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RPG Announcements / Happy (almost) 6th Anniversary, RWBY RPG!
« on: August 23, 2019, 09:57:19 PM »
Happy (almost) Sixth Anniversary, RWBY RPG!

As we finish out our sixth year on the site, enter our seventh, and move toward the seventh season of RWBY, there's some stuff that I've personally been thinking about in regards to not just the site but the show and fandom as a whole over the past two years. Over four years ago, we lost the dedicated and inspiring man who was behind the entire existence of all three of those things, without whom we wouldn't have ever been here. It has been said many times but Monty was truly someone to look up to, his work ethic was bar none, he was able to do what he truly loved, and he inspired people to improve their creative skills.

If you've been on this site since the beginning, if you've even been here for just a year, or if you've been anywhere in the Fandom where you're creating works of art whether it be drawn, written, or otherwise you can't deny that Monty changed your life even if it's in some small way. Maybe you were already a published author, maybe you never wrote a story or character in your life, maybe you had your art win contests, maybe you could only draw stick figures. No matter the starting point, I firmly believe that everyone is better off for having Monty in the world as he helped countless people strive to improve.

I genuinely believe that there isn't a single person, at the very least on this site, whose writing or art skills haven't improved from a year ago, even if only by a little bit. I want to repeat that part because I want to make sure you know I'm being entirely genuine and I'm honestly so happy to have found this community when I did. Had Monty not brought us together, I know at the very least I would still be writing like I was six years ago when I first joined the site. Hell, I probably wouldn't be writing at all.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in or out of the community that can't look up to Monty in at least one aspect, his works and work ethic were undeniable.

When we lost him, many were skeptical about Miles and Kerry taking over and whether you like or dislike how they've handled the show, it is impossible to deny that if they hadn't continued the work of their friend four years ago, we wouldn't be here today. The community would have burnt out and faded away. Because they carried on for Monty, because they put in the effort to not let his project die, we're still here, we're still writing and drawing and creating, we're still improving. Myself and the other members of the staff believe that this is an excellent time to thank the cast and crew of RWBY and pay tribute to Monyreak “Monty” Oum.

In the vein of this being a celebration of the community as a whole, we’re going to be heading a collaborative project involving members from several different sites. More specific project info can be found here but the quick and dirty is that we’re putting together a collection of writing and art created over this month to send to RT along with a thank you letter and (optional) signatures from everyone who submitted for the project.

The important thing is that we’re inviting people from RWBY Fanon Wikia and r/RWBY to participate in this project and that you should all be nice to our guests. They are, after all, still other creators in the same vein as you even if they’re from a different site.

After Monty's passing, Matt Hullum wrote:

“In lieu of flowers or gifts, we ask that you simply do something creative. Use your imagination to make the world a better place in any way that you can. If you know Monty like we do, then you know he would certainly be doing that if he were able to.”

I feel confident in saying that in the years since, we have all been doing creative work and that it's time we pay tribute and thank the staff for continuing Monty's work. We're allowing all who join to participate and at the end of the month, each and every prompt marked “Opt-in” will be compiled into a binder of stories put together by myself with a letter of thanks and an optional signature from each person who wrote in to be sent to RoosterTeeth. We had tried to get permission to compile the stories into a properly made and bound book by a print-on-demand service but despite multiple attempts at reaching out to roosterteeth’s fan project email we never got a response. This means it's most likely going to be made on my own with less than professional tools.

While all those who opt-in will be featured, we will have a vote to decide on the best response, one for writing and one for art, which will be at the very front of the binder, second only to a foreword and thank you letter.

“The goal isn't to live forever; it’s to make something that does.” - Monty Oum

It's been a fantastic six years of RWBY, here's to many more.

Discord for collaboration:
Writing and art prompt threads:

Collaboration Event / Art Thread
« on: August 23, 2019, 09:36:28 PM »
If you haven't read the anniversary post yet, please do so here.

There's some group specific info so I'll go over that first.

The prompt is a general prompt, just create what comes to mind.

Images must be at a 300ppi resolution.

A RWBY setting is required. This means it can be the canon rwby universe or any AU you can think of, just make sure you have permission to write in the AU if it's something made for an existing fic or something.

No sexual content or graphic violence.

The submission can take the form of a comic, single piece, stick figures, whatever you want.

At the top of the submission you must include: A title, self-explanatory; your name or internet moniker, you can really use whatever name you want since it’s nothing official; “opt-in” or “opt-out”, opt-in means you want the submission included in the collaborative project, opt-out means you don’t but you just want to participate.

(Don’t worry, there’s a submission format at the bottom)

Voting for the winner will begin shortly after the beginning of October as a one week grace period will be allowed for anyone close to finishing who hasn't by the end of the month. Voting will be done by giving members of the staff sets of submissions to pick their best from and then picking the best from the best. The submissions given will not have any names attached and will be given out randomly with the exception of no member being given their own submission. I will be giving them the sets and will not be voting myself.

The main focus of all this should be on creating itself and giving tribute to Monty and everyone on the CRWBY team, we should be striving to create something that we can look back and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own art as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to the staff on the discord server we set up here. Only official responses can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

In addition, this thread will be locked until the last week of September in order to encourage putting more time into refining the submission. If you feel like you genuinely might forget to submit it and feel entirely done with your submission you can private message it to me here on the site.

The prompts are

Keep moving forward.
Celebrate Creation.
Those unforgettable days.

Remember, the best outcome of this is people who work on RWBY reading some of these stories. Don't create anything too tasteless.


Username | Name
Opt-In | Opt-out
Canon | What-if | N/A


Collaboration Event / Writing Thread
« on: August 23, 2019, 09:34:37 PM »
If you haven't read the anniversary post yet, please do so here.

There's some group specific info so I'll go over that first.


Those who joined the site from other sites and only for this, this applies to you. A RWBY setting is required. This means it can be the canon rwby universe or any AU you can think of, just make sure you have permission to write in the AU if it's something made for an existing fic or something. No sexual content or graphic violence. You don't need to worry about writing canon or what-if on your submissions, that's users-only but you do need to specify opt-in or opt-out.


People who actually have characters, this applies to you. I don't have to tell you no sexual content or graphic violence, you should know. If your submission is canon, proceed as usual, if it is what-if, this seems like a good time to remind you that the rules generally don't apply in that kind of response. Canon characters are all fine for what-ifs as well as whatever else you want as long as it's not from another IP and doesn't violate what I've already said. In addition, this is a reminder that no matter what, canon or what-if, you are required to have permission of the creator before using another's character in your story at any capacity.


The prompt is a general prompt, just write about what comes to mind.

No word count minimum or maximum.

The submission can take the form of a poem, written song, hell you can sing a song if you want but I can’t exactly put that in a book.

At the top of the submission you must include: A title, self-explanatory; your name or internet moniker, you can really use whatever name you want since it’s nothing official; “opt-in” or “opt-out”, opt-in means you want the submission included in the collaborative project, opt-out means you don’t but you just want to participate; “Canon” or “What-if”, this really only applies to people with proper characters on site.

Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you need to have it either be from the perspective of your own approved character or an NPC where the focus of the story is on your approved character. An example of this would be if I had a specialist character and wrote a story from the perspective of their CO about how they keep messing up. Additionally, you may have other characters or NPCs in your story but if they're other's characters you must have approval from the user.

What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline or whatever, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while not being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

(Don’t worry, there’s a submission format at the bottom)

Voting for the winner will begin shortly after the beginning of October as a one week grace period will be allowed for anyone close to finishing who hasn't by the end of the month. Voting will be done by giving members of the staff sets of submissions to pick their best from and then picking the best from the best. The submissions given will not have any names attached and will be given out randomly with the exception of no member being given their own submission. I will be giving them the sets and will not be voting myself.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself and giving tribute to Monty and everyone on the CRWBY team with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

Just because you have a month to write doesn't mean you should spend the entire time writing new content. A short, well crafted story can mean much more than a long, poorly crafted one. Once you have what you like, spend the rest of the time editing and shining it up.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to the staff on the discord server we set up here. Only official responses can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

In addition, this thread will be locked until the last week of September in order to encourage putting more time into refining the submission. If you feel like you genuinely might forget to submit it and feel entirely done with your submission you can private message it to me here on the site.

The prompts are

Keep moving forward.
Celebrate Creation.
Sing a song of the Future.

Remember, the best outcome of this is people who work on RWBY reading some of these stories. Don't write anything too tasteless.

Username | Name
Opt-In | Opt-out
Canon | What-if | N/A


There is nothing more instinctual to a human being than flinching away from danger, that fact is especially true for someone like Malina. All she could see was a whirlwind of red rushing toward her, breaking the plank in its wake, and aura exploded outward. A vibrant light red shimmering of light shot out of her in every direction, stretching out across the boat and shattering the deck, sending chunks and splints of wood shooting down and out into the water. It slammed into the streak of red in the split moment that it took her to process what had happened, to process that it wasn't Carmine, a shoulder struck her in the throat and she was being moved- carried- off of the ship.

He'd recovered? How-

The next thing she knew she'd been slammed into the entree way she'd come out of, the door now closed and dented. She'd... did she already lose? She looked up at the man who had taken her out of the arena so easily. An expressionless, flat helmet stared back. Murderer.

The word tugged at something in the back of her mind but she could not afford to dwell on that now. The Atlesian knights stationed by her door moved to paint their weapons at the man and they taken apart with barely a split second between them.



Crisis management. Her eyes flicked to the stands, to the people, they were top priority. Her mind flooded back with images of Carmine, of what she could become. There had been times when she'd had to manage that, to deal in the worst sort of circumstances against someone she cared more for than her own family. There was only delaying there, carefully planned movements to try and get her to waste her energy and tire her out. She'd to avoid using dust and her semblance then but now-

Her hand shot into her pouch, fingers running along raised symbols on corks until she found what she was looking for. She popped the cap open and let the dust be absorbed into her aura, top charge it.

She brought her weapon arm up, flicking a switch and transforming it into its spear form to strike and Janus at the same time as Manticore shot around in a jab from the opposite side, a pincer strike. He'd have to move back, forward, or up and with that in mind she unleashed her semblance once more. Carefully portioned and segmented spikes of aura shot out from her in a vertical line from floor to straight above her, each a foot wide at their base and each charged with electricity.

[Aura: Fuck if I know because he didn't post/100]
[Semblance spikes: 15% + 5%]
[Weapon feint: 2%]
[Manticore feint: 5%]

Disrespect was the norm here in Atlas, apparently. Malina could say she was surprised, she never had any special love for the kingdom or its higher classes. Or it's climate. Or military. Or relationship with her home. Or-

Malina blinked quickly trying to clear her vision after stepping foot into the brightly lit arena. Couldn't afford to get trapped in her one head here. She looked down at the rickety looking wooden pier that lead to the ship in the middle and the deep blue water below. that would be an issue. She mentally groaned as she gripped her weapon from its holster and extended it to its maximum length.

She needed to focus on the biggest threat. Janus Rogo.

She wasn't an expert in the field of disgraced Atlesian specialists by any means, she'd never really had any reason to actually look into the subject, but she still knew of Rogo. Most huntsmen her age did, she thought. She was in her second year when the story broke, an Atlesian specialist sinking a boat full of faunus refugees. It had been shocking to her then but looking back, it wasn't all too surprising coming out of Atlas. If anything, what shocked her the most was the fact that the story had gotten out or that the faunus weren't accepted in and immediately put to work.

Regardless. She still only knew of him, basic facts and extrapolations. He used guns much more prevelantly than the average huntsman, he was quick, he used to be a specialist. That was maybe the most dangerous part. Malina wasn't an idiot, she knew what being a specialist came with. Military huntsmen that worked could work with squads under them and coordinate quick, surgical strikes against Grimm.

Against people.

So he was either a commander of a squad, in which case she needed to make sure she stayed on top of her preverbial shit, he was a member of a purely specialist squad which meant he was skilled enough to warremt extremely high profile missions or- maybe the most frustrating option- he operated solo. In which case, she was at a net disadvantage across the board. She'd have to play tricky.

The artifical wind pushed her hair across her eyes and she realized she was standing at the edge of the ship.

She hadn't even realized she'd been making her way across the pier. Looking back and down at the water, past the dark purple metal of manticore. If she fell in there it was basically game over unless she could pull something out of her ass. With that in mind, she gripped her staff tighter, her knuckles going white from tension. Kinetic dust and ice dust, a wooden ship and.... An unknown amount of water beneath. A mostly unknown opponent who was more experience and covered range better than her.

She needed more. More information. She could try to poke and prod at him for more combat info and take some licks in the process or she could try rushing him and see how he reacts.

More time for planning. She could maybe stall the fight, hide below deck and let him come to her while she worked on something.

More options. She could make those. She needed to be close quarters for this, she couldn't afford otherwise.

Malina stepped off the plank and onto the gently rocking ship. She loosened her grip on Tecuanitlan so her knuckles weren't searing white but she kept her finger near the trigger. She wasn't stupid. She would wait here for her opponent to arrive on deck and then, like any good huntress, offer a sporting handshakes. Her fingers brushed against the pouch on her side. A gamble with a demon.

Approved Characters / Re: Durian Ghede
« on: July 06, 2019, 07:06:33 PM »
Summoning 10 shades seems like a lot of firepowers but naturally it is limited by several external factors, my only comment here is I would like a rough estimate of how powerful an individual shade is, are they comparable to their original forms or more along the lines of say a Beowolf? And are there any range limitations or could they in an extreme example get on a plane and be miles away.
Added "They can only move around within 30 meters of Durian. In a tourney setting, the shade of a 1st year student has a 10% aura counter, with 5% added for every year with a graduate being at 30%. In more abstract settings, or in situations where the exact aura level isn’t important, a shade has 10% of the original character’s aura."

"though durian can alter the personality and force them to say what he wants them to say if need be."
For the sake of clarity is this fact know to others or does he keep it to himself?
Added "This is known by some of the hospital staff and has been used in the past to calm the shades of those who were angry at the time of their death or to fill in words where the shade would have not been able to answer on its own but it’s not public knowledge."
"These shades will never fade out when used, they only go away when Durian manually cancels them or they are brought down in a fight."
So the limitations here are that while such a shade is formed he has close to no motor control? Just want to check as it seems to allow him to completely revive someone, would he still need sleep and if so would the shade pass then since he couldn't concentrate on it? And what happens to the "aura-soaked flesh" is it just drained of aura into a construct or somehow transformed into a temporary body?
It is semantics on a level but he can't bring people back. The shades, even ones that are brought back immediately after death, are just constructs. They can have simulations of the personality and mannerism but they only have vague ideas or images in their constructed personality of who they are or what their history was. While he has a construct up he physically cannot sleep and the detrimental effects of that kick in as soon the shade is cancelled, same with not eating food or drinking water. The flesh that's used as a catalyst has its remnants of aura absorbed as part of the creation process but the flesh itself is just basically floating in the center of the shade and would drop as soon as the shade is canceled. The second level shades don't have traditional physical bodies, per say, their just aura that is opaque and hardened on the edges.

Approved Characters / Durian Ghede
« on: July 04, 2019, 08:48:55 PM »

Name: Durian Ghede

Age: 22

Species and Gender: Male Ram Faunus

Symbol: Toubiyon

Occupation: Freelance Hospital Worker/Huntsman Drop-Out

Appearance: Standing at 5’9” and weighing 143 lbs., Durian is a somewhat lanky individual. His dark, raven-colored hair is done up in the early stages of twist outs, only reaching a few inches off his head and staying well out of the way of his light, amber eyes. His faunus origin is up front and in your face with a pair of ivory ram horns that jut up from the back of his skull and curl forward and down, nearly brushing the bottoms of his ears. Having lived in Vacuo he's never made any attempt to hide his origin, though when visiting other kingdoms or villages he tends to wear a hood, as much good as that will do with hiding horns.

His outfit is exceedingly monochromatic and all just a little too baggy for his slight frame. He wears a pair of black boots, black pants, a black short-sleeved undershirt and a large, white, zip-up hoodie with three black lines circling the right arm and black drawstrings. He tends to only wear the hoodie when he's out of Vacuo but will even wear it there if he's had a particularly bad day.

While he bears no special markings or blemishes, the white of the hoodie has a faint, light brown tint from its short time being worn in Vacuo.

Pre-Shade: ShowHide
Born in the harsh wastes of the Vacuan desert, Durian was brought into the world needing to constantly adapt and overcome his surroundings. Even within the relative comfort of his tribe, danger was always around the corner. Would the oasis they had traveled to be occupied by bandits? Would a sandstorm wipe away the hurriedly built structures? Animals? Grimm? His parents did little to dissuade his fears with his father dying before he was born and his mother having gone missing in the desert when he was only a toddler and the tribe had to leave another settlement, forcing him to be raised by his grandmother. She did her best to raise a child she never asked to be handed, teaching Durian and letting him learn to fight with some of the village’s “hunters”.

They were by no means true huntsmen, not someone who could hunt the likes of Grimm, they were simply people who knew how to fight and defend themselves and their village as well as being able to take down lone mole crabs for food. From time to time that included Grimm, yes, but they were far from specialized in the field. They taught Durian and the other children how to survive, despite his natural clumsiness in a fight. It was apparent from a young age that, while not skilled in combat, he was skilled in tactics. He stayed there, learning from the hunters when he wasn’t out with the rest of his village gathering supplies, learning lessons with the other children, maintaining fruit harvests or simply surviving.

Of course, in a world like this, a tribe in the desert being swept away by the sand is all too common. The attack came quickly and was over in a flash. The bandits came bearing superior weapons and abilities, killed everyone who fought back, and stole away with those who didn’t. Durian’s grandmother ordered him to hide under his bed and the bandits, not caring or not noticing him, went on sacking the village for anything worth their time- food, water, valuables, ammunition. Anything that could be taken and sold or used. Durian was 16 at the time and unlike many other would be huntsmen who would have found their lives cut short at the blade of a bandit, he did what he was ordered.

He hid under his bed, cowering with his hands covering his mouth and his back to the wall as he could hear his friends and family being killed, his grandmother being struck down from trying to defend the home she’d raised her grandson in. He could feel something inside of him wrench around with each short yell that cut through the utter quiet of a desert night and he continued to hide. He hid as they stormed into his house and stole away with his things, he hid as he could hear them laughing around a small fire outside, he hid as the moon fell and the sun rose and he hid until he could bear the hunger and thirst no more.

Cautious and afraid, Durian slid his way out from under the bed, only to be met with a session of dry heaving as he saw his deceased grandmother, the person who’d raised him in his parent’s absence. He avoided looking at her and made his way outside into the harsh sun, trying his best to tiptoe around the corpses that littered his home. He shuffled to the small oasis that the makeshift village had surrounded and collapsed into the water, staying there for a moment too long and contemplating never leaving before bursting out and inhaling a deep, shuttered breath. He drank the water and at the scarce fruit too ripe for the bandits to bother taking as he both tried to think about his situation in order to come up with a plan and avoid thinking what was just behind him entirely.

Eventually, the small amount of resolve within him won over and he made his way back to the village and waited for the shifting sands to cover the bodies of his tribe, praying for the gods to be good to them in the next life like his grandmother taught him.

He stayed there in the village for several days, drinking the water of the oasis and eating the bitter ripe fruit. What choice did he have? He couldn’t just brave the desert, that was just as useful as staying under the water. The Vacuan desert was enormous, teeming with Grimm, bandits, and other hostile wildlife. There wasn’t any food, barely any water, no markers to show he was going the right direction and the sands constantly shifted around him. As far as he knew, he would just stay until the food ran out and then… well, he didn't want to think about what would come after. The choice to stay or go was forced on him on the third day.

On the horizon, as he was gathering the last of the fruit, he saw an enormous, shifting cloud of pitch black. It was something he’d heard about only in whispers and warning around the tribe, The Shiru. A monsterous grimm that stopped at nothing to destroy settlements, bringing with it a horde of other grimm to kill any who try to escape. There was one, and only one, plan if that thing ever made its way toward the village. Everyone packs up and begins moving in the exact opposite direction, so that’s what Durian did. He collected the handful of fruit that was left, he found a small container for water, and he began to book it across the desert.

In some ways, The Shiru saved him. Had he left a day earlier or later, even an hour, he wouldn’t have had the good fortune to run into a small caravan of traders making their way back to Vacuo from another village. Had he not caught them, he wouldn’t have been able to do the only thing he knew he could do when he arrived in Vacuo, take Shade’s entrance exam. He’d never met a huntsman in his life, never knew their lifestyle, but he’d heard tales and he was taught to fight. That was enough. They were strong, they were superhuman in their own right, they could be hit by a train and get back up again. They would be strong enough to fight back against the bandits. The Grimm were a problem, of course, but they were far from the primary problem in Durian’s mind.

By all rights, Durian’s tactical mind was the sole savior when he took the exam. His combat skills were mediocre at best and even though his tribes hunters had given him lessons with the other village kids, it was far from a formal education. The examiner told him that if not for his ability to work through and organize some of the tougher questions he would have had no chance of getting in.

Shade: ShowHide
He did get in though, and thanks to his mind, he was made team leader of Team DFDL (Daffodil) along with his partner Flora and his two teammates Dalia and Loquat. The team quickly bonded over their initiation with each of them being very open to Durian’s plans and suggestions but he was especially taken by Flora. There was something about her pearlescent skin, her blonde hair, her seafoam-green eyes, her voice, her her that made him feel something he hadn’t before. It wasn’t something he understood or knew, in the village there wasn’t anything like dating, there weren’t couples, there were only those who were life partners and those who weren’t. He didn’t know how to talk about that, especially not to her. So he didn’t.

Durian kept quiet about his feelings for his partner and admired from just outside of the frame, watching as she grew and won her fights and survived the school. He was… content like that. He wanted more but he was happy as he was just getting to watch someone who would become his best friend succeed over and over again.

Death is more than common in the world of huntsmen and huntresses and that seemed especially true for Durian. It was their first solo mission, no huntsman shadowing them and no huntsman to shadow. The task was simple, go and defend a village for a night, there wasn’t even a promised threat there had only been reports of raised tensions among the tribe. Flora and Loquat were both close range fighters while Dalia was a long range fighter so the plan was simple. Durian, Flora, and Loquat would patrol the perimeter while Dalia took up position on top of one of the buildings to provide a bird’s eye view, Durian would travel with Loquat  on one end while Flora would patrol on the other as she was a far more accomplished fighter than either of them.

There wasn’t any cry of help or assistance that brought Durian and Loquat running to the opposite side of the village, only a single shot that rang out in the quiet desert night. As Durian ran, he looked up and saw Dalia’s rifle trained toward where Flora was supposed to be patrolling and as he rounded the corner with his breath in his throat, he saw her. Alive. At her feet was the body of a larger man with a single bullet hole in his skull. Durian let out a sigh he’d been holding but before he could even thank the gods another shot rang out, this time from the darkness of the night and eliciting a scream of pain from Dalia. As all three of the students whipped their heads up and around toward their teammate, there was another sound. A shorter one.

A gasp of breath cut short as if hitting a wall followed by a wet cough and groan. Durian whipped his head around and saw a spear jutting out of Flora’s stomach, piercing her aura. The next few moments were a blur and even if durian wanted to recall the events, he would be hard pressed to do so. There was fighting, screams, gunshots, yells for help. In the end, they somehow fought off the bandits. They left several dead or dying at their feet but by the time they were safe…

Durian looked down at the lifeless body of his teammate, his partner, the person he loved and something inside him snapped. He didn't cry out, he didn't sob, he only collapsed down to the ground and began to lose his breath. He tried to take in air but nothing came, he gripped his chest as he felt an anchor of weight appear in his chest and he dug his hands into the sand. In the midst of his frantic breathing, he could feel it, feel them. Inside of him. He clenched his palms as a forced rocked through his body and as he looked up to the sound of Loquat gasping, he saw her. He could see through her to the dark sand dunes beyond and she looked down at him, expressionless, with bright amber eyes that stood out against the light blue of the rest of her visage but he could tell it was her.

His grandmother stood there, not moving, not speaking, only looking at him with those unblinking eyes. Her form wisped and wavered in the desert wind but didn't disappear. He was speechless as he stood up and collapsed into her, wrapping his arms around her and finally starting to let out his tears. She only stood there, unmoving. In that moment, something else clicked inside Durian and he could see them, each and every one of them.

 Dozens of them, his fellow villagers, the bandits that laid dead at his feet, Flora. He could see part of them all inside of himself. In a moment of panic and confusion he laid down his hands onto Flora-- maybe if he could return it to her, maybe if he could bring her back then this would all--

The form of his grandmother faded away and began to grow into place around Flora's body. The shimmering form of his grandmother, now fully in her own color, looked up to him and smiled. She wrapped her arms around him and let him scream into her, letting everything that had built since her final night out into the night air.

Eventually, morning came and an academy caravan came to pick up the team. Durian was silent the entire way back even in the face of attempted comfort from Dalia and Loquat. He was silent as it dropped them off at Shade and he was silent as they all went to bed. In the morning, he told them he was staying in from classes today and to go without him. Once they were gone, he packed his things, collected his money, and he booked the first airship ticket to Vale.

Post-Shade: ShowHide
Durian never went back to Vacuo, never tried to get into contact with his former teammates and never answered their messages on his scroll outside from a simple “I’m alive.” to Loquat. He found a cheap hotel in Vale and he stayed there for a week, trying to work through everything that was going on inside him, his semblance, what he could do. It was obvious now that the huntsman’s life was not what he wanted or needed. He'd heard stories from other students when he'd entered about death and loss but he never thought… What he needed now was to figure out what was for him. He thought about how crushed he'd felt to lose Flora without even getting to say goodbye, how happy he'd been to see and talk with his grandmother again, how he could still feel dozens of… souls inside of him. Fragments. How he couldn't feel his grandmother anymore.

He began testing in his hotel room with the expendable ones, the scum, the bandits. He created shade after shade after shade and tested what he could do with them but no matter what, he couldn't replicate what he'd done with his Grandmother. They came in a multitude of colors but all had what he had to assume was their original eye color even through the glow of their bodies. There was only one thing he could do, one idea that might be able to help him get set back on the right track.

Vale was home to Beacon Academy, the largest and most accomplished Huntsman academy in the world, surely someone there would be able to help him make sense of it all. So he set out for the academy, quickly learning that Vale had a much different view on faunus than Vacuo. He heard whispers of “freak”, “monster”, “devil” and as much as he wanted to, could he even argue? If he really had souls of the dead inside of him wasn't he keeping them from moving on? Wasn't he a monster? Someone stuck their leg out as he was walking with a crowd of people and he fell down into the hard concrete, scraping his hands as he tried to catch himself.

When he finally arrived at Beacon, he had a new, large hoodie on with the hood fully covering his head and obscuring his horns. He found a professor and explained his situation but because he wasn't a student they couldn't help him in an official capacity. They told him to try to go to the hospital, that his semblance sounded like he might be able to temporarily revive the dead, that it might be useful for grieving families. They had tried to convince him to attend classes at Vale, that they would be able to properly help him and get him back on his path but he couldn’t imagine going back to that life.

Durian did as he was told just like when he was a kid and as he worked with the hospitals, he slowly began to understand what his semblance was. Over the next three years, he built a rapport with the hospitals around Vale and even made trips out to the smaller settlements to assist there. He began to expend the shades at his disposal one by one until all that was left was Flora. Sweet, beautiful Flora. He'd never tried to delve into her soul, he was too afraid of what the answer might be and now, in a moment where he could be free of the burden and guilt, he was too afraid of what letting go would mean. He kept her, selfishly. Her fragment is still there today, he's never tried to use her once, he couldn't dream of it. The longer he held her, the more the guilt grew and the more the guilt grew the harder it was to bring himself to let her go. The harder it was to let her go, the longer he held her.

Now Durian lives in a small studio apartment in the residential district of Vale. He keeps to himself, trying to hide his faunus features and go unnoticed most of the time he's not working at the hospital. He doesn't prefer the stagnation but it's the only thing he can think to do.

Personality: Before unlocking his semblance, Durian was a kind and thoughtful kid, if a bit socially lacking. After unlocking his semblance he very much drew into himself. It is not uncommon for him to have intrusive thoughts of him being around powerful people as they die and using them to gain more power, ideas that he could, if he played his cards right, be unstoppable. He hates this, hates everything about this, and because of it he is of two minds about himself and his semblance.

On one hand, he feels immensely happy that he's able to give people one last talk with people they love, to let them get everything out that they can. It's almost cathartic for him to let others get their final words when he couldn't have the same with his mother and father and to let them live on without as many regrets.

On the other hand, he feels guilty when he helps people like this and he hates that he feels guilty and hates that he hates it. It's a vicious cycle of resenting others for getting the closure he never got and being angry with himself because he can't just not help them.

It's a cocktail of emotions that lay just below the surface, from the outside he tries his best to stay stone faced as people break down into tears or yell and scream or give their final goodbyes to his shades.

At the same time, separate from the actual act of helping, he hates that his semblance is what it is. It can help others, of course, but it's clearly not meant to. With every shade that he has, he understands how they fight and how well, what their semblance was exactly and how to use it. Every time he “captures” someone, he knows exactly how useful they would be in a fight. He knows he could be great and powerful if he was still a huntsman and that's why he left. It would be far too easy in a job like that, surrounded by death, to bend toward the corrupted side. He hates the idea of what he's capable of and yet almost every day he has intrusive thoughts telling him to go through with it.

All that said, Durian is not one to ignore, put away, or deflect his problems or shortcomings, perceived or otherwise. His problem is born from indecisiveness. While he is able to look at his problems and work through them in his head and can see both sides of the problem, he very rarely can come to a conclusion. This permeates through almost his entire life, save for combat planning where he feels almost at home and free of stress.

Durian is far from a social person. While he'll be willing and able to make conversation if he's prompted or interested, he generally won't seek out conversation. He much prefers to keep to himself and his own thoughts. Even though he may not like keeping to himself, he at least knows and understands his own thoughts.

This antisocial behavior extends to most of his life. He doesn't make friends easily and the friends he made at Shade came about purely through continuous and forced interaction through teams or classes, not that he didn't enjoy having friends. He has work acquaintances at the hospital, but he doesn't interact with them outside of work. In fact, most of his time outside of work is spent in his small apartment or out buying groceries.

The rare times that he's actually convinced to go out with his coworkers for a night, it usually takes a good couple of drinks before he can loosen up enough to actually enjoy their company and talk freely. Unsurprisingly, much of the talk turns back toward him having his aura unlocked and having a semblance but by that point he's usually loosened up enough to feel comfortable shutting it down. When he can, he likes to turn it back onto them and hear how they actually did that day and hear how they helped people. After all, despite working in a hospital, he's not actually a registered nurse or doctor.

Despite getting two years into becoming a huntsman himself, Durian has come to see the academies in another light. Not for what they do or what they stand for but because of how young the huntsmen are when they get sent into fight Grimm. He has no problem or issue with the actual idea of huntsmen, he understands the necessity, but he fervently disagrees with what he views as child soldiers, especially in Atlas’ case.

His move from Vacuo to Vale brought with it many noticeable changes, least of which isn't racism and the white fang. He hates the white fang, always has since he learned about them in Vacuo. He hates that they've resorted to violence in response to hate. After moving to Vale, though, he can understand how they may have come to that answer. He still doesn't agree with or approve of the white fang but now that he's had to deal with daily life in Vale, even one of the more tolerant kingdoms, he can at least understand them.

Aura and Semblance: Durian's aura is a swirling golden-yellow, though when he has other auras within him from his semblance it takes has flecks and small swirls of other colors. While his aura was unlocked at Signal, his semblance was partially unlocked before. While the ability to absorb unlocked during his grandmother's death, the ability to project unlocked at his teammate’s death.

Durian is able to create solid shades, or aura constructs, of those that pass away in his presence. He passively absorbs and stores a small amount of the deceased's aura as they pass and use it with some of his own aura to create shades. These shades appear as vaguely translucent versions of what the target looked like as they died, including clothing and injuries though they don't have their own original colored clothing or skin tone, all color is replaced by the color of their aura while they were alive.
These shades have two “forms” and which form is sent out depends on how much Durian focuses.
The standard shade will appear as above but will only be able to be given rough mental commands such as “attack” or “defend”. The actual words aren't as important as the idea behind them. Durian can expend up to 10 shades at once while still being able to move around and act normally while these shades are being used, any more and he has to stand still. However, each Shade has one lifetime use unless not used for a month. With each month it goes without being used, it gains an additional use. This means if Durian has a shade and doesn't use it for 3 months and then uses it, he has 2 uses left. If a shade goes unused, he could theoretically store one forever.
These shades can exist up to an hour before being forcefully canceled, but they get 10% weaker every 6 minutes. They can only move around within 30 meters of Durian. In a tourney setting, the shade of a 1st year student has a 10% aura counter, with 5% added for every year with a graduate being at 30%. In more abstract settings, or in situations where the exact aura level isn’t important, a shade has 10% of the original character’s aura.
The second form requires Durian to stay still, only being able to move his head to look around or talk, although he can see through the eyes of his shade if he wants. These shades are opaque and appear just like they did in life, any injuries that lead to their death healed. They can receive much more complex commands but even beyond that, they appear to have the same personality, voice, and mannerisms as the original deceased did in life as well as a similar aura pool, though durian can alter the personality and force them to say what he wants them to say if need be. This is known by some of the hospital staff and has been used in the past to calm the shades of those who were angry at the time of their death or to fill in words where the shade would have not been able to answer on its own but it’s not public knowledge.
To create the second form of the shades, in addition to standing still, Durian needs to use a chunk of flesh, approximately the mass of a baby pig, that has been sufficiently soaked in a living being's aura. In other words, Durian needs live flesh or very recently removed flesh of a human, faunus, or animal. Or a lot of plant matter. Durian can then use this flesh as a "base" for the shade so that it can form around it using the deceased's, Durian's, and the remnants of the flesh's aura to bind the process.
Once used in this form, despite how many months have passed, Durian will no longer be able to use the shade. However, the shade will have a comparable aura defense as they did in life due to a mixture of three sources. These shades will never fade out when used, they only go away when Durian manually cancels them or they are brought down in a fight.

Durian can only have a single second level shade out at a time and while one is out he can only summon two other first level shades.
While all shades appear with the weapons they most commonly used in life, if any, only the second form shades can use a watered down version of their semblances.
As a secondary effect of the semblance, Durian has an intuitive understanding of the combat abilities and semblances of those he absorbs and he can turn his attention inward to "observe" the pieces of aura that he's absorbed and can try to understand what kind of person they were. 

Current Shades
Flora: ShowHide
Name: Flora Quinn

Age: 19 at the time of death, would be 22 now

Species and Gender: Human Female

Appearance: Flora had bright blonde hair that fades into pink highlights at the tips and seafoam-green eyes. She was slightly plump with a round face. At her time of death, she was wearing a fairly simple outfit with a red, short sleeved crop top, a pair of dark navy jeans, combat boots, and lightly colored poncho over it all with crossing floral designs. Appears as a light pinkish red shade.

Background: Flora was Durian's teammate who had died during their first solo mission.

Personality: Flora was a mostly upbeat person, always trying to spur on her teammates for laughs. Her happy face was a mask she wore to cover up some repressed events from her childhood in Vale but Durian hasn't looked into the fragment enough to know what happened and why.

Aura and Semblance: Flora had a strong and red aura and it wasn't known where she unlocked it or her semblance.

Her semblance is the ability to create an illusory clone of herself and control it. She can either control it directly or set it to tasks, either vague or specific, and doesn't need to be distracted from what she's doing. The clone makes no sound and is not physical in any way. If Flora is attacked, the moment before the hit connects with her aura she and the clone reactively swap places, when this happens the clone takes the hit and disappears. If the clone is attacked, Flora will reactively teleport to its space and the clone with explode in a soft force, shunting anything (such as a sword) that would be in Flora's space out of the way before she teleport in.

Combat Behavior: Flora was a strong frontline fighter and relies heavily on the tried and true “hit it hard until it stops moving” method. She was efficient as using her semblance to disorientate her opponent. She has no real answer to a ranged opponent and would often leave that fight for her teammates.


Name: Celice

Primary Form: Celice is a large Warhammer in its primary form. 4'6” long on total and consisting of a wooden grip and shaft with swirling silver workings throughout it, ending in the silver head. The hammer side is a fairly standard hammer with the exception of a gun barrel being worked into it while the spiked side is much thicker and curved downward.

When the hammer side connects with something with enough force, it will force out a shotgun blast from the head into the target. The ammo can be loaded from the shaft of the warhammer.

Secondary Form: With the flick of a switch, Celice's spiked end extends out and down into a 2’ long scythe blade.

Dust Functions: The warhammer can be loaded with different forms of dust for additional effects such as an ice or fire blast.

Shade Uses Available: 29 First Level/ 1 Second Level

At any given time during Durian's work day, he may have a number of other shades stocked up from patients who have passed in the hospital. These shades are generally not notable and are only basic mundane people. He will summon them all once he’s off work in order to let them move on.

Inside Baseball: ShowHide
 While not wrong, Durian doesn’t understand the full grasp of his semblance, either by willful ignorance by viewing it as keeping souls from entering an afterlife or just by him truly not understanding the more varied use for the semblance. The semblance, at its core, is the ability to absorb, store, and redirect aura of something that is dying and beyond all possible saving. If, theoretically, someone died, had part of their aura absorbed, then was somehow brought back to life with some revival semblance or something, they would come back missing a chunk of their aura.

Of course, aura cannot survive in a vacuum, it’s the manifestation of a soul and without the soul, there is no manifestation. That said, Durian’s semblance takes a chunk of the soul in order to sustain the aura within him. Durian cannot communicate with any soul fragment that’s stored in him but he can “read” it, as stated above. However, these are foreign souls residing in a foreign body. It won’t be immediate, Durian would never notice, and even those outside observers who do wouldn’t think anything supernatural of it, but over time these souls tend to have a bleeding effect with Durian’s.

For the easiest example, if he were to go on a murder rampage and take over the world by killing good guys and storing them within himself for future use, he would start to take on traits of the good guys. He’d start to regret what he’d done and see the error of his ways. Similarly, if he went on a crusade against villainy and scum, he would slowly become more and more brutal, more cutthroat, more villainous as he continued. He’d start to think maybe being the good guy isn’t for him. Again, these are extremely slow changes similar to how someone would naturally progress their personality through life and would be indistinguishable from the outside from a normal personality change and the examples are extremely broad strokes.

From a practical standpoint, there is no limit to how many souls or aura fragments Durian can store within him, though the more he has, the more they influence him. If his soul is 100% of something and each fragment is only 1% then by ten people he’ll already have a tenth of himself being influenced by the other souls. Now, of course, the souls will never be in total agreement, they won’t be one mass that has a directive, they were all their own person in life after all. The changes would be small, sometimes contradictory, but always with a cause. Of course, this isn’t a one way street. The longer a fragment is within him, the less it’s like itself and the more it’s like Durian or the cavalcade of other fragments in him to the point where when it’s finally summoned out it might not act anything like the original person if it’s kept long enough.

With the actual application of the semblance, he currently uses aura-soaked flesh as what is essentially a temporary phylactery to hold the fragment of soul in order to properly manifest the aura. This is a fine application and actually more useful than the “intended” use in some ways. Since it requires aura soaked flesh to be the basis of the shade, there is nothing stopping Durian from using his own or someone else’s living body and essentially overlaying a shade on top of him, or only a part of one such as an arm, in order to use extra protection while still having access to the watered down semblance.

In order for him to do that, though, he needs significantly more practice with his semblance. Overlaying a patchwork of shades in only parts over his body means being able to maintain multiple second-level shades and still be able to move. Even now if he tried it, he’d have to overlay a single shade and, since he can’t move, essentially puppeteer his own body by moving the shade.

The actual means by which Durian snatches onto a departing soul is by way of invisible, intangible tendrils. For every person in Durian's 10 meter range, there is a single tendril that connects him to them. The tendril is constantly feeding Durian with information on their vitals so that his semblance knows when exactly to snatch part of the soul but Durian isn't consciously aware of any of the information. At most, he might have a gut feeling that someone is closer to death than someone else and he would be able to feel whenever someone dies in his range. They cannot be seen by any means outside of a specialized semblance and they cannot be cut or interacted with. They can pass through solid objects and even aura barriers.

Combat Behavior: Durian is by no means a front line fighter. In a one on one confrontation against anyone stronger than a single Beowolf he will undoubtedly lose. In terms of defense, he's no tank. Below average at best and a runt at worst, he tries his best not to get hit by dodging out of the way but even that, after years of inaction, has been made largely ineffective.

His strength comes from his ability to plan and use others in combat. If he has a group of other people he's in charge of, he has a knack of being able to understand what they can do and how they work. Similarly, this extends to opponents. He can determine, with some room for error, how the opponent fights, what their semblance might be, and how they might be beaten back faster than the average person but not too much faster.

While entirely unable to fight well on his own, he can send others in how he wants and, if it goes according to plan, his team will often leave successful.

This is, of course, an incredibly useful skill to have in tandem with his semblance. Having complete control over a legion of shades that he can expend while still avoiding the fight would be a strategist’s wet dream if he actually wanted to use it.

He doesn't, though. He doesn't have anyone to tell what to do in a fight either. In these hypothetical scenarios, he could be formidable to mankind and Grimm but as he is now, he only wants to avoid that.

- Basically beat by anyone in a fair 1 on 1 fight
- Weak aura shielding
- Slow to dodge
- Doesn't want or like to fight
- Dork

+ Excellent mind for strategy and using other’s strength to their fullest


Name: Aisa

Primary Form: Aisa is a Dagger. The weapon itself is very minimalistic for a huntsman’s weapon, much of the handle is a silvery metal with polished wooden grips on either side and a small trigger near where his forefinger would be. The blade is similarly a very standard metallic blade, though there is a very fine gap where the edge of the blade would be. With the trigger held down, the actual edge emerges from the slot, it can be coated with any kind of dust, though most often it is loaded with a combination of electric and a very fine amount of ice dust to cause a very short taser effect.

History: While originally having no name when he built it in Oasis, it was named Aisa after the end of his first year at Shade. Since his leaving the school, it has been left mostly unused but always hanging from his hip in its sheath.

Character Editing / Re: Prism Skylark
« on: June 29, 2019, 03:01:18 PM »
Pre-edit: ShowHide

Name: Prism Skylark

Age: 17, born 1st of Hua, 62 AC

Species and Gender: Female Hummingbird Faunus

Symbol: Hummingbird's feather, superimposed over a triangle.

Occupation: 1st Year Beacon Student, Seamstress by commission

Themes: Let it All Out - Personal Theme
The Phoenix - Fallout Boy - Combat Theme

Appearance: Prism Skylark is a young, lean-bodied woman that stands at the towering height of 4’11” and 124lbs. True to her name, Prism’s hair is a deep sky blue in a choppy windswept bob that ends at her chin, complimented by wide grey eyes and clear, pale skin. A straight noise and thin lips add to the look, and her face is angular, making her appear older and mature than she actually is. Despite her height, Prism stands tall with good posture - preferring to make up for the lack of height with constant heels with a 3-inch minimum, walking and running in them as well as anybody does in boots or sneakers. She has wide shoulders for her height and good muscle definition, especially in her arms and shoulders thanks to a lifetime of parkour and flying. 

The most peculiar attribute Prism possess is the pair of blue-green hummingbird wings she prefers to keep tucked close to her back. When extended, she has a wingspan of approximately 12 feet, and is able to beat them at the rate of approximately 10 beats per second. In the sunlight, they shimmer with minor iridescence along the tips of the wings.  Alongside her wings, Prism will grow small feathers along certain parts of her body (her neck, wrists and forearms, along her upper arms and waist) that possess the same iridescence as her wings do, but she prefers to pluck these to pass as human.

Day-to-day, Prism wears primarily backless clothing to accommodate for her wings, and has personally edited her school uniform to allow room for her wings. In combat, she focuses primarily on tight clothing with little to no armor in order to retain her agility. Her normal outfit consists of a sleeveless suit jacket in dark blue over a women's sleeveless dress shirt, usually paired with a white ascot. In the back of both the dress shirt and suit jacket are two large zippers that lead to large holes near the top of the shirt, which Prism unzips and slides her wings through before combat. She wears an ammunition belt for the sake of easy reloading with Hawk's Eye's normal cartridges, alongside individual sniper ammunition, on it, alongside backups in her pockets. The one amenity she allows herself in battle is the high-heeled wedge boots she constantly wears, bringing her height up by 3 or 4 inches. The final addition to her combat outfit is a pair of flight goggles, which she uses to keep the wind out of her eyes when flying.

History: Prism Skylark grew up in a nameless village a ways outside the borders of Vale, where she lived with her father Blanc Skylark, her mother Rose and two sisters Aiden and Clarissa. Despite being triplets, Prism was the smallest of the three, inheriting her mother’s hummingbird wings instead of a hawk’s like her two sisters from her father’s side. Her father worked as a custom weaponsmith for hunters who commissioned him, and her mother as a specialty seamstress altering human clothing to work with faunus characteristics - together this earned them enough for a modest lifestyle deep in the woods of this little village.

Prism was homeschooled alongside her sisters by their mother, who taught them until age 12. Their mother taught all three to sew to help assist her with her work; while their father contributed to their education by teaching them self-defense and how to fight. Blanc knew the dangers of having his family live in such a remote location, and taught his daughters fight against both human and Grimm with any weapon they could get ahold of, placing an emphasis on using their wings for advantage in battle. He constantly pitted the three sisters against each other, and to avoid getting bowled over by her largest siblings, Prism learned to take advantage of her size through speed and agility. When not at home, the three siblings would explore the thick surrounding forests, taking advantage of their wings and father’s training scale trees and cliffs, further honing their agility and mobility. Being the smallest of the three, Prism would struggle to keep up with her faster sisters, and was often left in the dust as a result. Instead of pouting about it however, she would spend her time observing the forest around her, learning to move quietly and stealthily so she could continue her observations without scaring away the creatures she watched. Despite her wings, Prism was obviously the daughter who inherited a hawk’s eyes - and this was rewarded by her father after learning of her gift at the dinner table, in the form of custom slingshot. With this, Prism slowly taught herself to aim, and was the first of her siblings to ever bring home any of the creatures they chased. When she wasn't helping her mother or exploring with her sisters, she'd spend time in her father's workshop alongside him. While she didn't have the eye for engineering her father did, it at least allowed her to familiarize herself with most types of weapons and guns, and give her a vague idea of how to shoot most of them.

The problem with being a faunus weaponssmith in a competative field is Blanc often dealt with harsh competition. Despite his remote location and faunus heritage Blanc often netted high-paying customers and famous hunters as commissioners due to the quality of his work; and as a result would receive threats telling him to quit his business or face physical violence from other weaponsmiths, who accused him of stealing their customers. The police were of no help as they viewed them as “empty threats”, so Blanc was left to deal on his own, and as the threats escalated so did the promise of violence. Blanc became stretched thin between worrying about the safety of his family and his stability of his business, and this stress eventually manifested in first emotional, then eventually physical abuse of his wife. With her family life falling apart, Prism began spending more time outside her house in the forest by herself, sometimes spending the night in one-person shelters. This quickly taught Prism a level of independence that her other siblings didn’t have - who preferred to stick it out in their bedroom, ready to side with their mother in the case of their father’s wrath. Despite learning to care for herself as a result, Prism hated herself for always running away when things got tough - always promising herself she’d go back someday, and stand with her sisters. However, this promise never came to be as eventually the constant negative air of the household attracted Grimm. She returned from a night in the woods early one morning to the sight of her house on fire, a Nevermore perched on the roof, blood and multicolored feathers on it’s beak - all the colors of her sisters and mother’s. She’d made it to the treeline, high in the branches above her own backyard just in time to watch her father get plucked out of the air, dropping the odd rifle he’d been trying to defend himself with. She’d dove for it, thinking she might’ve been able to save him, but when she’d looked up again all he did was mouth “run” before being swallowed.  The sight of her father’s death was enough to kick her semblance into gear, creating gale-force winds. However, this harshly backfired as the gusts caught her wings, and resulted in her being thrown far back into the forest - the only reason she survived the confrontation with the Nevermore.

The ruins of the village were happened upon by a passing patrol the next day. They’d only located one survivor, a 12 year-old faunus, huddled high in a tree nearly a mile from the wreckage clutching a fancy-looking rifle and a slingshot.

Prism was enrolled in Vale’s fostercare system, hopping from house to house. While initially grief-stricken and enraged, she found herself seeking purpose. She didn’t know what to do without her family. All she wanted was a chance at revenge, to assure that her family didn’t die without consequence, and made the decision she’d someday kill the Nevermore that killed her family - by becoming a huntress. Though she was of age to attend Signal, she found herself unable to - her father's bank account is inaccessible until any of their children became adults.

Prism found herself all on her own and at the mercy of the state, so it was up to her to make her dream of becoming a huntress come true. Luck eventually struck out on her when she moved in with an old seamstress by the name of Madame Bernard at age 13. Madame Bernard was far from motherly, but once she discovered Prism's talents with a needle and thread, begin to pay her a part-time wage to assist in her shop. Alongside this work, Prism took commisions for any clothing that faunus needed altered in order to fit their animistic characteristics, alongside a second official part-time job at a local food joint. By saving up, she managed to earn enough money to start attending Signal Academy's night classes in order to learn how to properly wield her weapon and learn how to shoot. Being an orphan with nothing but a gun to her name, ammunition was expensive, so she quickly learned to never waste a bullet and make every shot count. She threw herself into her academic and extracurricular activities in order to achieve a shining reputation, joining clubs such as faunus rights, martial-arts, volleyball, and actively participating in school council. Every opportunity available was taken and extorted in order to get every advantage possible, cementing Prism with a lifelong iron will - the one obvious result of all her years of labor. Eventually by her 17th birthday, she was confident enough to apply for Beacon’s Entry Exam, and passed with literal flying colors. Her shining academic reputation high marks on the academic portion of the test helped her net several scholarships from outside sources, setting her up so she could actually afford to go to the elite school with a lack of debt in case anything goes wrong. Coming into Beacon, Prism dead-set on someday avenging her family, and assuring nobody else has to go through the tragedy she did.

Personality: When first encountering Prism Skylark, your immediate impression of her is frugal professionalism. Her good posture and confident carry give feel of discipline and authority, and she speaks in a tactical and delegated way, preferring not to waste precious time or resources - she’s too goal-oriented. While this behavior goes over wonderfully with teachers and figures of authority, it has the tendency to isolate her from peers her age, instead preferring to focus on her studying and combat skills. If you spend enough time around Prism however, and prove to be friendly enough, her actual personality will slowly open up. Prism is surprisingly friendly and charismatic is a joking way, carrying a quick wit that’s always happy to throw out a joke or bad pun. Prism is always happy to help a friend and will go out of her way to do so, and is endlessly patient in the right scenarios when someone is truly struggling due to reasons outside their control, having done the same in the process of teaching herself to shoot and fight. However, if it seems someone is manipulating her for her better nature then she’s not afraid to cut her losses. Thanks to years of struggling to achieve her goals, Prism lives by the principle of do no harm, but take no bullshit: don’t purposefully create strife with others, but have no tolerance when it comes to people disrespecting her. After the loss of her family however, Prism's come to take all life as a precious gift - hating seeing people die, and will do most anything to prevent unnecessary causalities. If you're considered a good friend, she'll be loyal to a fault. Being partly hummingbird, Prism’s inherited several traits from her avian cousins, including a heavy preference for granola and fruit (similar to birdseed and nectar from flowers, in her opinions) and the tendency to endlessly prattle on about nothing, like the buzzing of a hummingbird’s wings. She also has a metabolism for nearly someone twice her size, due to being part-hummingbird.

The downside to Prism’s quick wit is the sharper tongue that accompanies it. When insulted or tricked, she will attempt retaliate with a no-holds barred string of insults, aimed to pick apart the person who insulted her. Being so seriously goal-oriented in her life has left her with warped priorities, as she’ll often forget to live in the moment. She’s usually instead too caught up in the future, as she’s willing to do almost anything to assure her dream of becoming a huntress - surviving on a dream for years has left her petrified of failure, causing her large amounts of anxiety and stress at any sign of not performing her absolute best. If Prism doesn’t make it to her senior year at Beacon, it’s because she’ll have undoubtedly worked herself to death. Finally, it isn’t inaccurate to say Prism’s temper while often controlled, is especially fierce. Years of being pushed around thanks to being small and scrawny have left her with an iron backbone with opinions like a concrete wall, unable to change unless especially convinced. No matter the size of person or the harm that will come to her, she’ll stand in their way - especially if it means putting herself between it and something or somebody she cares about.

As a result of seeing her father die at such a young age, Prism suffers heavily from PTSD. She typically doesn't sleep more than 2-4 hours a night before being woken up by nightmares, and therefore survives primarily on caffeine or sugar until she literally collapses from exhaustion for an extended period of time. She has difficulty talking about the events themselves without flashbacks, and mostly refers to her past "Being put into the Vale Fostercare system", refusing to elaborate on her childhood. She also shows signs of hyperarousal - constantly being on the lookout for danger, startled by loud noises/surprises, and constantly needing to have her back to the wall alongside near an exit. Flashbacks to the events of her father's death aren't uncommon, and are triggered by a variety of things, including the sight of carnage, fire, and most primarily Nevermores. To avoid the consequences of a panic attack, she'll often go out of her way to avoid anything that will likely trigger her flashbacks - to the point of purposefully excusing herself from classes like Grimm Studies to avoid any mention of Nevermores. Furthermore, her time as an orphan in Vale's fostercare system has left a significant mark on her psyche, with the habits of hoarding her own stash of food and being extremely protective over her belongings.

Since it's first manifestion, Prism's semblance has been especially tied into her emotions. When feeling anything especially intensely, it has the tendency to manifest without her meaning too, whether it's a pleasant breeze when she's excited to powerful gusts that threaten to topple her when especially mad. On occasion, it's even manifested in her sleep when waking up from a nightmare. However, it's at it's most dangerous when she deals with her flashbacks and the subsequent panic attacks she experiences, where it will violently ramp up to a full-on windstorm before draining itself completely, leaving Prism weakened and occasionally barely conscious.

Aura and Semblance: Prism’s aura is unusually large for someone her age, manifesting in bright white. When intensely channeling it, it will manifest as white "steam" that drifts off her form, caught in whatever breeze she creates. To help compensate for her lack of physical strength, she's learned to channel her aura to help pack a harder punch, manifesting in either aura-enhanced blows or flinging aura-enhanced crescents off her glaive with a large swing.

Prism’s semblance, nicknamed "Gust", allows her to create gusts of wind of varying sizes, which she uses to either to keep the distance between her and her target, or buoy herself up into the air. Smaller gusts used for mobility or quick bursts of flight are her specialty, and she’s learned to ration her aura to allow for as much mobility as possible. She's particularly skilled at using it to create updrafts and minor gusts of winds for long periods of time, which is what allows her to stay aloft in battle. She's furthermore capable of creating large gusts of wind, though only for a few seconds at a time. Sustaining heavy winds for longer than that is especially hard, and can make it difficult to stay aloft when carrying anything other than Hawk's Eye and her usual gear - in the case she needs to carry someone, Prism will need to maintain a strong updraft or risk being dragged down. The highest wind speed that Prism can currently voluntarily summon without being under extreme-stress conditions caps at approximately 80 mph. While she can create extremely powerful gusts of wind, she isn't experienced enough to create anything other than extremely large gusts of wind, or small dust devils (no taller than 4 meters, with an approximate diameter of 1 meter) with large amounts of concentration.

Combat Behavior: Prism’s a cutthroat sniper with a near-perfect aim, her own motto being to never waste a bullet. When in combat, she prefers to find a high place and set up a nest, waiting and scanning the battlefield for the perfect moment to strike. She uses her wings, semblance, and natural small size to assist in her mobility and agility, allowing her to reach unsuspecting perches and often surprise the enemy.  She furthermore never stays in one place, knowing a stationary sniper is a dead one - using her semblance and parkour-like abilities to constantly keep opponents guessing. Thanks to extensive practice using her semblance, she's grown to understand her own limits well, and manages to budget her stamina well enough to stay in the air for extended periods of time.

When forced into close combat, Prism can make efficient use of her rifle’s secondary form. The glaive’s staff keeps Prism from making direct contact with her opponents, and relies primarily on her wings and semblance to boost her agility to stay at least two steps ahead of the enemy. She can also uses the recoil from shooting her rifle in glaive form to give her added mobility and force. The various elemental crescents that Prism creates from her glaive's secondary form can furthermore be bolstered by her winds, giving her the ability to create almost "waves" of fire, ice, etc.

The disadvantage of focusing on long-range combat, agility, and her small stature leave Prism with especially noticeable weaknesses. Firstly is a lack of a familiarity with close-combat situations even if she does have a weapon for the situation, leaving her her at a natural disadvantage to anybody who specializes. There's also her small stature and a lack of physical strength, which makes it easy to throw her off-balance, especially with harder hits that send her staggering. If attacked head-on relentlessly, Prism doesn't have the option of playing defense: she either needs to put distance between her and her opponent, or easily succumb to the assault. While she does have mid-range capabilities, they're incredibly limited, and mostly dust-reliant or aura-reliant, and therefore aren't dependable. Finally, if facing absolutely ruthless opponents, there are specific triggers that will cause Prism to essentially become useless as she'd downed with flashbacks and a panic attack, assuring victory for her opponent  - after dealing with the resulting windstorm, of course.


Name: Hawk’s Eye

Primary Form: Hawk’s Eye’s primary form is that of a semiautomatic sniper rifle with added scope that’s accurate up to 800 meters, the metal white with blue accents. Hawk’s Eye has a 5-round internal magazine that Prism can quickly change, but it also has the ability to load individual shots in the form of standard sniper ammunition to be chambered via a bolt-action lever. The barrel has a length of 24 inches, with the added body bringing it up to 44 inches. Hawk’s Eye has a internalized scope and bipod that allows it to stick to any surface for added balance, including uneven ones. The total weight of the rifle totals up to 16 lbs, allowing for Prism to carry it in flight. Prism carries two ammo belts at once, both slung around her hips; one devoted entirely to normal ammunition, while the other is has dust-tipped ammunition, usually carrying two cartridges of most types of dust. A separate pouch in the back holds the dust cartridges necessary for her rifle's secondary form.

Secondary Form: When close-quarters combat is necessary for Prism, Hawk’s Eye primary form can transform into that of a glaive by extending the barrel to become a handle up to 6 feet long, with the body of the rifle folding in to form a one-sided blade 20 inches long. The staff of the glaive stiff functions as a long-distance rifle in this form, as the space for the magazine does remain in the glave’s blade. The blade of the glaive can take on different applications of dust in this form, done by loading a dust-filled cartridge into the back side of the blade.

Fire: Lights blade on fire, can create sweeping crescent of flames that expands outwards when swung. Can be used to create 5 crescents or individual strikes.
Ice: Covers blade in ice, creates a freezing crescent when swung filled with small ice particles - useful to blind enemies. If stabbed into the ground, can create an ice-slicked surface expanding in a straight line from the point the blades strikes. Can be used to create 5 crescents or individual strikes.
Lighting: Electrocutes blade of the glaive and enemies on contact. Lightning can leap off the blade in this form, with an effective range of 100 meters, but it's only good for one charge.
Wind: Creates crescent-shaped gust of wind when glave is swung (not depleting aura). Good for 5 crescents or strikes, and can create minor whirlwinds if thrust forwards/upwards.
Earth: Creates a sandstorm when swung, used to blind enemies/provide cover.
Gravity/Kinetic: Increases the force of the glaive when swung, effectively doing 1.5x more damage, but only good for 3 strikes.

Tertiary Form: When not in combat, Hawk’s Eye is able to fold up its internal components to form a shoebox-sized steel box that Prism can carry at her waist on her back.

Dust Functions: Hawk’s Eye’s sniper form has none, accept when loaded with dust-tipped bullets, which then would carry the predicted effect (fire-type dust creating a flaming bullet, ice-typed bullet freezing a body part on impact, etc). In it’s secondary form, a dust cartridge can be loaded into a slot at the base of the blade of the glave, allowing the blade to take on the dust’s intended effects. This manifests in the blade being covered by the corresponding dust effect (fire dust lighting on the blade on fire, ice dust causing it to freeze, etc) and when slashed through the air, send out crescent-shaped waves that correspond with the dust’s intended effect, giving Prism a small range of secondary attacks.

History: Hawk’s Eye was a sniper rifle created by Prism’s father for an unknown client shortly before his death, and was used by Blanc to attempt to defend himself from the Nevermore that attacked his house and family. Prism managed to rescue the rifle but failed to save her father; and it’s now one of the last remaining pieces she has of her family, making her value it dearly.

Character Editing / Re: Zabar Aga
« on: May 18, 2019, 02:42:28 PM »
I worded the aura dropping thing poorly, he would only drop it against things he knows won't destroy his gauntlets or arms, smaller melee weapons or small arms fire. It comes with the cost of his gauntlets actually needing constant repairs and checkups and actually having a realistic chance of breaking or malfunctioning if he takes big hits with no aura.

I'm leaving this here to edit later

Oh Malina haaaaaaaaates it. She doesn't have a real social media presence so it's not as bad for her, the only real place she consistantly visits is Hunters' Den and that's under Thornback. She also stays at Beacon most of the time so she doesn't have to worry about anyone recognizing her that usually wouldn't but on the off chance she's out and someone actually does recognize her she tries to abort that conversation immediately.

Let's be clear, Zabar is a pretty okay looking dude and he's got an amicable personality and he won. He came out on top in the first year up-and-coming 1v1 bracket. His name, his appearance, it's out there and there's no getting that back. Maybe he'll stay away from participating in public tourneys and his name will fall out from pu lic knowledge eventually but the information is still all there: interviews, ads for new hunter tech aimed at students, ads that have nothing to do with hunters, the award scenario. He liked it all at first, he really did. He was always the kind of kid who reveled in the spot light, he loved it when he got challenged to a fight. And then it just.... Kept coming. Day after day, week after week he didn't get a break from any of it. He was more safe in Vacuo since they don't have major in your face 24/7/365 news like the other kingdoms but they still kept coming. Eventually it got to a point where he just go straight from classes to his dorm and from his dorm to classes. He still wanted to take fights but every time he went out, it was just request after request after request. Eventually the in-your-face fans or fight challenges faded away and he got back into the rhythm of normal life with a few more people coming up to talk with him or drag him somewhere. It wasn't too bad, all things considered, but it was still a really weird break and constriction of routine for someone who isn't used to being constrained in his room.

Character Editing / Re: Zabar Aga
« on: May 09, 2019, 01:26:35 AM »
Aged up

Added secondary occupation

Redone appearanfe

History expanded to cover first year at Shade and Vytal tourney

Personality expanded and reformatted

Aura and semblance reformatted and parts added to make semblance limitations and drawbacks more clear

Updated weapons

Plot Zone / Market Posting #WIJ851W3A8
« on: March 22, 2019, 07:39:33 PM »
The man with a hazel eye walked through the darkened underbelly of Mistral, mud caked boots scuffing against the rough stonework that made up much of the Market. The dim lit bulbs that were strung up against the low hanging ceiling cast blurry shadows over the faces of the patrons that lined the walls, standing on the outside of alcoves in the rock that acted as impromptu shops or meeting areas.

It was an intentional effect set up by the people at the top, a small and inconvenient stopgap to protect the identities of those who didn't want to wear a mask. It wasn't something he took into consideration, for him it was as pointless as a pair of glasses as a disguise. He could see those around him with perfect clarity, not like a faunus could. Not with enhanced vision, not with enhanced smell.

He could see them.

Rapists. Murderers. Human traffickers.

Undercover kingdom agents. Hunters looking for trouble. Parents desperate to save their children.

The Market drew all.

He wasn't here for any of them, though. On another day, he might peruse them- find who was willing able to pay the most and take the job. He didn't much care what they wanted, why they wanted it, who would get hurt. He learned a long, long time ago that the world was shit and no lone person could change that.

He was much more concerned about living his life to the best of his abilities and to that affect he needed money. Money to pay for shelter, money for food, money for women, money for fun. Money was easy to come by for someone with his skills, killing people was expensive work- hunters more so- but information, that was what people wanted most. And he was very good at gathering and selling information.

He could see the man before he was seen. Muscle bound and with a perpetual grimace stretched across his face and two flat ears folded against his hair. A front. He could tell who he actually was.

A flood of information, a series of flashes of pinprick images, all forced into a line moving in one direction and only ever one direction. All things he can and has used before.

The man gave a curt nod as the man with a hazel eye approached him, “Eli.” One of the many nom de plum he had used. You could never be too safe, too paranoid, about people tracking you through names, no one knew that better than “Eli”.

Jonathan.” Another alias, though Jonathan didn't know that Eli knew.

He returned the nod with a small smile, “How's your kid? He doin’ well?” Another lie, another front. He had a kid, a daughter, that Eli knew. Eli also knew it was better to play the part of someone who'd fallen for the story and to empathize with it, to sink his claws deeper. They were things someone like “Jonathan” would respond well to.

He's doing just fine. Can't say I expected to see you here today,” his voice rough, forced, but the kind of forced you'd only notice if you knew to look for it.

Well, you know I like to make surprise visits, keep you on your toes. Besides, today I'm selling.

That got a cocked brow. Good.

Valuable info, I know it suits your interests and I know you're good for what I want in return. That's why I'm giving you first dibs.” Eli reached into his beaten and worn jacket and pulled out a small data chip, curling it over his fingers as he spoke

How much?

Twelve.” The answer came gunslinger quick.

His brow quickly dropped back.

That's not something I'm authorized to give out,” he said, “you know that.

Oh, I know, I know. This is worth it, though. This is something that will get youa healthy bonus, the kind that could pay for little Timmy's debts. Besides, you turn this down and I go elsewhere with the info. I'm sure you won't be happy to find out that this info got sold to the tech-freaks down the way once it gets out. And it will get out.

A long silence, eye contact, hard. Easy for Eli, he knew this ploy would work. He knew how Jonathan ticked, how to poke and prod at the front just enough to make impacts.

Fine,” came the slow response, “twelve.

Fifteen, ” Eli responded again, too quick. “Twelve to pick up the package, one to deliver it, two to make sure it doesn't get stolen.

Another silence, a deep sigh.

If this turns out to be bullshit, Eli, I'll make certain you don't get back down here.

A vain threat, Eli knew the man would have no chance in a fight.

Completely understandable.

Jonathan nodded and began to usher Eli into the darkened alcove. “So, is this a semblance?


The hazel eyed man's smile was all teeth.

Wanted: Capable individuals willing to work on the wrong side of the law. Objective is is the kidnapping of a Beacon student. Payment will be one mil each. Applicants are to head to the Beggar's Cask bar in Mistral, order a water, and sit at table 24 for five minutes before leaving. If your services are needed, you will be contacted.

Beacon Academy / Re: How to Train your Idiot [Closed]
« on: March 12, 2019, 02:50:15 AM »
Titania watched, eyes drawn to the little details and quiet moments of Juno's fighting style. The split moment of processing what had happened, something that would get him killed in a real fight. Another moment to regain himself before charging back in. She couldn't fault him for taking his time, though. Not here. This match was designed to give him as much time as he needed, as much time as Titania needed to observe him.

She hadn't been ignoring Malina, though, far from it. There were tiny small tells that gave away every detail, every thought that went through her head. She'd gotten a great sense of those tells in the four years she trained the girl, sculpted her to be a better version of herself, but her four years away from Titania had loosened her control on identifying those tells. They were still there, of course.

A darting of the eyes, shooting from foot to arm to face back to foot, the tail instinctively moving from a defensive stance in front of her to an aggressive stand poised over her left shoulder, her footing shifting on a tiny amount by putting her right foot forward only an inch. She could see her brows furrow, nostrals flare, lips curl down in a way only noticeable to someone who has spent years with the girl. All tiny details, tiny posturing yelling at the world that she's ready.

Before Juno had even to transition from his fake-out, she was sliding her right foot further forward and released another bass-y crack of energy, slamming bodily against Juno and kicking up dust from the field.

Approved Characters / Re: Kirkka Scarlet
« on: January 29, 2019, 06:23:40 PM »
I am
A) a piece of shit
B) approving this

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