In Ace's opinion, this had not been his best job. First of all, the grimm handler smelled of old cheese, which wads a manageable annoyance. Second, the ringleader talked a lot. Way too much to be a quality undergroundsman. It was a rule, always say less than necessary. A rule he did not follow. The pay wan't bad but Ace though a job of this scale should have earned a Grate more. All of these Ace could handle and would have been fine. He was getting good recordings from his pocketed scroll and knew where the rest of the evidence in this place was. It was a sured success...

Until the EMP. That was something Ace was unprepared for and for good reason. At this point, EMPs were military tech and highly traceable, making them too hard to get for their worth to criminals, even city crooks like this one. Now, Ace could do with loosing his scroll, it wasn't his first and he knew it wouldn't have been his last. He could also do with loosing all the evidence. the ringleader revealed quite a bit in his ramblings and Ace was sure he could be found again. What Ace really wasn't prepared for, was the loss of his hands. After the bomb detonated, he no longer felt the synthetic nerves in his hands as they went limp. It only annoyed Ace how much the ringleader talked before bailing, but now he had a serious problem. He had to be isolated, NOW. With the dealer distracted, Ace remembered something from a while back. One of the crooks who helped raise him, Uncle Ticks people called him, had a pacemaker and a few implants in his head. One day, a lightning bolt struck a little too close to him, and sent his systems haywire. For all intents and purposes, he had a seizer. Ace mentally thanked Uncle Ticks for the idea before setting to work on his latest lie.

First, he let his whole body go limp, falling the the floor like a sack of potatoes. He curled his body slightly, twitched every muscle he could think of rapidly and blinked like a mad man. Now the kicker was his mouth. He had found a trick where if he bit his cheek a certain way, stretched his jaw, and held his breath, he could produce a stream of small bubbles out his mouth not unlike a rabid animal. The rightfully freaked out Damien scrammed out of that trailer like a bat out of hell. As soon as he was alone, Ace caught his breath and sat up, the gravity of the situation sinking in. He was barely armed, had no scroll and basically no hands, and there was a variable war zone outside caused by his team, which he couldn't support in this state. Facing injury to his wrist nerves, his pride, and his standing with his team, Ace could only say one word in the solitude of the trailer.

"Damn"

"Well, since both plans involve me going for the figure heads, I'll just get on that. I'll be able to tell which plan you go with once you start, so expect radio silence on my part. But, and I cannot stress this enough, MAINTAIN STEALTH UNTIL AFTER PHASE ONE! Give me five minutes with the bossmen then stick to the shadows until something goes boom." After this brief piece of advice, Ace adjusted his coat and rubbed his neck. Then, before anyone could react to his statement, he said, "I'll see ya on the news when we'er heroes." Then, he removed himself from his cover and, with well thought out movements, made his way over to the buyer and ringleader. A few words followed by a laugh passed between the three and Ace and the criminals disappeared into a trailer where the business would be held. He had them, but what would he find in the trailer?

(I do apologize for the absence and for worrying any of you, I have no excuse. MOVING ON!)

Ace followed after their roof bound teammate at a decent pace. He had no idea what she could have seen but he had a hunch it wasn't good. But that wasn't the immediate problem. The immediate problem was that he had no idea how to navigate the escape route. Firstly, he knew how to get to the gambling ring because the signal specified direction (albeit cryptically). Secondly, the route was meant to be difficult to navigate in order to loose pursuers. That was mostly a problem because if Prim went one direction and the route went another, it would be neigh impossible to meet back up except by sheer chance. With this in mind, he made a suggestion: "We should sync our scrolls and one of us should follow her from up there. If we run into people, let me do the talking before you start swinging." He then sped up slightly to keep pace with Prim on the roofs.

CHARACTER

Name: Argus Venatus (formerly known as Agro)

Age: 17

Species and Gender: Rhino Faunus male

Symbol:  Outline of a saber with a quill as the blade and a king chess piece as handle.

Occupation: Beacon first-year

Appearance: Argus stands 6 feet tall exactly (excluding his horn) and weighs 180lbs, not an ounce of fat. His body is well defined and consists mostly of lean muscle, clearly valuing endurance over strength. Despite the extra weight on his head his posture rivals perfection, always standing full height. Obsidian black hair combed over behind his horn and indigo eyes that always appear to be analyzing something.

For clothing, Argus will wear what appears to be a full grey suit, complete with tailcoat and vest, with a dark purple tie, handkerchief, and in-lining and white shirt underneath. While the outfit may seem ordinary, it is far from it. The shirt and pats are made from an athletic material common among huntsmen attire meant to provide optimal comfort and mobility to the body while absorbing (and concealing) sweat. The jacket and vest however are made from tightly woven strands of plastic, analogous to real-world Kevlar, meant more so for defense/durability. Both his Handkerchief and tie are made of a highly elastic, absorbing material, allowing them to double as a tourniquet and gauze should the need arise.

Perhaps his most eye-catching feature is his horn. Rhino horns are not the most common to begin with and his can best be described as unique. Since it does not curve, it adds roughly nine inches to his total height (but he would never calculate this in if asked) and is apparently very thin, considering it is covered in black leather without adding width. This is because a year before he left for Beacon he ground his old horn down and cast it in aluminum oxide, effectively making it a blade, as a show of commitment and a symbolic gesture to his change in life (more on that later). The aforementioned black leather piece is nothing more that a sleek, modified scabbard to ensure he is not walking around with a blade drawn.

History: It can be said that Argus’ life changed when he took a downward haymaker. He was tough enough to take the hit, but bend forward as if he couldn’t. His assailant went for a follow-up, but was taken aback by a mass of bone slamming into his gut. He stepped back as Argus stood tall and hit his opponent with his own downward haymaker. The other boy fell to the ground, unconscious. As sweat dripped from his brow, he raised his reddened fists in the air as a ring of people cheered, “AGRO! AGRO! AGRO!” This, of course, was to be expected. Only rookies expected Agro to loose a match in the east side brawl pit (at least for his age group). Well, only rookies and the thugs that set this match up. They had “requested” that Agro throw the match. A request Agro had refused with both words and actions.

His life before the brawl pit or how long he hand been there had been a blur. “One to many suckers to the crown,” he would say. It was a simple life, if you could call it that. Just a kind going one fight at a time. He didn’t have much to worry about so long as he had his fist and his wits… and his horn, the horn helped. That was, of coarse, before he went against the men who would rig a brawl pit like this. So, one minute he is basking in victories’ glory yet again, next thing he knows blood is pouring from his stomach and he is struggling to maintain consciousness. He had no illusions of living through this. After all, this was the east side of Vaccuo. The chances of him getting any kind of medical treatment in time were slim to none. Sure, people loved his fights but at the end of the day they didn’t care if he croaked. And so his fight for consciousness would be his last. And he lost.

Turns out, slim to no chance of getting medical help was just enough, for as he awoke he was greeted by the painful white of a hospital room. When he asked the nurse explained that apparently a huntsmen in full armor had brought him in shortly after he lost consciousness. The man didn’t give his name but insisted on being called The Armorer. Apparently, he had left behind a book that sat on a small table next to his hospital bed. Agro, as one could likely guess, was not a book person. So, for the first week of his recovery the book sat there untouched. Then, approaching the second week before he could be released, total boredom had gotten it’s grasp on him. However reluctantly, he reached over and picked up the book. It wasn’t very large, likely able to fit in the pocket of most jackets. It was titled “An Armorer’s Guide to Etiquette”.  Agro’s first reaction was to scoff at the implied arrogance of just the title of this book. Yet he opened it anyway, having nothing better to do.

For some unknown reason, he found himself enthralled in the pages of this small book. It wasn’t just manners 101 as he expected but rather covered topic like verbal self-defense and the power of respect. Three days after picking up the book he finds himself reading a not left for him on the back page, inviting him to go to a specific address seemingly in the middle of nowhere for an offer. Checking out of the hospital the next day and digging up his stashed fight money he got a cab to take hit to the address. There he met this mysterious Armorer who offered to train him in the ways of the sword rather than the fist. Two week prior, her would have laughed it off. But now, after his old “life” had betrayed him and after reading that book, he took the offer.

The next three years were spent training in the ways of the warrior gentlemen. Proper stance and posture, speech, swordsmanship, philosophy,  mannerisms, the works. The Armorer’s unique teaching style allowed Agro, who had now taken the name Argus Venatus, to master these skills in no time. One day, after fully realizing how far he had come, Argus made a request to The Armorer to have his horn made into a blade. This was to truly signify the end of Agro the brute and the beginning of Argus the warrior. The Armorer accepted and even made him the “scabbard” he uses today. However, The Armorer urged Argus not to think of Agro as dead, but instead dormant and to keep Agro a part of himself. To this day Argus follows that principle.

Of coarse, there is only so much a private tutor can do. Thus it was understood that when the time came attending a combat academy would surly be the next step. Argus was reluctant however. He did not want to leave the tutelage of The Armorer, but he understood that in order to become a proper huntsman, the academy experience was necessary. If not for the training and education, then for the cooperation and environment. So when the time came for the entrance exam, Argus reviewed his studies, practiced his form, and steeled his nerves. However, the night before he was supposed to get his results, he had a strange dream that would change his view of the world.

The Dream:
   

When Argus awoke from this bizarre dream, he instantly remembered what The Armorer said about thinking of Agro as dormant. Every so often he would remember the dream and think on how who he was before and who he is now are one in the same.

That day had been an exciting one for Argus. First, he found out that he had passed the exam within a high percentile (though his mathematics could use some work). Second, he had been both accepted and paid for to attend Beacon Academy. The third was The Armorer had vanished without a trace. The only acknowledgment that the Armorer left beyond their lack of presence was a gift on a table. A pair of purple bracers that complement the styles of both Argus and Agro (more on that below) and a note the simply read: “Your turn”. To many this quote seems odd but to Agro, who had spent many hours playing chess with The Armorer, it fit perfectly. Thus began his journey to become a huntsman. The gentlemen, with the alter ego of a brawler, who will not allow any means, laws ore prejudices stand in the way of what he wants.


Personality: Argus is a gentleman. That is not to be taken in the ‘he holds doors and says please’ kind of way. Being a gentleman is a way of life; one Argus follows to the bitter end. However, being a gentleman only has to do with how he acts, not necessarily what he does. In fact, as far a behavior goes, he is less of a gentleman warrior and more of a gentleman pirate. As mentioned before he will not allow any means, laws or prejudices stand in the way of what he wants at any given time. But regardless what he does, he will do it in a manor befitting a gentleman.
Argus view life like a real-time version of chess. He understands there are no turns in life however there is strategy, in simple terms.

Likes: a challenge, reading, metal music (surprisingly), playing the piano, strategy games

Dislikes: people telling him “no” or “can’t”, country music, an unsporting opponent, being dirty

Aura and Semblance: Much like the accents in his cloths, Argus’ Aura takes on a regal purple color and seems to have an air of wisdom accompanying it.

His semblance is, in essence, a third person view. It allows him to see his surroundings in one of two ways: bird’s eye view or video game third person view. These have been respectively dubbed “board view” and “piece view”. Originally, his semblance was just board view but piece view was brought about through training and concentration. As such, board view will come a bit more naturally at times. When active, he no longer sees out of his eyes but instead out of an imaginary camera in a position above or around him. Board view “sees” the word from an imaginary camera 100 feet directly above him at maximum. Piece view came be tricky as since the imaginary camera is so close, he can pan the view (much like the camera in a video game) in a dome shaped area around his upper body. There is no visual sign that he has activated his semblance, making it easy to gain a tactical advantage.

However, it does have its limitations. Having it active for too long will cause headaches, especially if board view is as altitudes 50ft or more. When using board view, just like if you move far away from something, he can see more area at the expense of details. He will need to retract his imaginary camera if he is in a single combat with an opponent using unpredictable and /or precise attacks. Also, board view’s bane in low ceilings for obvious reasons (unless he wants to see what is on the next floor up). Additionally, where factors directly affecting the eyes (dirt in eyes, blindfold, etc.) will not hamper vision with his semblance, mental effects (seeing stars, blurry vision, etc.) will affect his vision in either board or piece view.

Combat Behavior: 


WEAPON

Name: Sample Text

Primary Form: Sample Text

Secondary Form: Sample Text

Tertiary Form: Sample Text

Dust Functions: Sample Text

History: Sample Text

Without saying a word, Ace cursed to every deity he knew about, regardless of his beliefs. Making sure not to show any signs of irritation he regarded his situation. In a fit of nostalgia he had likely ruined his first attempts at genuine friendship. His credibility was gone and any attempts at this point to convince them he was against the arena would be futile. However, the situation did not appear completely dire. His team had yet to shoot the messenger and appeared willing to move on for now. His best option seemed to be simply to shut up for the time being.

As his team conversed on what they should do now, Ace wandered to the side. He came upon a slightly rusted but in tact wire gate. Observing it briefly, he stepped up, picked the lock like it was nothing, and held the gate open to reveal a dark yet quaint side street. He didn't say a word since his team was conversing but was sure the slight screech of the gate was enough to inform them that he had found a short-cut. But then again, would/do they still trust him?

Ace let out a long sigh before switching back to his normal voice. "You know what, never mind-" He did not stop talking while he removed the putty from his nose. "Let it never be said that I dragged someone into a canine arena against their better judgement." He wiped the 'stubble' off his chin and cheeks and continued. "Too bad, I think today is grey hound day." After he removed his contacts and successfully changed back into the Ace they knew, he allowed his shoulders to drop. "Oh well, I suppose we will need to find a more 'legal' source of entertainment. Not quite my area of expertise so I have no suggestions." He internally curses his morality for his surrender, but concedes. He had to remind himself that Prim probably grew up on Saturday morning cartoons instead of dog fights. He just hoped wherever they ended up next would present an opportunity for profit one way or another.

Ace approached the marking on the wall and placed a hand on it. A wave of nostalgia hit him like the brick wall in front of him. With a smile on his face, he turned left into the ally, not particularly caring if his team was following. Deeper in the ally, it split off into other allies, which branched off themselves. Unknown to most, Vale had a practical labyrinth of brick hidden between their buildings. But Ace had no problems navigating it. The etching on the first wall indicated, but didn't provide, the necessary directions. Ace used that indication as more of a reference than a guide because this had been the only area in Vale he had been to before. He had come with his "family" a few years ago and they followed the same path he walked now. This is the part where Ace thinks of something poetic to say about that but right now he's a bit too excited for that. After an uncountable number of lefts and right that would likely confuse anyone who didn't know the symbol's meaning, they came to a makeshift fence. Behind the fence, two sounds were most prominent: the cheering of a small crowd, hushed slightly due to the discrete nature of whatever they were doing, and a snarling sound of sorts, clearly not grimm but no friendlier. Ace was about to push open the gate when he thought of something and turned to the team that had followed him asking one question, "None of you have any problems with gambling right? some people do and I want to make sure..."

The first thing Axus did was smile. Hearing the first howl, he took his slightly sharpened stick in his left gauntlet, most of it's length behind his back with the beginnings of the point pointing down. Then, with his right hand, he drew his sword, reveling in the sweet sound if it leaving his scabbard. 'The violinist may have her music, I shall have mine.' He thought to himself as he took a stance. Resiste over his shoulder, ready for a powerful strike while his makeshift spear ready to counter anything that charged or otherwise lunged at him. In short, he was ready.