Zero-Zivan

Alliance: Green Name: Orpheus Craine Age: 19 Gender: Male Species: Marten Appearance: Sporting the typical black-with-faint-brown fur that comes with having his coat lit by the sun, Orpheus generally mixes in to a crowd if he keeps his head low and his torso covered. Without a shirt on though, the brighter yellow hue of hair that goes from his waist all the way up to his lower lip can draw the eye in a society made up of mostly white, brown and black Meadowfolk. He generally wears a dark brown tunic to better blend in with the dark shade of his fur, and hiked-up shorts with rough hand-done trimming to suit his needs for travel. He may wear a slightly yellowed white neck-wrap from time to time, although this and any pants reaching below the knees tend to make him feel overheated. Rank: Day Volunteer, Non-Flyer Magic: None Weapon: Bow [to be acquired later] Personality: Orpheus is somewhat of a mixed bag if you were to ask anyone else what to make of him, considering that his

Though he didn’t exactly have enough hands for the task (or, more accurately, no hands at all), the Castform whose tiny little body was laden with the weight of a large bag easily twice his size managed with some slight difficulty to slip the straps of the big carry-on into the nook of one small, curly appendage underneath his head and then grasp at the handle of the door in front of him with a wispy lock of vapor, pushing it inward. The warmer air inside the home blasted out to greet him, knocking his floating body slightly out of balance for a moment. Of course, he was accustomed to situations like this and recovered instantly, pushing forward into his home. His partner was, of course, seated inside of the house in one of her favorite spots – a lounging chair where she had a decent view of much of the house, including the floor where the Castform’s latest art project stood on a high easel surrounded by small sheets littered with spatters of wayward colored paints. As he entered,

Xeaklinn braced her fingers under the latch to the truck’s rear door and heaved it up, the steely sectioned bars rattling along the rails as it slid out of her way to reveal the load of construction material and equipment inside, somewhat strewn about in the aftermath of the trip it had taken in the journey from the warehouse to this place. Deciding that she needed another look over her quarry, she stepped to the side, leaned around the back end of the truck and eyed the worn down husk of an old corner hut, the place resembling the small midtown corner shops that she saw inhabiting many of the “modern” and “technological” worlds. Though of course, this one was stripped bare, the old sign that had once adorned the overhang removed, leaving only a pale stain in the cement where the rest had faced long seasons of weather and dirt. The interior was even less decorated, looking as hollow and empty as the training room from Castle Destruction. She decided that