In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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Weapon: Her training is with firearms, handguns especially, but she hasn't got one right now. What she does have is a glove with powerful fire and life magic woven into it - a phoenix in a glove. The moogles made it in thread and it involved materia. She's not very clear on how it works, but she knows what it does. It gives fire damage to melee attacks (ie. punching), throws fireblasts, and can fly. That last, being sustained, takes more energy that the other abilities.
Appearance: Morlan is of unidentifiable ethnicity. Her skin tone is sort of light sepia, her eyes are dark, and her hair is almost black. She has an angular face, which is accentuated by the severe knot which she pulls her hair in to. She invariably stands up straight, and moves - in fact, does everything - crisply.
She dresses plainly, most often in a gray shirt and rust-red jacket. Beneath this she wears a set of stathen mail (a dark, ribbed material that has something in common with Kevlar), vest and sleeves; under that is a black cotton shirt.
Personality: .Extremely military, she is very good at following orders, giving orders, interpreting fairly vague orders, putting large holes in people, coordinating large groups, and being neat. She is intensely loyal - not so much out of belief in something as because she can’t imagine being disloyal. She is not good at living without orders.
History/Background: Epiphany Morlan was born a military brat in an obscure province of the Empire. Her father was of a particularly troublesome people, who had refused to go ahead and be conquered even after several generations of occupation. She never met him. Her mother was career military, and as soon as she was old enough, Epiphany followed her footsteps, and did well in spite of her too-pale skin that so clearly indicated mixed blood. At leas, she did well for a time. And then someone wanted her out of the way, and she was put in charge security for the Hunter program.
Somebody should have known it would fail. Everyone at the compound could see that the experiments where too smart, too… too human, and far to strong. One was bound to break the conditioning, and then it’d all be over. And one did.
Lieutenant Morlan was to be executed for Failing to Recapture an Escaped Experimental Specimen, for being in the wrong posting at the wrong time, and for having the wrong blood. As she stood stoically before the firing squad, a shadow appeared. One, solitary, very lost Shadow. One of the soldiers broke rank and fired at it, causing his superior to yell at him, until said superior noticed the now fleeing Shadow, and give orders to “kill it!” The Shadow phased into the ground, and the bullets embedded themselves harmlessly in the dirt. As the soldiers reloaded their traditional rifles, the Shadow lifted itself back out of the ground and ran smack into Morlan who, reflexely, grabbed it. In terror, it portalled...
The firing squad was left to stare at the now empty courtyard.
It was quickly decided that the rebels had resurfaced, and since they had obviously broken her out, she must have been in league with them from the beginning, and therefore, a traitor. Which didn’t surprise them at all.
Role Playing Sample:
“I would have expected more security.” His voice echoed around the cavernous room as the last of the cloud of dieing firefly-sparks bounced their way down. “I’m holding a live arc,” she reminded him, her voice dry behind her mirrored mask. “How much security do I really need?” The pause stretched out much too long, alive with the times when such a weapon would not have been enough.
“I don’t do that now.” The torch roared back to life in her hands, sending down its fiery waterfall once more. God, what was he doing here? She’d thought they had understood.
He didn’t move. Finally, she shut it off and lifted the mask to look down at him. “You where the one who said we should fight in the first place,” he said “Yeah. And we won. Do you have a point?” “You were always all gung-ho - point on the way in and rearguard on the way out. I though you loved it.” “Yeah.” striping off her gloves, she slapped her hand flat on the steel surface and swung herself down from her perch. “That wasn’t an answer.” He waited, as she pulled off her helmet and shook her sweat-soaked hair, until he realized what he was waiting for - and that it wasn’t coming. “Aren't you supposed to say ‘try asking me a question’?” “Am I?” she asked. “I guess I was.” Her eyelids flickered sideways across her eyes, wearily, as she stowed the torch and the mask. “I want the life I won. That’s all.” “Gecko -” She whirled, a sudden explosion, orange eyes blazing into black-on-black ones. “Don’t call me that. Call me by a name I've earned, or call me by the one I came with. Don’t call me that name.” She turned again, sharply, but his voice overrode her exit. “Fine. Kim. Look, we miss you, okay? I miss you.” He spoke to the back of her head. “I still walk into rooms and expect to see you lounging on the ceiling. This isn‘t about the fights, it never was. It‘s not about - about anything we thought it was. It‘s just - we miss you.” He watched her, a painful hope struggling to rise in his chest. But the stiff sideways jerk of her head killed it, and left him as empty as it seemed possible to be. She walked stiffly from the soaring room.
In the washroom on the other side of the door, she listened (or something like it) as his footsteps crossed the workroom floor and left; and the sudden unvoiced sob nearly strangled her; she wished, not for the first time, for tears.
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Okay, that wasn’t this character at all. Not sure where that came from…. Let’s try this.
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The darkness broke up about her, and she stumbled out into sunlight - late afternoon sunlight, at that. She wasn’t dead. She was somewhere completely unfamiliar to her, she realized as she glanced about. The city was - the thing she had grabbed squirmed in her grasp. She held it out in front of her, examining it. It was sort, and pudgy, and cool to the touch it stared back at her out of bulbous yellow eyes that glowed faintly. Suddenly, it lashed out at her, its clawed hand striking her chest so that she cried out in pain and threw the thing against the nearest wall. It immediately sprang up, and started twitching at her.
That hadn’t hurt it. She had no weapon. She couldn’t hurt it. It could hurt her. And another, identical thing was pulling itself up out of the ground beside the first.