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Everything posted by Grim

  1. As the others showed up, first Austin then Laurie, Grim withdrew slightly. It wasn't pointed or even particularly noticeable to the newcomers, but the set of his shoulders and the calm stoicism of his expression indicated that the cracks Fisher and Nadya had made in his emotional armor were sealed with the unconscious ease of a young lifetime of hiding ones self. Waving a small, waist-high greeting the slender young man stepped to one side, casually plucking another donut from the box and sitting himself down on a tree stump nearby. Austin and Laurie. Two other people he'd never have crossed paths with outside of lessons before. Popular, good looking, athletes and Most Likely to Succeed types. He studied them both with a steady scrutiny as he munched on his snack, his thoughts clear, for once, of feelings of inferiority or bitterness. Nadya was right - what the Hel did it matter that none of those here would have said more than brief "Hi" to each other in the halls? They were all divinely gifted, a label that seemed particularly apt for the daughter of Apollo. "I don't mind if Wolf doesn't." he said in response to Laurie's query, a touch of wry humor in his tone, if not his expression as he got comfortable, setting his walking stick down beside him and pulling his book out of his bag. Withdrawing a little, but not ignoring the presence of the others, now and then peering up through the mop of tousled dark hair as one or another spoke or acted, Grim relaxed into study.
  2. For a long moment Grim regarded Nadya, his face expressionless as he considered her words, his fingers feeling the rough metal of the amulet in his hand. Despite his dour nature, he couldn't help but be touched by both Fisher's determined diplomacy and Nadya's own special brand of charm mixed with blunt truth. And the gift. He looked down at the effigy of his father, considering. There was wisdom in Nadya's words - scions of the gods had enough problems that trying to tackle them all alone was likely to be a short journey to Valhalla at best. And Fisher was also right, much as it stung. Part of Grim wanted friendship, wanted to be part of something rather than drifting through life like a leaf on a breeze. He was, despite his introverted nature, still human - at least mostly. And after all, what were the gods except humans writ larger than life? He examined the carved face of Odin, noting the one eye, his left hand coming up to trace the scar over his own eye. "Thank you." he said, looking up at Fisher and Nadya, a faint smile curving his lips for a moment. "For the wisdom, for the kindness, and for the gift." He sighed, slipping the effigy into a pocket of his oversized duster. "I meant what I said: I'm not good at... friends. Or family." Nadya laughed at that, offering once more the box of donuts. "Who is? Some are just better at faking it." Grim took a deep breath, then walked over to Nadya and took a blueberry one, looking into her eyes and giving another minnow-flash smile. "I'm not doing anything more important right now, I guess."
  3. Grim's jaw clenched as Fisher's last words hit home, both mismatched eyes blazing with pain that was as terrible as it was all too human. His eyes closed, then reopened, and Fisher could see that shutters were coming down over the display of naked emotion. When Grim spoke, his voice was too calm by far, though his features seemed even more haggard than usual. "Touching tale. Gets me right here in the feels. So what you're saying is: if I'm a good stray and take her shit, Rachel will grace me with her benevolence and allow me to tag along, because she's a sucker for charity cases." He dropped his gaze, focusing his minds eye on the rune Jera. Calm... Harmony... Peace... It was hard. Fisher's words had opened up wounds, stirred up pain, and Grim regretted opening up to the other youth now. He felt like his own secret hurt was being used to persuade him, and he hated that. He hated that he wanted so badly his whole life to have someone give a shit, hated that people only cared because he was god-blooded. He wanted to cry. Instead he looked up dry-eyed and met Fisher's gaze. "Forgive my anger. Gods be with you, son of Izanami. I may be without family, but I'm used to that. I may be hurt, but that pain is old and part of me. I might be alone, but that's not news either." He turned and started to walk away. "To tell the truth, I'm not sure I know how to be any other way. Take care, Wolf." He raised a hand without looking back, waving farewell.
  4. Grim was far from easily spooked or rattled, and even less prone to letting others see it. Even so, the sheer size of the wolf caused him to take a prudent step back as it barrelled into Fisher. A moment later and he realised this monster was a... pet? Companion? He wondered at it's origin - was this Rachel's? Fed on her eitr? A moment's thought and he disregarded that - animals or mortals fed on the Aesir blood were notoriously surly towards everyone but their 'donor', whereas Wolf was a candidate for waggiest tail in Salem right now as Fisher scritched behind her ears. "Hi." he said to the massive canine, then looked at Fisher. "Wolf? Seriously?"
  5. A foxish grin, razor sharp and swift, flashed across the pale scarred face as Grim shook his head - not in negation, but in amusement. With a sigh, he took Fisher's hand in a brief shake. "You get an A for effort, Fisher. And an A+ for honesty. Least I can do is come along and see what you want me to see." The smile disappeared and his usual stoic demeanor returned. "No promises - I'm not particularly interested in a coaxed apology any more than Cooper is interested in taking in strays. But who knows - you might be able to hold my attention until the meeting starts." "And don't expect any profound rune wisdom from me - yet." he snorted, tapping the book's cover. "I know the names of them all, and what they look like, and some of what each one represents. Odin plucked out his eye and hung on the World Tree to learn the lore of the runes, which he then shared. They can be a tool of divination, or blessing, or cursing. You can trace a rune in the air for a working, or sing a rune into a poem, or carve it into bone or wood, or even scar it into flesh. Each has different uses, effects, and layers upon layers of complexity." He smiled that same quick here-and-then-gone smile. "I'm a novice, so far. I used to be interested in all kinds of occult stuff - used to think it was interesting how people made stuff up to explain the world before science. And now... it's all real, magic is real, runes have power and I'm having to deal with it." He shrugged, picking up his sandwich and eating in quick hungry bites.
  6. When Fisher got up to walk outside, Grim had a pretty good idea what he was doing. It didn't take divine intellect to work out that the scion of the Kami was used to smoothing over the ruffled waters left in his leader's wake. If he'd been asked, he'd have told Fisher not to bother - but then, it was Fisher's choice to get involved. Grim shrugged and went back to his book until the other youth returned with a long-suffering air, then subjected him to an appraisal and spoke. Despite himself, the taciturn Odinsson smiled a little. Fisher was laying on the charm, and plainly not for insincere reasons - he genuinely wanted to smooth things over and welcome Grim to the Band. Privately, Grim felt that the scion of Izanami had a gift for getting the best out of people. Hel, he even liked him somewhat. He closed the book again, his expression neutral as he considered Fisher's outstretched hand, then his face with a gaze that was too sharp by half. "Bearing in mind I didn't ask you to get involved, Fisher, what did your leader say?" he said with a slight emphasis on the word 'your'.
  7. For a long moment the slender youth's gaze locked with Fisher's, weighing and measuring. He sighed softly, some of the tension leaving his drawn features as he dropped his gaze to consider the dark swirling of his coffee. "I believe you mean that." he said softly. "But words were spoken. Bad choice of words? Sure, lets go with that. But let me add some more context. First, she plops down in that seat, glaring at me, and stated what class she remembered me from before my disappearance. Fine, good, nice ice-breaker. Point to Rachel. Then she calls me a dumped stray, which stings a little. And finally she asks if my kidnapping is going to cause any problems." He lifted his eyes to meet Fisher's again. "A brief bit of small talk, then a petulant, careless complaint-slash-insult, followed by an inquisition." "She has already defined me by resentment and potential problems I will cause her, Fisher. I believe that you and the others do not want me to feel unwelcome." Grim shrugged, giving a rare half-smile. "The fact I'm even discussing this is proof of that. But the fact remains that the leader of your band has made her position plain. So fuck her. I don't have to take that."
  8. "She said enough." Grim meant to leave it at that, some perverse streak of obstinacy leaning him toward letting Fisher twist in the wind and chase his own answers... But Fisher wasn't Rachel. That didn't completely alleviate Grim's hostility, but at least it meant Fisher was on the edges of it rather than the target. "She brought me up to speed on the fact that she doesn't like our elders 'dumping strays' - her words - in your band. So I let her know that was no problem, and that I won't be imposing on her clique." He appeared casual, but the iron self-control with which Grim spoke overlaid a deep well of bitter anger, going back years before his kidnapping and Visitation. "It's quite amazing how it doesn't matter whether I'm godblooded or not, my relatives want me to be someone else's problem." His fingers clenched slightly, then relaxed with conscious effort. He made a flicking motion as if discarding the whole affair, a sardonic smile crooking one corner of his mouth. "And I actually expected things to be different. So much for inheriting the wisdom of Odin."
  9. Slender scarred hands paused in their delicate tracing over ancient futhark script as Grim looked up to see Fisher standing over his table. For a moment he paused, eyes narrowing in consideration - but Fisher had asked rather than simply imposed, and some ingrained courtesy of his own recognised that fact. The book closed with a soft 'whump' and the scion of Odin set it aside, sitting back and gesturing to the chair recently vacated by Rachel. "Go ahead." he said simply, taking a bite of his somewhat neglected sandwich. His tone was noncommittal, as was his body language. Considering the mood he was in regarding his 'fellows' right now, this was practically welcoming.
  10. Grim relaxed as the pain and anger - and yes, disappointment - faded from his mind to a dim echo of their former sharpness after Rachel left. She seemed oblivious to the fact that he wasn't going to be attending any Band meetings, now. Whether that was because she thought he had no choice, or due to her not understanding his words was not his concern, though neither state of affairs spoke well of her. Regardless, he wouldn't be showing up like some hopeful to a cheerleader tryout to show 'what he could do'. He was the son of Odin, not a dog to kick and coax until it performed tricks. He got himself another mug of coffee and, after a moments thought, a sandwich. The noon sun was warm through the coffee shop windows, the book was thick and filled with knowledge, and Grim had nothing else to do with his Saturday afternoon except to delay going back to the foster home.
  11. "Those responsible are dead." Grim stated coldly, lowering the mug in his hand to set it on the table. He met her stare unflinchingly, his pale drawn features expressionless, betraying nothing of the pain her words caused. Like an ant under a magnifying glass, the old warm feelings of a childhood crush burned away. Even here, he was not welcome. Even here, in a band of demigods, to a woman related by divine blood, he was a figure of unearned resentment. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, matching her stare as his voice dropped low, taking on a venomous tone. "And whilst we are in the spirit of fostering understanding, I am equally unhappy about being forced to associate with and take orders from people I know nothing about... and care even less about. Our elders placed me with you. I did not ask for it - and you do not want another 'stray'. So now we know where we stand." He sat back, picking up his book and opening it again. "I'll not impose on you further. Be courteous - and wise - enough to do the same for me." he finished in an air of dismissal, dropping his gaze to the pages.
  12. As the attractive package of pink-wrapped athleticism sat down and glared at him, an eyebrow crooked over a vibrant green eye for a moment before Grim quietly closed the book he was reading and sat back in turn, taking another bite of brownie as he returned her glare with a look of calm appraisal. His left eye, the glacially-pale, almost colorless orb with the scar over it, was an eerie counterpoint to it's companion as both peered at Rachel from under the tousled mop of dark hair. She seemed irritated, but not with him as much as just... generally. He followed up the mouthful of brownie with a gulp of coffee from the mug in his hand, then nodded in response to her statement. "I remember." he said quietly. "There were a couple of other occasions we were in the same space at the same time, but honestly I'm surprised you remember at all. I didn't really stand out." A ghost of a smile played around the edges of his mouth, a flicker gone as quickly as it manifested. There was a presence about Grimsley Algar now, a self-possession rare amongst adolescent young men, even ones who were god-blooded. He raised his mug to her in acknowledgement, eyes meeting hers in a direct gaze. "Not like you." Once he'd had a crush on Rachel, probably like many (both male and female). Once, he would have stammered and mumbled and tried his hardest to fade into the background to adore her from afar. Sitting across from her, he realised that although she was still impressive and still beautiful, he wasn't the same boy he'd once been. What a difference a year and half can make he thought wryly. Meanwhile, over behind the counter, Darci's brow furrowed slightly as she caught sight of Rachel sitting down to speak to... what was that kid's name? The one who'd disappeared - Grimsley! That was it. Why would the leader of a band of demigods be sitting down and talking to Mr Invisible? A serious talk, too. They didn't seem like close buddies or anything. The barrista's eyes narrowed as she turned back to the espresso machine, deep in thought.
  13. ((This fic is open to all who want to take part and takes place on Saturday afternoon after the Dance. It is assumed there was a band meeting and quick briefing on Saturday morning.)) The sounds of steam, the scent of ground beans and the hubbub of voices were all underscored with gentle acoustic strumming from a solitary guitarist on the raised platform that served the Drip as a stage. It was warm here, an island of pleasant coziness and comfort against the first chill breeze of autumn. Grim sighed softly in relief as he sat down at a vacant table, setting a large mug of black coffee and a brownie in front of him as he shucked out of his overcoat, a blue duster that seemed a size or two large for his still-slender frame. Slender but solid, he'd realised when showering after his swim earlier. As part of his physical therapy to help regain more mobility in his leg, the scion of Odin had been mandated a daily swim by Coach Fingers in addition to hikes, combat training, and a confidence course he had to run once a week. Fingers was not the coddling sort, and Grim was grateful for it. He'd berate a student who didn't give 100%, but if you did give your all and still failed, he'd just nod and say "Again." Or if you were wiped out, he'd simply say "Hit the showers, and do better tomorrow." Under the regimen of exercise, Grim was not only recovering full use of his leg, he was getting stronger than he'd previously thought possible, though how much of that was his Aesir blood was hard to say. He still looked like he was made of coathangers, a condition exacerbated by the too-large second-hand clothing he wore, but Grim was enough of a young man to take some pride that he was growing out as well as up. Now, though, he was just glad to be sitting down with a warm cup of coffee. Pulling a book borrowed from Mr Syracuse from his bag, he flipped it open and settled in to read, now and then sipping from his mug as his mismatched eyes scanned the pages. There was a lot to catch up on, not just the year and a half of school he had missed, but the fact that all the legends and myths were, if not wholly true, then at least true enough to kill you if you were ignorant of them. The school was less of an issue - his mind had always been keen, but the ichor of Odin running through his veins now made schoolwork trivial. He paused for a moment, eyes not reading the words in front of him as he was lost in thought. Family. An odd thought, to have family. For years that word had been associated with a bitter old man who hated the sight of him. Now family meant having a sprawling array of larger-than-life, honest to goodness gods expecting great things of him. It was a step up, in many ways. Giving a rare, thin smile, Grim took a bite of brownie and went back to his book.
  14. "This is your brain. And this is your brain on powdered Nemean tiger penis."
  15. I'm up for a meet-n-greet fic if others are. I know we decided to off-camera the band meeting but there's no reason it can't be a side fic if people want.
  16. What is known about Grim as a result of the off-camera introduction: Scion of Odin. Odd-colored eyes with a faint thin scar over the left one, seldom smiles, scarred hands from lots of thin cuts. Has a slight limp. Was mostly an invisible scrawny waif fading into the background of the school before his disappearance for 18 mths. Seems to have grown and filled out a little, but still wears too-big threadbare second hand clothing. Polite in a distant way, and sparing with words and expressions. Not shy or retiring - he will meet the eyes of whoever is speaking to him - but taciturn and hard to read. If anyone has any specific quizzing to do to him, that can happen on-camera.
  17. Introducing the new guy? Or are we handling that on-screen?
  18. "Welcome to the club." Grim said to Niles in a tone so dry it should have had an olive and a twist of lemon peel floating in it. Turning back to his notebook, he gently blew stray charcoal dust from the pages before closing the cheap spiral-bound covers and tucking the notebook into a pocket of the large duster currently adorning the back of his chair. Hands scarred as though with a multitude of razor cuts lifted the tome he'd been studying as the son of Odin got comfortable, hair falling forward as he slid down in his seat in a reader's slouch. To all intents and purposes, Grim seemed disinterested in the conversation. Okay, that wasn't entirely true - of course he was curious about who Niles had for an absentee parent - but on the other hand he wasn't going to sit around waiting for revelation. Niles and Archie were right there speaking, and so Grim would overhear unless they took the conversation elsewhere. His apparent disinterest served two purposes: it withdrew him from the immediate circle of the conversation, thus making it more likely he'd overhear something interesting, and it also let him carry on studying. Evelyn had discovered happily early in her tutoring that Grim, although rudimentary in technique and limited in knowledge, had a good understanding of what magic was and when it should be employed. An innate wisdom, one might say. He knew it was not a frivolous collection of charms or enchantments, but was rather tampering with the thread of the Norns themselves. It was a 'big gun' and should be treated like any loaded firearm, in his opinion. Not that he didn't appreciate it's uses for personal gratification, merely that he understood there were consequences for doing so, and the greater the meddling on the loom of fate, the greater the consequences. He felt a certain distaste for the actions Niles had taken: using seidr to ensnare a woman's heart for personal gratification seemed... low. A debasement of the gift. Not that Grim would never see himself employing magic to sway people's emotions, rather that he hoped his motivations wouldn't simply be hormonal but rather towards some greater goal. But he filed the lesson of Niles away in his mind - whether he believed in magic or not, Niles had coveted the girl he had enchanted with no thought to her own free will and so the spell, once ended, had ensured her enmity and disdain. Tugging carelessly one way on the skein of the Norns could easily have the opposite effect further down the line.
  19. The tousled dark head didn't move as Niles sat close, bent as it was over a notebook on which were drawn a number of weird-looking symbols the other boy seemed to be copying from a page of a tome open before him. It seemed to be an exercise in repetition, each rune being drawn ten times, the movements of the charcoal stub slow and sure as they drew the heavy straight lines of the current rune for the tenth time. As Niles shoved his hand towards him, Grim sighed and straightened up in his seat before turning his gaze on the out-of-his-depth mortal. Niles flinched slightly: though the other boy was scarcely imposing at first glance when his attention was turned towards you suddenly you felt the weight of his personality, an old soul made older by experience despite his age. One eye was brilliant, vibrant green, the other a pale grey-blue. A long thin scar bisected the brow of the pale eye, then continued an inch or below the eye on his cheek. Flesh was sparse on the boy, the bones of his face under the taut skin giving him a haggard appearance made more so by the straight line of his mouth that looked as though it never smiled. Dark hair fell to his shoulders - clean, but carelessly finger-combed without thought of appearance. All of his clothing, from the sneakers to the jeans to the hooded sweatshirt, possessed a faded, frayed and hand-me-down air. There was a long silence as Grim wiped charcoal from his scarred fingers, his mismatched gaze studying Niles intently before taking the proffered hand, giving it a single shake before letting go. "Grimsley." Was all he said to introduce himself. Niles shuffled away a little - although Grimsley wasn't hostile, per se, he emanated a sense of personal space that the self-proclaimed apprentice sorcerer could palpably feel. As he did so, Grim relaxed a tiny bit. "And I am studying the Futhark." Pale eye and green eye narrowed slightly, a glint of something in their depths. "So how did you become an 'apprentice sorcerer', Niles? After all, to be an apprentice one must be studying under a master. You must have done something singular to attract the attentions of a master sorcerer." Niles could feel the air quotes dropping around the title he'd given and winced slightly. There was curiousity in the question, but there was also a dry amusement at his expense as though this Grimsley knew that Niles had messed up. And why shouldn't he? Mr Syracuse had hardly been hushed about it when he'd brought Niles into the library. The odd-coloured eyes studied Niles' face, measuring his response.
  20. Birth Name: Grimsley Algar True Name: Elliðagrimmr Odinsson Aliases: Grim, Orphan-boy, Weirdo. Calling: Cunning Magus Known Relatives: The Aesir Nature: Loner Age: 16 Gender: Male Ethnic Background: North European Nationality: American Height: 5’11 Weight: 170 lbs (looks skinny in his too-big hand-downs) Eye Color: One glacial grey, the other deep green Hair Color: Black Handedness: Left Distinguishing Marks: Grim has a large number of fine pale scars, like old razor cuts, on his upper body, arms and hands, with a smaller number on his legs and one or two on his face. Walks with a slight limp in his left leg. One eye is bisected by a scar that runs down over it from his brow, and appears to have been damaged in some way, leached of the colour possessed by his 'good' eye. Despite this, he seems to have no restricted vision. Appearance: Having recently grown taller but not much broader, at least at first glance, Grim is a lanky, raw-boned boy still very much waiting to fill out into young manhood. Despite his apparent slenderness, under the too-large second hand clothing his bone structure has already begun to betray his Aesir heritage, being remarkably solid in frame. His face is lean and angular, the planes of his features hardened further by the seldom-wavering look of wry detachment he wears around others. He rarely smiles (and when he does it is never a nice smile) and his mismatched eyes and steady gaze are unnerving at best. He dresses in hand- downs and second-hand clothing from his state foster home, along with the overlarge dark blue duster he reappeared wearing. Personality: Grimsley’s persona matches his appearance. He is quiet, soft-spoken, and keeps his own counsel, preferring to be left alone whenever possible. He reinforces this solitude with acerbic wit and an unpleasant manner toward those he sees as ‘intruding’ upon him. Lately, he has begun to come out of his shell somewhat within the Band, showing an aptitude for planning and directing their efforts - albeit with poor grace, as though he resents having to take such a forward role. Nevertheless, he has proven a skilled negotiator with a gift for drawing secrets from others. Interests: Studying the arcane and occult. Grim was always interested in such things even before his Visitation – and his revelation that such things are real has only redoubled his drive. He enjoys music, favoring rock and metal, though he seldom advertises in the usual teenage manner of t-shirts and merchandise. History: Grimsley Algar has a perfect memory. He remembers every experience of his life. Most of all, he remembers his mother’s face. He remembers her green eyes and the tired smile she gave him before she closed those eyes forever. He was ten minutes old, and in her arms. Left with a grieving mortal grandfather who blamed the boy for his mother’s death, Grimsley’s life was far from happy, filled with scowls and cuffs rather than smiles and hugs. He became a solitary, withdrawn figure around the school, occasionally either tormented by the cruel or approached by the kind. He kept his distance from both, and never let them see him cry: his tears were only shed in private. He joined no social clubs, hung out with no cliques Then came his 15th birthday. The old man was found dead in his lounge, head caved in by a large blunt object, and Grimsley was gone. He was gone for a year and a half before he returned to Salem, and most assumed him dead. All that is known around town is that he returned one month ago by simply walking from the woods one misty morning, knocking on his grandfather’s neighbour’s door. His clothing was tattered and worn, his hands and arms covered in hundreds of healed cuts. He walked with a slight limp from a leg injury that had not been properly treated and allowed to heal crooked, walking with the aid of a walking stick of wood so dark it appeared black and swathed in a too-big coat. The furor over his reappearance made local and state news. Though the facts of his disappearance were never publically confirmed, most assumed he had been kidnapped. Grimsley did not in fact tell anyone where he had been. The boy had changed, become a young man. He stood taller, was not as timid as before, though just as solitary. His gaze, which before would be diffident and seldom meet another’s, was now sharp and piercing, even eerily knowing. When the authorities, or social workers, or indeed anyone try to press him he says not a word, but meets his questioner’s eyes, not relenting or blinking until they shift their gaze. Now he lives with a foster family. His grandfather, unsurprisingly, left nothing to the boy in his will. If that troubles Grim, he shows no sign of it nor does he speak of his disappearance. Not to his foster parents, not to the social workers or child therapists, not to teachers or guidance counsellors. As always, he lets no-one see his pain. Pantheon: Aesir Virtues: Courage 3, Endurance 4, Expression 2, Loyalty 2 Physical: Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 3 Epic-Physical: Epic Stamina 2 Knacks: Damage Conversion, Solipsistic Wellbeing Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 4, Wits 4 Epic-Mental: Epic Intelligence 2, Epic Wits 1 Knacks: Perfect Memory, Know-It-All, Instant Investigator Social: Charisma 2, Manipulation 4, Appearance 3 Epic-Social: Epic Manipulation 2 Knacks: Takes One To Know One, Blurt It Out Abilities: Academics - 2 Animal Ken - Art – 2 (Singing) Art – 3 (Carving) Athletics – 2 Awareness - 3 Brawl - 1 Command - Control - Craft - Empathy - Fortitude - 3 Integrity - 3 Investigation - 3 Larceny - Marksmanship - Medicine - 2 Melee - 3 Occult - 4 Politics Presence - 3 Science - Stealth - 1 Survival - 1 Thrown - 1 Birthrights: Relic 4 - The Valkyrie’s Cloak. Grim does not speak of how he came into this voluminous dark blue cloak. In addition to allowing him to use his Death and Psychopomp purviews, the wearer of this cloak takes no damage from falls of any height, as per the effect of the Sky’s Grace boon. In addition, the cloak can disguise itself as a duster of dark blue leather, currently oversized on the slender Scion. Relic 4 – Heartwood Stave. (1 unique 1 dot power, 1 unique 2 dot power, 1 purview) A slender naturally-formed stave of black wood roughly 5 feet in length. Grim can add his Legend to the weapon's accuracy (treat as a Bo). Half his Legend is added to the weapon's damage. This applies only when using the staff, no other weapon, of course. Access to the Magic purview. Relic 1 - Troll-tooth Necklace (1 Purview) A large, slightly yellowed fang tooth, roughly the size of a boar's tusk, suspended from a cord of braided red-gold hair. Allows Grim to access the Illusion Purview. Boons: Death 1 (Death Senses) Psychopomp 1 (Unerring Orientation) Magic 2 (The Unlidded Eye, Illwind Curse) Illusion 2 (The Subtle Knife, Stolen Face) Jotunblut 2 (Mighty Lineage, Power in the Blood) Willpower: 7 Legend: 3 Legend Points: 9 Soak: 5B/4L/2A Health Levels: 0 / 0 / 0 / 0 / 0 / 0 / +2 / Inc Dodge DV: 4 Parry DV: 2 Stave Parry DV: 4 Join Battle: 7 (+1 auto) Weapons: Heartwood Stave: SPD 6 / ACC 10 (+2) / DMG +5B / DV 4 Clinch : SPD 6/ ACC 3 / DMG +2B / DV 2 Unarmed, Heavy: SPD 5 / ACC 2 / DMG +5B / DV 1 Unarmed, Light: SPD 4 / ACC 4 / DMG +3B / DV 2 Movement: 3 Dash: 9 Climb: 2 Swim: 2 Vertical/Horizontal Jump: 5/10 Experience: 37/38
  21. "We came over on the ferry together." Grim said, hunkering down inside his soaked clothing and doing his level best to appear pathetic. Given that even at his best Grim looked like a half-starved and neglected latchkey kid, it was hard even for his companions not to pity him. He coughed a little as he hoovered up the sandwiches, then stared at the other's plates like a starving waif. The man called Hemsworth quickly prepared a second round of tuna-mayo at Harper's gesture. "Thank you for taking us in. We... We had nowhere else to go." ,, The pain and grief and shame was there, albeit in a different form. The sense of being abandoned, the sense of being unwanted, the lack of love - all of them came through in Grim's voice. He knew what it felt like to be an orphan in all but name, to be raised in a place where, fantastic as it was, there was no place else to go simply because of what he was. A few tears easily found their way to the thin, pale features as he looked at Auntie Harper, but the agile mind behind the mismatched eyes was working away, trying to spot the tricks and glamer of a trap. ,, "You poor little mite!" Auntie Harper exclaimed. "You look half-dead! And those scars!" She hissed in disapproval as she saw the criss-crossing white marks on Grim's arms. "Who did that to you, child?" ,, "N-n-no-one." Grim insisted, looking shamefaced. "I was trying to catch a rabbit to eat."
  22. I'm happy to move at the pace that suits the group as a whole. I've not played Scion much, so it'd be good to take my time and have Grim grow up at a reasonable pace. He's got a lot of larning to do, after all
  23. "Would it matter if I did?" Grim asked with his usual sour, sarcastic tone. Then he sighed and shook his head. "Never mind." he told Jake almost apologetically. "That wasn't a pertinent question." ,, "Hey, if you wanna-" Jake began, and Grim shook his head, smiling slightly as he raised one thin, scarred hand to stop Jake. ,, "No, no. Arthur Cruz it is. I was being petty." He leaned on his staff, currently contained in a fishing-pole carry case, and watched the gates warily. "It's a decent plan. Let's use it. If it fails, then we improvise." He shrugged. "After all, the best laid plans, and all that." ,, "Don't survive contact with the enemy?" Corbin asked a trifle tensely. Grim glanced at him, then shrugged again. ,, "Close enough."
  24. The skinny, dour-faced boy at the back of the quartet pulled the hood of his cloak more firmly over his head and repressed a sigh as he watched the path beyond the gates for their welcoming committee. Spending time sandwiched between Taya, who was trying to keep as far from Corbin as physically possible, and Jake, who had found the trip just as awkward as Grim, was not a situation calculated to put the taciturn son of Odin in the best of moods. He'd also left Strabo behind, which made him even more ill-at-ease, but that had been a practical decision. Strabo was as loyal a friend as could be hoped for, but not suitable for this excursion. Indeed, considering the heavy rain and lightning, the great hawk would have been grounded and vulnerable, and so in that at least Grim took comfort he'd made the right choice. ,, Apart from that, and the fact that they had been given a Quest, everything else sucked. ,, Grim knew that four had a better chance than one. He knew that the mixture of knowledge and skill in this Band would be invaluable for accomplishing their shared goal. He knew that the Council had their reasons for teaming the four disparate youths together. ,, He also thought that the Council were idiots, so that knowledge didn't help much. ,, The problem was that Taya and Corbin had an atmosphere between them that had infected the truck for the whole journey. Grim would have ridden in the flatbed part if he'd had a choice, just to get away from the definite Atmosphere, but sense had won out and so he'd spent the ride next to Taya, which was annoyingly distracting. Every time she shifted position, he'd been aware of the brush of her movement against him. She was pretty, and though Grim tried to have ice in his veins and run on intellect, Taya's profile as she stared out of the window with a moody pout to her lips was worth a second look or two. It made him irritated with himself: they were supposed to be heroes of the gods, and here he was acting like... like an adolescent boy. ,, Heavens forbid! ,, To distract himself from something that would only get him into trouble in the long run (or perhaps even sooner), Grim had spent the trip mostly within his own head, staring unseeing out of the window whilst lost in thought. Occasionally he had roused himself to join a conversation that momentarily interested him, but his mien for the most part was one of remote politeness. At least, until they had arrived. Now he looked around at his companions, for that was what they were, despite feelings and appearances. ,, "They will likely split us up by apparent age and gender for sleeping assignments." he presumed. "But we can't afford to stay the night. It'd be far too dangerous. To make things easier, we should each take one name from the four and focus on finding that one, rather than working at cross-purposes. Given the time-scale, we've got until lights-out as the best time to actually make contact, then afterwards we can slip away." His eyes, one steel-grey and the other verdant green, regarded the others in the Band. "Thoughts?"
  25. Oh, we can have a Fun-vee too... ,, Lets face it: Corbin, Taya, Grim and Jake should collectively get along exactly like a house on fire. What's team 4-star going to do? Sit around braiding Atticus's hair?
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