generally the only time you ever saw one was buried in a sentry's neck, or jutting out of the forehead of a mugger who made a serious mistake as to his choice of mark.

The reason for this was that the usual throwing action began with empty hands. One dropped to a knee, pulled the knife, and threw. It was practiced to the point where it was almost one motion, perfectly fluid, automatic. The only other time a Sentinel-Knight really bothered with the boot-knives were in ground-fighting, and that was unlikely to be of any value on this mission, unless he missed his guess.

Rae'l was strong, and he knew the moves, but groundfighting was a lot SAW-gunning, the best weapon you could have was sheer mass. That and he had a much better and easier to get at weapon in his warbands. The stiletto-blades could be triggered in combination with a punch, which generally made them quite lethal.

Rae'l brought the throwing knife up to his lips and kissed it, then spun it about in his hand and returned it to its boot-sheathe. His right hand then moved to his belt and removed his folder, flicking the blade out and bringing up to his mouth. He scratched at an area between two of his teeth with the knife-point, freeing up a bit of supplement wafer that had gotten caught there. It hadn't been visible, but it was annoying just the same.

His folder was the single piece of kit he had that wasn't home-grown, it was a CRKT M21SF Folder, a Kit Carson design featuring a pair of 'Carson Flippers' and the very nice Lake-and-Walker Knife Safety, which was more or less the next best thing to a fixed blade, except it was a folder. The deep-bellied spear-point ground blade was a dandy little thing nearly four inches long, less than five and a half closed. It was his general-use blade, he generally carried two other blades, both built on Counter-Earth by Sentinel-Knight knifemakers, for more particular use, though he was only carrying one of those two now.

He had a fighting knife that was a very close copy of the Applegate-Fairbairn dagger, which generally was secured upside down on the right strap of his kitback, for quick and easy access with his left hand. The second knife was a folder, shorter than his M21SF, with a black teflon unserrated drop-point blade just a smidgen over three inches long, the entire blade being only an inch longer than that. The trick was, though, that it had the smoothest and most responsive opening that Rae'l had ever experienced.

There were faster ways to open a knife -- Emerson's 'wave' system was faster, but it was also a gimmick. Automatics tried to be faster, and some were, but there was something about the little black folder with the lightning-quick that suited him, like a loyal but vicious guard...cat. All it needed was a touch of his thumb and it was ready for action. That little black knife was his favorite for 'dramatic' knifework. Where the Applegate-Fairbairn dagger was a real fighter, all business, the little knife was his choice when he wanted to make a statement.

The little black blade was tended to migrate about his body when he wasn't in combat kit, clipped to the inside of the waistband of his pants, clipped to a pocket, so on. Right now, it was hanging inside his right front pants pocket, a comforting lump..

His thumb moved to hit the CRKT knife's unique little lever, then he folded the blade shut and hooked it back onto his belt. There was something about holding a good knife in his hand that made him feel a little better. Sure, his knives weren't great battlefield weapons, they didn't have the reach of a sword...you had to get in close with a knife.

The thing about knives, though, was that there were exactly three things that were key to a good knifefighter: speed, precision, and pure mean. You had to be fast, because the idea with knives was to strike repeatedly and bleed the other guy until you could set up that one perfect kill-strike. You had to be accurate enough to land that perfect kill-strike, because drawn-out knife fights were a good way to get yourself shot in the back when your opponent's buddies showed up and dropped you with a few rifle shots. Finally, you could never, ever flinch.

There was a trick that novice Sentinel-Knights played. It was dangerous as hell, but it was one of those bits of tradition, and it was good training. The trick involved two people, one had a knife. The one with the knife stabbed that knife towards the other's eyeball. The trick was to not flinch. Sure, you knew that that knife wasn't going to impale you in the eyeball, but still. Not every Sentinel-Knight could do it, and it wasn't a reflection of the skill of the Sentinel-Knight if they couldn't -- half of Rae'l's Third Tac hadn't been able to stare down the knife, didn't mean they weren't hellacious fighters.

It was a kid's game, but it told a lot about how utterly insane the Sentinel-Knights were. Rae'l could stare down the knife, though he wasn't stupid about it. You didn't play that game with people you didn't trust absolutely, because there was a very real chance that the guy with the knife wasn't good enough to pull the blow properly. Novices were forbidden from playing it unsupervised, and only the truly good or the truly foolish chanced playing it drunk. Rae'l was one of the few good enough to pull the knife properly when intoxicated...

He grinned. He was a Sentinel-Knight. That he was quite out of his mind generally went without saying. For example, were he an Earthly soldier, he'd probably have been much more worried about the opposition, certainly not constantly drifting off the way he was. The explanation was dead simple.

Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae had nothing to prove by doing well on the range, certainly nothing to prove by facing off against Nikolai with his blade -- though his reasons for avoiding that were more extensive.

Was Genesis really going to bother with swordfighting? Swords were great weapons, very versatile, defensive as well as offensive...but his mental image didn't show the defensive nature of a blade being particularly useful. The key was to always have the proper tool for the job, and getting close to something that could probably tear you apart with its bare hands...but, Rae'l had his mission, and he liked it. A lot.

Proving that he could out-fence Nikolai would be about as useful as proving that he could put his foot behind his head. Proving that he could probably not drop Ms. Ravelyn with the rifle was somewhat less useful than either of those two things.

Instead, Rae'l focused on the one advantage hoped he could count on -- his mind. Getting all the preliminary thinking out of the way meant that he could focus on completing the task at hand when it was go-time, rather than trying to struggle through the groundwork. Sure, it was a trick. But it worked.

Pietro watched with interest as the metal in Navi was revealed. It raised additional questions about Genesis. Nikolai had stated a lot of fluff, and not enough about what Pietro needed to know. That was to be expected. But the arrogance of Ravelyn and all of her staff got to him. They acted like they knew everything that needed to be known. But they hadn't told him everything he needed to know. There were three things that came across his mind.

First, that these were all amateurs. Sure, they had fought, but the air of expertise they tried to maintain was, in Pietro's mind, rapidly dissipating.

The second idea was that they knew what they wer facing, but were too afraid to be of any help themselves. Ravelyn acted as if she were God Himself. Her constant remarks about being able to easily kill any person she wanted to begged the question of why she simply didn't go in and face Genesis herself. The way their host acted, her control of Hellfire should be powerful enough to heat up Genesis's lair to a pleasant level. The psychoanalyst in Pietro, however, read all of Ravelyn's actions as one in very deep terrror.

The last option was one that Pietro hated, but one that always, always, entered his mind. That they told him just enough to try to satisfy him, and then they would set him to the wolves, figuratively speaking. That this Genesis was nothing more than a weapons test. But Nikolai was too worried, and while his body might not feel pain, his mind could. If it would show, it would show on Nikolai, and the man was just too immersed in training them for there to be a plot.

Pietro put his money on the second option. The first had evidence for it, but less than the second, and not nearly enough for it to be pursued. The last option had very little for it other than years of conditioning, and with what there was against it, it had to be discarded. Pietro grabbed a small object from his pocket, a small keepsake from another job. It was dumb, really, a small magnetic device, more of a charm for luck than anything else.

ooc: Most of your character’s questions have been addressed in character through out the rp and explained.

IC:

Ravelyn walked out of the room, and called back. “Rae’l come with me. I’ll give you the information on Hevn that you will need. Keyton you are free to come too if you wish. Ryan you can relax for a while. Feel free to take the gun with you, shoot more, whichever. You’ve all done very well today, better than I could have expected.” It was a genuine compliment. “We’ll have to make this fast. I have an appointment with the Harakian government. While I would love to stay and observer, politics do call,” she explained as she lead them down the corridor into her office. It was very plain surprisingly with a leather chair and a glass desk with two chairs on the opposite side for business relations. She absentmindedly placed her hand to her cheek. That hurt like a bitch, but she was determined not to let it show. A leader must be strong.

“Have a seat.”


~*~

Navi smirked at Nikolai. Nikolai sighted and snapped at her, “Get out of here brat and go work on your chemistry.” She shot him a glare and he laughed, but she did as she was instructed and left the room. He then turned his attention back to the initiates. “You did well today. You all have skill with a sword, which is a plus, but you have to have all of your fighting styles compliment one another so that you don’t end up hitting each other. Jin will be used as bait, but you MUST communicate with each other well to land a blow on her at the same time, or enough to take her down. She is a telekinetic, and will have no problem throwing you back against the wall so long as she had your attention. There are three of you as well as shooters, and you must leave them an open shot as well. It will be a difficult situation."

This was a bit more like it, and she'd even got his name right. Most cases, he'd found that foreigners pronounced his name like the word 'Rail,' when in fact there were two syllables, with a distinct 'el' after the Ray. Which was why he sat down normally, rather than perching in some odd manner upon the chair.

He thought about giving her the usual line, detailing the two methods. The long one, where the subject was expected to trust the operator and follow under her own power, leaving the operator unhindered and still largely combat effective, as compared to the short one, where the subject was restrained, hooded, and carried. The 'short' method was preferred for rapid-strike situations, but left the operator with a diminished combat effectiveness.

Still, he didn't give her the line, because he had a feeling that he'd be told exactly what he was supposed to do...and he would, of course, reserve the right to disregard those instructions entirely. No plan survives contact with the enemy, that's why they're called the Enemy.

Instead, he made a request. "If at all possible, I'd like an extensive background and psych profile of Ms. Hevn made available for my review during downtime. If I'm going to be responsible for her, I need to try and build a model of how she's going to act in a given situation, so as to allow me to act in a manner that minimizes risk to her. Given that information be supplied in text, you can then focus on pecularities, personal insight, and suggestions for a plan of extraction. Ahh, you don't mind if I take notes, do you?"

He'd brought his notepad out, bracing it on his left knee and holding his pen in his right hand. His tone was confident and business-like. He'd done this before, and it showed. Third Tac had been one of the few teams that operated off-world, seeing to what few interest that UCE had. Hostage rescue was just part of the job.

Ryan nodded at his new orders as the rest of the room left, leaving him alone on the range. He had yet to be informed on how to reload the rifle, to where other ammunition may be stored, and generally what else it could do. He stood in quiet silence for a moment, and then left the firing range out a side door, making his way back to his room. He went to his duffle, and pulled out a flat silver titanium case. He grabbed a few magazines, and three boxes of his personal ammunition, and made his way back to the range.

He popped open the case, and removed the rifle sitting in the foam linning. The black rifle was scared, showing heavy use as knicks and cuts scratched at the metal. Parts of the rifle were still green or brown from previous meetings with cans of spray paint and grease paint to help break up the outline of the rifle in jungle or desert combat. The rifle looked like it had been used often, and been used well. He extended the stop to the first stop to fit his frame, and glanced at his option of optics. He had three, a set of folding back up iron sights, a Aimpoint Comp M2, and a Trijicon 4x ACOG, all on quick release rail attachments. He grabbed the Aimpoint with it's cantilever mount, and clicked it into place. Next, he grabbed out the Surefire torch, and mounted it with a GG&G four o' clock offset mount. Next came a standard foward vertical grip. The armalite style rifle felt nice in his hands as he brought it up and shouldered it. He tucked his shoulder down, and sighted the red dot sight on a downrange target. Feeling confident it lined up, and clicked in a 32 round magazine, flicked off the safety, and snapped the rifle up. A quick squeeze, and a 6.8mm SPC Hollowpoint round was now screaming downrange, and the paper target swayed softly as the round tore a clean hole through the forehead of the target. He didn't stop to admire his work, he just continued squeezeing. He mixed in single shots with double taps, with the occasional trippled, until the magazine had just five rounds left. He flicked the switch from single to full, and squeezed the trigger, letting off all five rounds, all of them hitting the face of the target. The magazine empty, he dropped the rifle, the three point sling catching it and dropping it across his chest. Hitting the call button, the paper target came forward.

All thrity two rounds were clean head shots, and it had taken just under a minute to empty the magazine. He would need to find if the compound had a kill house on sight, something that would let him shoot at moving targets with his personal rifle. He pressed the send button, letting the target float back out, and before it was halfway down range, he yanked the nine millimeter Beretta from his Galco hip holster, brought it up, and double tapped the head, sending a third into the chest, and reholstered the sidearm. Happy with his final result, he loaded a fresh magazine into the rifle, placed it on top of the open case, and grabbed one of the Metal Storm concept rifles. It was slightly heavier than empty one he had been holding, but not enough so that any one would have noticed. A shooter, like himself or the other applicants present, would have picked up the difference easily.

He went to another, open range, and began working on getting tight bursts off with the rifle, trying to minimize it to no more than ten rounds per shot.

Lying askew upon the bed, Demitri lay unconscious for a number of hours until at last he blinked and groaned. A hand went up to his head to feel the welt and he winced despite touching it lightly. Sitting up slowly to avoid vertigo, he looked around the dark room. There were no windows, and only one door. A red light off to the side indicated the electronic lock was engaged. Rising to his feet, he stumbled toward the door and tried the handle anyway, only to find it too was locked.

Cursing silently, he looked around the room again, this time looking for anything he could use. Out of options and ideas, he returned to the bed where he sat and looked toward the door blankly, watching, waiting.

As the silence seemed to echo through his mind, he thought of his captor, thinking of the irony of the situation. He had meant to free her from a supposed dangerous and oppressive vampiress, and instead became her unwilling science rat.

Despite this, he couldn't help but keep smiling as her face passed into memory and lingered. He had to admit, he wanted to find out more about her, find out why she was so special, find out who she was. Strangely, he was willing to risk a lot to find out all this.

Keyton lowered the rifle, pleased that at least one of his rounds had made contact. The useage of the weapon was not unlike that of a laser pointer, one just had to keep the little pip of red on the target. That, however, was more complicated than it sounded.

The Argonian laid the weapon aside, empty of ammunition. He'd emptied every round and hadn't realized it. He'd need to work on that before they deployed for their operation. Conventional weapons gradually lightened as they were fired, and in some cases, but not his M1A, locked open. Keyton had learned to feel for that action when firing handguns or the AR-15 styled rifles issued to the rank-and-file Argonian soldiers.

Their patron had invited himself, along with the Rae'l character, to join her to discuss the first portion of their assignment, the rescue of a female of their hostess' race known as 'Hevn'. Keyton was not a fan of hostage rescue missions. It was much easier to go in and kill everything that moved without reguard to what exactly was being killed, but politicians demanded that such missions be undertaken and Keyton was not one to argue with those that paid him. He followed Rae'l, adjusting his personal weapon for a bit of comfort before removing it entirely and propping it up against the chair in which he sat...

“Feel free to take notes,” she said.

“Hevn is one of my children, but she does not have any physical strengths. She won’t be any use to you once you find her to aide you in fighting unless you give her these,” she said, opening her desk drawer and unlocking something. She placed a deck of cards with a velvet ribbon around it over to the two initiates. They were tarot cards, a bit heavy, as if they were made out of metal; and the engraving and pictures on them were quite vivid. The artist had been skillful. “Don’t question why I ask you to give these to her when you find her. You’ll be thankful if she has to use them that they were present.” She paused for a moment; her crimson eyes calm, but you could see deep inside she was worried; worried about her ‘child’, or rather, her fledgling. “She’s 5’6”, short red hair, orange eyes…” she said, giving them a picture of the girl. She was cute; but looked mature with the short haircut for her age. Her hair was red, like the type which has not seen a day of sunlight and has not begun to turn orange. Her skin was a milky white cream; clear and delicate.

“Miss Hevn is trained to act how any of us would react. She, however, lacks the fighting capabilities that many of my own possess, and therefore can not help you retaliate without those cards. She will follow your instructions. She will be calm, even if faced with death.” She paused for a moment. “If she were just any one of my fledglings, I would not be willing to risk so much. I would burn the area and hoped that with her training she would survive. Cruel, I know…but she would already know it was coming, and perhaps form a plan. Right now she will know that you are coming for her, and if you are to reach her.” She paused again, and leaned back in the chair a bit. The last bits of redness had faded from her cheek.

“Normally…That’s what I’d do. However, she carries a sphere with her that holds within it something very important. The contents do not need to be divulged. I need her back, with the sphere. Questions on that?”

Rae'l carefully recorded the information in shorthand, then slid the pen through the spiraled bit of wire that held the notebook together. He reviewed what he'd written carefully, then nodded to himself. Fine.

"Firstly, Ma'am, if it'd keep Ms. Hevn calm, I'd bring her a teddy bear. I've done it before. Cards are not an issue. Secondly, you aren't risking much. If things go pear-shaped, you've lost some foreign mercenaries. So what? Thirdly, I'm going to forget about that whole sphere thing."

He smiled in that slightly goofy manner of his...

"There was an inscription on the lintel of the Temple of Apollo in Delphi. Translated, it read 'Know Thyself.' I know what works for me, and I'll perform better and strive harder to rescue a person than I ever would if the objective was an inanimate object. I'm a Sentinel-Knight. Our duty is to protect those who are beholden to us -- not their property. Purity of purpose, ma'am, that's the trick. Gives you the strength of a hundred men and the will to do the impossible. Or something like that."

He shrugged.

"Otherwise, I'm good to go, Ma'am. If it is possible to extract Ms. Hevn from her current predicament, I'll see to it that it occurs. Upon my honor, lest I fail my eternal duty, I swear it will be so."

The formality of his oath -- it wasn't Sword Oath, but Sword Oath was not made easily, or generally at all. It was more than sufficient...words had power on Counter-Earth, and oaths bound a Sentinel-Knight there, or anywhere. It was the way of things.

Pietro took out a piece of paper, and began sketching. On it was a basic diagram of the swords he would need made, along with the specific dimensions written out and labeled for clarity. They were designed for the closer, careful work that fighting Genesis alongside Ierenn and Jin would require.

Twin swords, identical in weight, length, width, hilt, and blade design.

Length of 0.90 meters. Cross section to be a double-fuller. No tapering until 5 cm from point. Fuller grooves to extend a length of 0.65 meters. Expand cross guard. Pummel to weigh at least 1 kilogram. Hilt insert to be contiguous with blade.

"This shows what blades I'll need for the job," he said, holding up the paper. "To whom do I give this."

(ooc: sorry about my lack of following what has been happening. Adjustment in my meds.)

ooc:Ravelyn along with Keyton and Rae'l are in a separate room in her office. Pietro is in the AC room with Nikolai and Irennen, and to the side Ryan.

“All life is important to me Rae’l. While you may not seem to grasp the aspect, I already care for all of you, and loosing one of you would damage me in a way,” she said softly, stood up and walked around the table, placing on hand on each of their shoulders. Her touch was soothing, revitalizing. “I’m counting on both of you to bring back my daughter…” she whispered, almost breathlessly in her normal fashion. It made you want to lean in and listen closer, to hear what the enchanting woman had to say. “If there are no other questions…you are dismissed for the day.”

He nodded slowly, turning away from her, towards the door. Before he left, however, he spoke a few choice sentences, over his shoulder, as it were.

"I will do what I can, and if it is within my power to achieve, I will Ms. Hevn returned to you. Your...attachment?...to me is, perhaps, foolish, but...but I thank you for your words, none-the-less, even if I do not, as you say, understand them."

He looked back at her over his shoulder.

"Perhaps it could be said that one so intimately engaged in the business of killing as I am, is no longer capable of understanding the better part of human emotion. Earth-humans personify Death -- the pale rider, the grim reaper, the girl's infamous Pandar -- we of Counter-Earth personify Death as well, in the character of the Thief."

He smiled, but there was nothing goofy about his smile at all, at all. It was, if anything, quite terrifying to behold. This was no mere soldier, nor no mere human. This was something else entirely.

"Perhaps the business of Death has stolen from me my capacity to feel the concern, love even, of other life-forms. Wouldn't that be a tragedy, hmm?"

He laughed as he stepped out of her office, a manic sort of laugh. It would be only in retrospect that one would realize that his eyes had been shiny and silver, as if they were made of mercury...

Rae'l had shown an entirely different side of himself -- if it had truly been Rae'l at all, which was quite debatable. What was certain, is that Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae grinned all the way back to his room, wherein he would settle down with a few of his kits strewn about him and begin to work. He didn't have much in the way of raw materials, but he didn't need much. Not to make what he needed to make.

That would occupy most of his night. The only other significant thing he would do was assemble his ketch-all pole, which was an odd device for an individual such as himself to use, but was extremely useful in certain situations, indeed.

"There is something terribly wrong in your logic," she whispered directly to him, and only him silently. "You don't know how old I am, but believe me I am older than you. I have killed many. If the angel of death can feel, I am sure there is at least one part of you that has the capability of emotion." Her crimson eyes flashed. Rae'l was an niteresting one. She then looked at Keyton.

"Do you have any questions?"

Within the mansion, there was a sound of a fist hitting a heavy wooden door, and a voice faintly heard from beyond. "Hey! Hello?! How long do I have to starve in here?!"

Silence greeted Demitri as he listened for any response. Sighing, he pounded upon the door again.

"Hey! Navi! Hello?! Anyone?!"

Turning, he leaned backward against the door and slid down to the floor where he hung his head and sighed again. It seemed that Navi was prepared to let him die in here not from old age, but from hunger and neglect.

Serves you right you dimwit. the voice inside his mind scolded, Should've done your homework first, check out the family and such. Now, you're not even gonna get the luxury of being fucked.

A thump indicated his head being slammed backward against the door. Then, a thought passed into his mind. Rising to his feet and turning to the red light panel, he inspected it carefully before locking his fingernails behind the outer frame and pulling strongly. It came off with a pop revealing a keypad facing outward into the hallway and wires surrounding the buttons.

Ok...one thing at a time. Hotwire the electric lock now... pick the manual lock later.

His fingers grasped some of the wiring and pulled it out from their nestled positions. He frowned.

"How the hell am I supposed to know which wire's which?" he muttered as he noted that they were all colored the same. Where each wire ultimately led to, he didn't know for they disappeared into the walls surrounding the panel.

Wrapping his fingers around some of the wires, he released them gently from their locations on the keypad and exposed the wiring to his gaze. Gathering his wits about himself, he took two of the wires and touched them to each other.

The voltage that ran through his body caused him to scream aloud in pain and sent him rocketing backwards onto the floor. Overhead, the lights flared and flickered before dying and leaving him in utter darkness. In the darkness, a pool of blood began to seep around his head, an indication of a heavy blow received from the impact with the floor. His fingers were burnt, his skin torn back from his flesh.

He remained motionless as he struggled to clear his mind to little effect. "Dumbass..." he muttered as he slipped into unconsciousness once again.

Canes were, at heart, quite simple items, indeed. This one was significantly more complex, but from the outside...it appeared to be your standard walking cane. Polished, black lacquered exterior with a knob to rest the hand upon. The fact that the other end was a stubby, pointed hexagonal pyramid was quite beside the point.

Exactly why he'd made a cane was entirely unknown, but it must be presumed that he had his reasons. Rae'l never did anything without reason.

As he worked on the cane -- for it was much more than a mere cane, on the interior, at least, he thought over Ravelyn's parting words. It was...possible...but to a certain extent unlikely. He did feel emotions, yes, but...not the way that he was supposed to, and not the full range, as such.

He felt hate, he felt anger...but he had never felt the love that a child feels for his mother, or the safety gained from the knowledge that that child's mother loves him more than she loves her own life...for Rae'l Rys-Mak'anrae did not, as far as he knew, have a mother. Or a father.

It had amused him, at the time, to hear Ms. Ravelyn refer to herself as the angel of death, but now...now it was not so amusing, for he had an irritating feeling that she was not joking, the way he himself would have been if he claimed the title of Pandar, as he had more often than once.

Returning to his earlier train of thought, as he had said -- it wasn't necessarily that he himself could not feel emotions, he could. It was more that, maybe, he could no longer feel the emotions that others directed towards him. He smiled as he worked, gently working the tiny wiring harness into the cane with his fingers. It didn't make sense -- how could you push wire through lacquered, brushed aluminum? But...this was beyond sense.

Keyton looked up from his note-taking, preferring to make detailed notes while he still had the luxury of time...

"Just one..."

He hated to ask the question, but it was the only one Rae'l hadn't touched on...

"If given the choice between Ms. Hevn and this sphere of yours, which has priority?"

If he had to explain any further, she was missing his point entirely. Seeing as how her daughter, and he used the term very loosely, was not quite as important as the object she carried, he was curious to see if the object was worth more than her life. Keyton would gladly bring home a live hostage, but a mission was a mission, and he had no qualms about making the job easier by eliminating any middle-people, that was to say, the individual carrying this important object.

It was perhaps in this aspect of their motives that Keyton and Rae'l differed the most. The Sentinel-Knight seemed to value life over everything else, at least the lives of those he was charged with protecting. Keyton, on the other hand, was a bit colder in his ways. The mission was the all-important goal, and if the life of an individual was the mission, then Keyton would defend them to the death. Under other circumstances, when the life of an individual interfered with the mission's completion, more drastic measures were employed. He did not enjoy that part of his job, but soldiers follow orders, and complete the mission to the best of their ability.

The Argonian remained seated, intently listening for a response. Once that question was answered, he could plan, and plan a back-up plan for his original plan, and a second back-up plan in the event the previous two failed, for no plan ever survived contact with the enemy...

Ryan continued to work the rifle, pouring rounds downrange into the targets. He had gotten used to the weapon, getting in short, ten to fifteen round burst patterns, the rounds ripping through the heads and necks of the paper targets. He watched as the target was torn to shreads, and then he loaded up a new one. He continued on till the room was dry of ammo for the specialized Metal Storm like weapons. He placed the empty weapon on the table, and moved back to his own weapons, breaking the rifle down and placing it in the case. He locked it up, and collapsed in a chair in the room. His shoulder was getting sore, getting used to the new weapon. At least the calluses on the webbing in between his thumb and index fingers weren't blistering up.

He looked around the room briefly, really noticing how quiet it was. It was akin to his life back in Imitora, one spent mostly alone on the range at his training center. Hell, he hadn't even been on anything that marginally resembled a date in damn near five years. He spent a good percentage of every single day doing this exact same thing, running through the kill house or sending lead downrange at targets. He sighed, and rubbed his face.

When he really noticed that he was alone in the room, he started to wonder why he was here. Not here, on the earth, but here, in the room. Why had Ravelyn taken the others out of the room, why had they designated him acceptable to be a shooter for their expidition, why had she asked for outsiders to come take on the challange? This was a nation full of some very unique individuals. He was just a regular old human. He contimplated leaving the range, but like any good soldier on his first day of operations, he hand't been ordered out of the range, and so he waited for further instructions.

Ravelyn hesitated. "The sphere," she said quietly. "If Hevn is alive, bring her back, if she is dead, find the sphere.You must return with at least one of them, both of them will earn you an extra five hundred grand."

Rae'l stood stripped to his waist, the black-lacquered brushed aluminum cane...well, it was more properly -probably- referred to as a rod, seeing as while one could use the instrument to walk with, that did not begin to tap its potential...so, anyways, with the black-lacquered brushed aluminum rod held loosely in his left hand.

His white steel bastard sword was naked in his right, and he the emotionless mask had set into place, his face giving away nothing -- the same way it was in combat. Give the enemy nothing. Ever.

He spun, the blade scything about in a wide arc, then recoiling back with a lightning-quick recovery stroke that would, had he been fighting a real opponent, have relieved said opponent of its head.

The rod punched forward, then twisted, back, then the sword, then the rod slide forward so that the hand grasps the very end, as the whole body twists, putting huge force into the striking head of the rod as it would slam into the enemy, then the right foot steps forward, and the blade follows...

Of course, the rod was not meant to be used in melee combat, but it was capable of being used in such a way, and thus it was useful to practice as such. It would replace his rider's baton on his belt, hanging opposite his whip-dagger...presuming it wasn't in his hand, which was likely enough.

After a few more minutes of blurring motion, he stopped, wiped the blade down and sheathed it, then set the rod and sheathed sword on the bed and lay down next to them. He smiled up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting...

There was a mercenary quality to every Sentinel-Knight, but the price required to secure the services of such an individual did not involve money. The requirements varied between Sentinel-Knights, but generally they went something like: Just Cause, Personal Interest, Sufficient Potential Gain. That is: reason to care, reason to act, reason to die.

He wouldn't say that his personal requirements were met, but he would still do the job...because Tannin Voth had asked him to, and because he was, in at least one way, the typical Sentinel-Knight, that way being that he had some pretty strong rescue fantasies. He'd lead Third Tac, Rys-Mak'anrae, and, in fact, all of UCE, 's primary strike team for offworld ops, because Third Tac had the greatest number of hostage rescue operations of any of the UCE teams. He liked the work, and he had been very, very good at it.

It remained to be seen if he still was, but, were he a betting man...well, were he a man who bet with money, he would bet everything he had on himself succeeding. Which he already had, in a way...it had become a matter of honor, to give himself a greater incentive to succeed. He had shrugged off the sphere thing, because that would only annoy him further.

There was no such thing as a 'thing' worth dying for. You died so that others could live, or you didn't die at all. That was the way of the Sentinel-Knight.

Rae'l's hand came up to trace letters in the air, in the High Tongue -- even in this, he was careful. His eyes fluttered shut as he completed the rune for 'Sacrifice.'

Soon, his heartrate slowed and breathing steadied to a slow, rhythmic pulse. A Sentinel-Knight did not so much sleep as fall into a recuperative trance...sleep left one vulnerable, and there were very, very few Sentinel-Knights capable of sleeping outside of their Line strongholds. Rae'l was not one of them. The trance was quite sufficient for his needs, though.

Quite sufficient.

Money mattered little to Keyton Kerrich. His living facilities and food were already provided for him by the government of his homeland. The same went for his armaments, ammunition, medical care, and clothing. Rave's offer did, however, tell him that she would prefer both objectives. The training this 'Hevn' had apparently received was supposed to keep her calm, and Keyton would trust this, at least as far as he could throw it...

"Thank you, Madame Shentavo. If I may, I will take my leave of you and return to the practice range..."

His right hand grasped the barrel of his short M1A SOCOM II, preparing to lift it off of the floor and take it away with him when permission was granted...

“You have my leave for the day,” she responded, and the announcement rang out through the mansion that instruction was done for the day. Nikolai sighed and watched as Jin limped out of the shooting range. He shot him a smile, and Jin narrowed his eyes, but passes without incident toward his room.

Meanwhile…Ravelyn made a phonecall.

Ryan had all but dozed off when the call came over the mansion that training for the day was over. He stood, grabbed the rifle case, and left the shooting range, returning back to his room. He dropped the case on the bed, and stretched himself out. Unholstering his pistol, he tossed that on the bed, and began digging through his duffle. The day hadn't been long at all, just a few hours of range time, and his calused thumb prevented any blisters from forming during the range time.

He found what he was looking for, a Blackhawk Serpa holster, and tossed it on the bed, as well as another magazine for the Beretta. He reloaded all his pistol magazines with the 9mm Federal HST rounds, including the one he had just removed from the bag, and layed them out infront of him on the bed. He quickly dissasembled the Beretta, giving it a quick clean, and then reassembled it. He attached the Serpa holster to his leg, loaded a magazine into the Beretta, and then placed the Beretta in the holster. The holster had a number of magazine holders, which he filled with the three spare magazines.

He then repeated the process with the five magazines he brought along for the carbine, and cleaned the carbine, placing it back in its case. He knew this was a soldier compound, but had no desire to walk around and deal with any wierd looks he recieved for having a slung rifle. The pistol would do nicely, anyways, and he locked the rifle case, sliding it under the bed.

He exited his room, deciding to take a brief walk, and began to explore the open areas of the compound, eventually returning to the welcome area from the first day. His main goal was to find either their patron, Nikolai, or anyone else who would be able to give him a general overview of what the mansion had to offer for him.

Keyton nodded, then rose to leave, slinging his weapon in the process. There would be little for him to do now that marksmanship was concluded, at least if he couldn't find an exercise facility...

"Madame Shentavo, is there anything resembling a gym on the campus?"

Even on a foreign training deployment, Keyton wasn't going to let his physical training standards slack off any, that wasn't the way he operated...