MaltaMoss

Julian strolled upon the beaten path to Providence, his face weary and forehead dotted with sweat from the harsh ray of the sun. Gazing down toward the missive between his hands, a flutter of hope spirals in his chest, a smile spread across his face.

"Brothers in Canon, maybe we can all expel the spawn of evil from our homelands."

Julian sat quietly in the empty interrogation room, smoke still billowing from between his lips as he gazed out across the blood stained table before him. "Shame, I quite liked Greg."

Julian signed the lorraine about his chest, the movements with the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead as Captain Erik Othaman stood just over his shoulder, menacingly dragging his blade across a grindstone. "Err, Captain, how long must I stand like this?" @grnappa

"In front of children, despicable. To take one's own life, the one given to them by the grace of Jainkoa, this not even I can forgive." Julian murmured, signing the lorraine over his chest as he did so.

"Wait, why do, za want me to say something about this agains?" The young soldier looked upward, staring squarely at the Emperor who was just over his shoulder. "I mean, err, sure, nice treaty Imperial Majesty! Please, just, but the pen down, scaring of me."

"Well played, well timed as always." Julian murmured as he took up his post at the bastion, a smile spreading across his face as unity was reestablished with their Dwarvish comrades.

War, the Musin Warrior, would look upon the missive with utter confusion, wondering if a Giant wrote this.

MC Name:

         MaltaMoss

Character's Name:

         War

Character's Age:

         24

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         N/A

Creator's MC Name:

         N/A

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

The Musin are a long ago subtype of the Ratiki, growing as runts of their litters, these smaller mice like creatures would eventually become their own kind, travelling to escape and scouring the lands they would find. The Musin are small fuzzy and mostly pitiful creatures that are the most vulnerable of all creatures in Almaris. These mousey beings would have their morals shaped by the humans they came across, adopting a strange almost utilitarian culture focused around unity as a group. Musin, being the products of Ratiki's lowliest kin, are characterized as generally useless, they are small, almost defenseless, and even in their rebellion simply fled as they knew they could not win. This would go on to define their culture, the Musin being caught in a never ending struggle to escape the slavish conditions they faced beneath the Ratiki. The Musin are to be frank, just mice. Their weak statures, heights ranging from 1'8 to 2'6, measly lifespans, a maximum of 70 years, and incessant need to scrounge for everything in reach, they are viewed as weak and easily discarded as pathetic. They are at the end of the day, micefolk, and that is great.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

This creature would be sporting a small well tailored uniform decorated with black and blue stripes streaming down its sleeves, leather gambeson strapped to the other parts of its body in an attempt to achieve some sort of protection despite its mousey size. This creature would have a chestnut brown fur and a white scruff at its face, a scar running perpendicular to the makeshift eyepatch wrapped about its head with a twisted blackened cloth. It would sport a lean build and an average height of 2'2. This creature would be dressed for a fight, as is it's namesake. The aestethic is War Musin, as it's mother's favorite thing was War, so it was named that way, and took it to heart.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         N/A

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         N/A

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No, I have not.

"I love the Musin, they share the same struggle against the imperial as we do." Simon chuckled, folding the missive across his lap.

Simon was first brought news of his old friends death after the destruction of the rest of the fanatical devotee's to his rhetoric, the old scout staring out across the E.O.A.M report sprawled before his desk with a certain dread mounting in his features. The slow churn of his stomach brought him back down to the reality that was his world, the men of his organization now free from the tyranny of those that had once promised to guide them. Silently he would stand, pacing from just behind his aging desk, the memories of their triumphs and their greatest losses playing over and over in the depths of his mind.

Irony struck his thoughts, the man that he had once stood alongside, the man that he had once pledged to give everything for, the man that he had spoke with as the walls of the House of Commons burned in flames set by their hands, the man he had shared so much with would die just the same. Surrounded, by the biting flames and sparks of fanaticism, and in that moment Simon would crumple the paper up into a ball between his gloved palms, turning to toss it into the similar fire that sat before him now.

"I'm sorry old friend, it was never meant to end this way."

And once more, as all the others had come before it, the Fourth Hour of the Mercatorii would ring true alongside the audible crackle of flame. 

"Viva Mercatore." The partisan murmured as he had so many other times, solemnly signing the cross of Lorraine across his chest.

Julian sighed as he saw the poster strapped to one of the Orenian lamposts outside the Bastion's doors, his jovial tone and expression dropping into a solemn frown. "Already, bai? This has got to be a joke, by the Mother's blessing we have already helped crush this rebellion? Good Godan, what a mess."

Julian Ein Sark craned over slightly, reading the announcement with a slow smile spreading across his face. "Rebellion, already tearing a troubled place into more conflict, it is useless endeavor." The Sutican born private then turned back to his usual works, walking the roads in an endless cycle, waiting for the next ring of the bell.

Skin Name:Candice

Discord Tag:MaltaMoss#1647

Bid(s):200 Mina

Skin Name:Candice

Discord Tag:MaltaMoss#1647

Bid(s):100 Mina

Simon leaned forward, taking the missive back in his hands as he looked it over once more, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"Mary, he's a friend, of course we're going to the wedding. Why, by Jainkoa, I would not miss it." The Mercatore muttered beneath his breath, trying to reason with the woman sitting idly against the cave wall, her blank stare in his general direction causing a swath of unease to cascade over his body. "Besides, you could use some exercise." He commented with a swift snicker, folding up the well presented paper and sliding it carefully into the satchel slung about his shoulder. 

"They must be suicidal, or worse." The now awake and mobile Simon muttered beneath puffs of bitter smoke and hacking coughs, his body rocking back and forth as the thoughts swirled in his head.

There had been a time when the, now considerably older man, had considered the ISA a threat to his brothers and sisters, their greatest enemy. Now his comrades were telling him it was nothing but a farce, that the helmeted goons that had terrorized their kin and brought their blades to heel had now become nothing but a thunderous joke. An army of smoke and mirrors built entirely upon a foundation of sand.

Choking on his own ideas the Mercatore struggled with such a thing, reminiscing of his brief time serving within their ranks, hadn't his brothers once come here to serve this empire? What had caused them to seek their destruction so, events predating this newfound hatred foggy in his battered mind.

"Come ye faithful, today we raise the sword." He began to lazily hum to himself, regarding his comrade's words as nothing but their usual rumors and hazy misgivings about the ISA and their pride. But he could not shake the eerie feeling welling within his body, the feeling that war would once more tear all he held dear away with him. It had taken Aleksey, Helvetia, whom next would it claim.

And as he laid back in his chair, setting the report down against the table before him, he began to wonder of the men they had captured, and began to ponder if they had ever felt the same.
 

Shouts and cheers erupted from the tavern, the statement from the Orenian government being passed around from celebrating Mercatore to celebrating Mercatore, laughter and joy caught in their words. Rearing his head upward, one among the bunch would call out to the rest of his comrades.

"This is what they make of us, do they? Bah, we've been fighting them for tens of years! I say it's about time they put their mitts on!"

Into the night they sang and danced, liquor sloshing about in mugs as they slung them back and forth in fervent dance. The noise in the countryside continued into the early hours of the morning, copies of the statement left soaked in alcohol, burning as fuel for the growing fire in which they now sat around.

Simon Roberts rose from his bedside, the missive lofted between his callused fingers as he muttered haphazardly beneath his breath. Sighing deeply the older Mercatore shuddered as he read the first descriptions of the battle, rocking slightly before his eyes lit up in shock and surprise.

"By GOD, we are vindicated. Their betrayal repaid, ten fold comrades, ten fold!" He shouted, raising his hand upward in a thrust as he tumbled from the makeshift resting place, and began to search for his MRA uniform. A new fire burning in his soul.

Simon peered down wearily at the paper now placed in front of him, the words melting into plies in his eyes as his head swirled with agony.
"What are they doing in there, anyway?" The Original MRA scout muttered beneath his breath, resting his head back on the table as his eyes shut closed once more.

Simon paused for a moment, feverishly searching through the sheaf of papers laid across his desk with beads of sweat trickling down from his brow.. Upon coming across the missive the pain in his head would strengthen, a pounding headache reverberating through his body. "The horror of the pagans, can only be met with a horror much greater than their heresy." He would then relax his tensed shoulders with a soft muttering escaping his lips, leaning back over the leaflets to continue his work of mismanaged scribbles.

--MRA Official Statement--

On behalf of the Mercatorii Republican Army and her noble serviceman, the MRA as a whole does not take credit nor admit affiliation with Sudanese rebels responsible for the recent attacks on the Orenian Empire and the people within. Being Orenian, whether from noble blood or of common descent, we believe to be a blessing. If the shell is corrupt, you do not purge the pearl within. We stand in Neutrality, in this coming conflict. When our time comes again, may the fire roar. When our swords must be drawn, let metal clash. But when it is time for cooperation, the gloves stay on.

To the men in red, we restrict our assault. 

The Clock Ticks Forward, but perhaps this time it should be restrained.

Move back the hour, for this is not our fight.

God Save Oren, for nobody else can.

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The Clock is Ticking, the ball is in your court.

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The streets were unbearably cold that night, the pounding of feet and crackling of flames accenting the darkened night sky as the orange glow illuminated their faces. 

Dressed in black, plating pressed against their chest as they heaved beneath the plumes of drifting smoke. Men, women, young and old, standing side by side as the marker of injustice burned fervently before their eyes. They had come inside under a cloak of darkness, fulfilling the oath they had taken alongside their comrades at arms to purge the holy city of all that stood in the day of true freedom. And as the mockery went up in flames, the passion in their hearts spiraled into an elation.

"Alexsei, my friend, we did it."  One muttered beneath the rag obscuring the lower half of his face, trying not to cough as the thick smoke whirled around them.

One Simon Roberts stood among the enflamed structure, his eyes widened with awe as the flamed licked and danced their way up the walls. Sparkling displays of ember stricken wood came tumbling to the ground in splashes of splintered fragments, shattering upon impact with thunderous noise. When they gathered together in that room, all seemed to now be worth it.

"Of course Simon, of course we made it." The taller of the pair speaking said in the same muffled tone, clasping a tough callused hand upon his fellow militiaman's shoulder. 

As they spoke the others began to erupt in cheers, staggering backwards from the increasingly violent fury bubbling up from the once stagnant and sturdy flooring of the Ministry of Justice. To them, it held an almost catharsis. It had all been building up to this, a valiant declaration of war and escalation of their conflict wrapped in secrecy. No nobody would call them, petty vandals, miscreants, or misguided, they were a threat. And they expected to be dealt with like one, what was once a joyous organization of dutifully dedicated detectives had turned against the blade that had struck them down. A product of Tyranny, a product of injustice.

"The time for celebration comes later, brothers, for now we must go. Our message has been sent, and the pigs shall soon hear our voice." The one called Alexsei shouted out over the amassed band of terrorists, rallying them around his command and to the sound of his booming speech. 

The footsteps started once more, clattering to escape what was rapidly becoming a hellish inferno as the same men in black came streaming from the front of the building and across the streets of Oren. They all ran in the same step, trailing behind one another as they flew from the fire they sparked. And as screams erupted around them, calling for soldiers, calling for water, the perpetrators were already gone. Into the forest, out the back gate they ran, satisfaction plastered across each and every one of their usually grim and solemn faces.

Simon had simply done as he was told, the book he scribbled in and the etchings in the rubble left by their knives making their voice heard. And as the dust settled, and the fire died, all that was left was their reminders. Their message.

On a large stone brick, engraved carefully into its front facing side, in broad scratched in lettering it read,

K
"The Clock Strikes Six, and we march one step closer to freedom. The Nightmare will come to a close, a new dawn will rise. Viva Mercatore, may God Save Oren for nobody else can."

The same message, plastered upon nearby walls, under benches, and in the stumps of trees. A war had begun, a quiet war. Only time will tell of it's conclusion.

For now, the secret was revealed, the game could begin.

MC Name: OddMoss

Character's Name: Luis B. Croakwell

Character's Age: 35

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Wonk

Creator's MC Name:

         Rickson

Creator's RP Name:

         N/A

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No.

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         If I make an application for another persona, then yes.

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         I understand.

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand.

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No, I have not.