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[Episode] Caught in the Hunt

Xavier uses AOE on self
Xavier uses UT on Zayn

Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses UT on Xavier

COMBAT TRACKERS:

[Episode] Caught in the Hunt

Xavier uses HT on self
Xavier uses LT on Zayn
Xavier uses UT on Zayn

Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses UT on Xavier

COMBAT TRACKERS:

[Episode] Caught in the Hunt

Xavier uses LT on Zayn
Xavier uses LT on Zayn
Xavier uses LT on Zayn
Xavier uses UT on Zayn

Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses LT on Xavier
Zayn uses UT on Xavier

COMBAT TRACKERS:

[Fighting Style] Shigeki Shigeki no Mi • Gokudō Kenjutsu

Nice job getting this done correctly on your first try! I did change one spot where you said "STR" instead of "ATK".

Approved!

Xavier Drake wrote:

Shigeki Shigeki no Mi

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Devil Fruit: Shigeki Shigeki no Mi [ 刺激 刺激 の実 ] "Stimuli Stimuli Fruit"
Devil Fruit Type: Paramecia

Devil Fruit Appearance: Has an akin similarity to an osage orange aka the brain fruit.
Devil Fruit Description: The Shigeki Shigeki no Mi is a paramecia type Devil Fruit that grants the user the ability to decrease and increase the electrical impulses/stimuli within their body and the body of others, granting them enhanced reflexes, senses & emotional control, effectively turning them into a Stimulation Human.

Due to their ability to control the electrical impulses/stimuli sent to their brain and throughout the body, it virtually grants the user near perfect control over their own body. They can perfectly control their emotions by reducing/increasing specific hormone stimuli in their body, increase their reflexes by increasing the speed of synapses, remove pain by dulling pain receptors, increase strength & speed by increasing adrenaline and increase senses by increasing their bodies sensory stimuli.

The user can similiar use their powers on others once the person have some of sensory interaction with them (sight, touch or even the sound of their voice).

Fighting Style: Gokudō Kenjutsu [ 極道 剣術 ] "Extreme Path Swordsmanship"
Weapon Utilization: Sword
Description: Gokudō Kenjutsu is a style of swordsmanship utilized by the Yakuza samurai of Wano. While primarily a form of combat that emphasizes swordsmanship, unlike traditional Samurai the style is not limited by rules, hence why it's called the "Extreme Path". Yakuza swordsmen are taught to use any and all things they can to their advantage, having been taught how to fight with common weapons as well as their own sword. In Xavier's case, having eaten the Stim-Stim fruit, and preferring not to resort to drawing blood unless he really needs to, he utilizes his devil fruit in combat while only occasionally drawing his sword.

Another important aspect of Xavier's way of fighting, having been raised by the Yakuza who utilize fear as a weapon, is he tends invoke intimidation through bluffs. Even when he's losing, he constantly bluffs and pretends like he isn't trying in order to make people think he's stronger than he actually is, his devil fruit especially helps with this as he can make opponents feel intense pain with even simple attacks. Once a person falls for his bluffs, even if he's winning, he would usually abandon a fight altogether, unless he has an actual reason to fight.


Toggled and Passive Abilities:

Gōken [ 豪剣 ] "Strong Sword"
Xavier switches his swordsmanship style to emphasize power over speed, significantly increasing his attack power. Since he usually tries to avoid a fight unless necessary, he rarely uses this form since when he does, he tends to focus much more on offense, with his attacks becoming much more relentless, rarely straying from the offensive.
[ +20% ATK • -20% WP ]

Jūken [ 柔剣 ] "Gentle Sword"
Xavier switches his swordsmanship style to emphasize speed over power, significantly increasing his speed. While using this form he's primarily passive, focusing on defense and on sensing his/her environment, then releases it quickly in response to danger. Overall, in this form her fights not with power or anger, but with talent, skills, and wit
[ +20% RFX • -20%% WP ]

Enhanced Senses
Xavier is capable of using his fruit to enhance his smell, hearing and sight to superhuman levels.

Emotional Control
Xavier's fruit grants him perfect control over his own emotions, enabling him to "switch" them on and off at will. He can similarly lessen/heightened emotions in others (NPCs).

Electric Presence
While the fruit doesn't actually manipulate lightning, as a product of its control of electrical impulses it causes Xavier's body to generate lightning whenever used. However, this is purely aesthetic.

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Techniques

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Light Techniques:

Medium Techniques:

Heavy Techniques:

AoE Techniques:

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[Arc] [Part 2] The Grave Robber - Trouble on the Countryside

From atop Cossia’s walls the dank stench of the bog combined with the pleasant scent of grapes surrounding the devil like a miasma of sewage and sauvignon. Even to somebody who isn’t blind the province’s capital city isn’t particularly spectacular, the buildings are drab and uniform, consisting mostly of shoddy tenement houses; indeed, Aube sits beneath the bright and pristine hills of Lvneel almost like a stain on the country’s fairytale reputation.

The last of the city’s populace was just evacuated by the time the giant oni arrived. The knights directed their safe passage through the ravenous swampland surrounding the settlement. As the last family made their way through the gates the knights began barricading and sealing the city’s exit. A little boy spoke to one of the busy knights.

[npc=misc]“Mister knight, are you gonna kill da monster? Ooh! And if you see my bear, would you bring him back to me?”[/npc] The boy spoke with a slight lisp. He had dropped his toy bear in the city as his large family was ushered out of their house at the city’s edge.

The knight initially felt slight irritation and an urge to remind the commoner of his place. However, the chevalier suppressed this mean impulse, before choking out a reassuring response with a half-hearted smile, “No one man is going to defeat a monster like that boy! We’ll all play our parts! But if I see your bear I’ll be sure to save him kiddo!”

The knight, swallowing his fears, spoke down to the lad with a confident grin and a comedically dutiful tone to his voice, “I’ll tell the men to begin searching for your bear post haste, sir!”

Unbeheld by Doji was the sorry state of this struggling province. Its sodden dirt roads had kept carts, livestock, and personal effects from being evacuated from the city alongside their owners. Its worn cobblestone fortifications served more as deterrents than protection. A sullen and mud-stained stuffed bear almost seemed to stare up at the figure on the wall, its expressionless beaded eyes glinting beneath the faint sunlight; this single abandoned toy would be Doji’s {#}1{/#} fan as his ordeal in Cossia began.

Adonis glared at the creature with a cunning and condescending look in his eye before lighting his cigar and tossing his match to a nearby line of gunpowder. The powder ignited and began sparking like a fuse to its end; a stash of explosive barrels hidden within the rampart. The first contingency plan of the Strategic Knight Adonis was afoot.

Instantly a plume of explosive fire erupted from the wall, engulfing the massive figure in a sweet-smelling conflagration. For a longstanding and pensive moment, the smoke obscured the results of the man’s strategy.

“Yokhoo!” The red-hiared boy coughed and sputtered out the sweet flaming substance. “Gyah! What is this shit?”

Adonis stared in confusion for a moment before recollecting himself and answering smugly, “Zinfandel Black. Vinohohoo…” The strategist chuckled to himself before indulging himself, even if nobody was present to savor his genius Adonis was more than happy to monologue to his enemies, “... wine, gunpowder, and a bit of reagent to bring it all together. Guaranteed to splatter and burn any man to a crisp!”

“Well it smells terrible, isn’t wine your people’s sake? It’s supposed to be bitter! Ykhoo!” The thick-skinned demon spat out a mouthful of the smoldering substance before brushing the remainder from his skin and hair. The oni sneered down towards the knight, his skin singed, his clothing alight, and a foul sweet taste in his mouth; the bitterness of the burn tasted better to the demon than the rich and cloying sweetness of the wine.

The swift giant lept towards the cunning knight, who ran further back into the fortification to begin the next step of his plan. On one wall of the portcullis’ operating room was a set of stairs leading up to the top of the rampart, the knight hurriedly gave his command to the men in the room:

“Spearmen, place the barricade and hold the door! Claude, ready the net! You two come with me!” Adonis grabbed two of the remaining men, each equipped with crossbows, and rushed up the stairs.

As the giant charged for the wall of the room to begin tearing it down he was stabbed in the knees by the spearmen within.

Doji crouched and scowled into the room disappointedly, his face like that of a bratty teenage girl.

“Hey,” the boy spoke bluntly, “Get outta that little room and fight me like warriors.”

The men looked at one another before chuckling amongst themselves at the incubus’ impudent demand.  

Claude followed Adonis to the structure’s roof. The crossbowmen were able to ready their shots undisturbed, and Claude too was able to prepare to toss his net onto the monster. Finally, Adonis moved into position and trained his ballista on the creature's head.

“Hey, where’d the smoking guy go?” Doji sniffed at the air, placing the scent of the still-lit cigar above him. His adversary must have climbed to higher ground,“Oh is that what you're doing? Are you just gonna keep running around and hiding? So boring.”

A net was thrown, surely it would catch him!

Meanwhile in reality the twine trap simply fell into a pile at Doji’s feet. Adonis shot Claude an exasperated look as the chaos began. He was upon them.

Upon figuring out Adonis’ location Doji leaped to the building’s top, its foundation shaking beneath the monster’s weight. In no short order, the Strategic Knight found himself swept up and dangled from atop the wall, all his compatriots knocked unconscious.

“Wait, wait, wait! Please don’t drop me!” The terrified knight cried back to his captor.

“Eh? Why not? You and those guys were gonna stab and shoot me.”

Adonis stammered, looking down the 30-foot drop to the ground below, and trying to think of a reason that would compel this red-haired devil not to drop him.

The flutist called up to his commander’s captor. “Hey demon! I have your mask! And your booze too!”

Alister growled from his agonistic spot on the ground, still bleeding and burning as his ally solicited a deal with the devil. You curr. All of you, cowards and weaklings. He seethed.

“Oh! Well, that’ll do it! You give me my stuff I'll give you yours! Yaha!” Doji held Adonis casually as he took the knight for a terrifying ride, leaping down from the building to the road below. Upon his landing, the oni stuck out his unoccupied hand and beckoned the little knight to give him his possessions back. The two made their trade, with Doji gently setting Adonis down as he grabbed his stolen possessions. Once they finished the oni hopped back over the wall and into the city.

The knights were forced to abandon the wall of Cossia to pursue the giant, filtering down to the city below and taking up tactical and stealthy positions amongst the derelict Ville. The guerilla tactics that the city’s guards had picked up during wartime could be put to good use slaying a titan.

As Doji descended into the city the area seemed vacant, almost peaceful. This momentary peace broke as the crossbow bolt whizzed straight past his nose.

“Woo! Oh, so we’re still playing cat and mouse?” The horned demon murmured to himself before jumping high into the air, sending a tremor through the soft soil of the city’s streets with the impact of his landing. This served as the perfect moment for the knight’s attack, as the devil had effectively surrounded itself, amongst the stout buildings of Aube he was out in the open on the city streets.

Vollies of bolts shot towards the devil from the recesses of the city, each man had set a course for their bolt to impale the creature’s vitals. It was only by chance at this moment that the monster had reason to duck, he’d assumed that he escaped his enemy’s range; however, these crossbowmen were not to be fucked with. Doji had stepped on something soft, and enjoying how the object felt he reached down to pick it up.

As the giant oni stood back to full height, still oblivious to his opponent’s line of fire, he held the little stuffed bear aloft, dangling the toy by one of its arms just as he had Alister.

“The little things we leave behind…” The boy seemed to show more compassion for this inanimate object than he had any of the knights he’d left broken, “If only there was somebody to save you.”

What perfect timing. The stuffy’s savior had arrived.

The Caitiff Knight Sacha? What was this fledgling doing standing before the mammoth demon? The firing squad was taken aback and ceased their volley awaiting their commander’s orders.

Sacha couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this. How could he have such terrible fortune that the devil itself held the toy he was hunting?

“Hear me now, red-haired giant!” The fledgling coward summoned all of his courage to confront the creature, [ass=I like this simile.]belting his words out like a banshee trying its best not to shriek[/ass], “Spare that bear from your reign of terror!”

The firing squad gawked, displeased and surprised by their peer’s frivolous interruption.

The relentless Adonis returned to the battlefield, a command ready for the city knights “Spare no bear! End this devil’s reign of terror!” The ruthless and furious Adonis raised his hand to the sky as he screamed his order, signaling all the men to open fire on Doji. With the flutist knight’s aid, Adonis was able to find a broken down part of the wall and clamber back into the city.

“My apologies sir, he’s coming with me,” Doji spoke cordially to this man, as Sacha had not explicitly insulted or threatened him in his address. With this the giant leaped back into the air, sweeping the incoming crossbow bolts just off their course with the force of his jump.

In leaping and sprinting through Cossia Doji was quickly able to surmise that the city had no graveyard for its commoners, the sole mausoleum being that of the city’s nobility. He had neither time nor desire to plunder another noble crypt. Such a crumbling city likely offered little even amongst the hands of generations passed.

It was not long before Doji came to the evacuation effort’s barricade. A sturdy wall of uprooted cypress trees formed an imposition against the hellion forcing him to risk impalement or brave the swamp. The monster quickly came to the latter option as crossbow and ballista fire continued raining on him from afar.

Used to nature giving way to his trampling the troll simply strode into the thick and hungering depths of the swamp. In no short order, the giant boy was up to his waist in water and muck.

The aspiring royal knights chased after their quarry relentlessly, each wishing to claim the creature’s head for themselves. Riding atop a beautiful white horse David and his father Napoleon fled along a hidden path through the swamp. Sacha chased after the stolen bear piloting a raft, Adonis hitched a ride with his contemptible ally firing at the creature with his light ballista.

The giant stranded in the mud was helpless for a moment, catching a bolt to the shoulder before thrashing against the impudent swamp. Would the abyssal swamp swallow the dreams of those amongst it?

Civilians were directed dutifully by the knights tasked with Cossia’s evacuation, briskly walking through the scarcely trodden road leading North of Aube; this path was a winding and treacherous dirt road soaked by the bog surrounding it. Nonetheless, the knights had thus far managed to avoid losing anybody to the mire.

Of course, it was time for the swamp to eat its fill. It was its duty to devour any ambitions and bodies it could pull into its cadaverous maw.

Doji’s ambition wouldn’t be scarfed down like some palatable treat, the mere taste of it burned like a ghost pepper. And though the swamp’s silt seemed to sink faster and faster the giant was able to thrash free from its silt and hook himself onto one of the thick trunked cypresses that rooted themselves amongst the bog.

The monster’s motion had thrown Sacha and Adonis from their raft, and congruently, sunken the sidepath that David and Napoleon rode their beautiful horse Alexandre upon.

Sacha had landed next to the tree and stuck himself onto it using a hunting knife, as he gained his footing against the trunk he aimed for the giant’s left sword arm where the stuffed toy flopped dangerously close to the blade of the hooked sword. With a grunt, he hurled a throwing knife towards the oni.

Bullseye! The little stuffy was impaled through the hand and pulled from the devil’s grasp. The little toy’s eyes glinted, spilling cotton filling from its injured paw as it perilously dangled from a nearby cypress.

Adonis had sunk only to his waist and thus continued firing his ballista at Doji, missing his shots because of the giant creature’s thrashing motions. Frustrated with the failure of plan after plan for the monster’s capture, he would not stop firing until the swamp had consumed him up to his chest.

“Ack!” he exclaimed, his face just above the muddied water’s surface, “Sacha! Help me!”

The Caitiff Knight looked down in horror at the peril of his superior. Becoming instantly aware of the situation’s urgency, though he had nailed the toy bear to a nearby tree with his shot, Sacha thrust his hand down to Adonis. The crestfallen strategist accepted his foolhardy ally’s saving grace, and though caked in mud, was able to cling to the branches of the nearby tree.

As Alexandre galloped into the mud Napoleon prevented him and his son’s impending demise by grabbing the boy around the waist and diving off of the horse to the muck nearest the road. The father scrambled to the road as his boy David grasped the reins of the now mired white horse.

“We’re not leaving him! Alexandre!” David shouted to the sinking horse, jerking on the reins, and attempted to pull the equine back towards the road.

“You’ll be swallowed too boy! We can’t hold onto him, countless oxen have sunken into this quagmire!” The man looked down at his miserable son before speaking more solemnly. “If you hold onto him you’ll only sink yourself.”

The white horse sank deeper into the mud, it was now chest deep, “Alexandre!” David shouted the horse’s name over and over as the creature sunk into the depths of the swamp.

In the end, only the dream of a beautiful horse would be claimed by the swamp this day.

Doji snatched up the stuffed animal once more before swinging through the trees. It was not long until the boy heard the voices and shuffling of many footsteps through the mud; perhaps this would be his way out of the marsh.

The shout of a boy broke the terrified silence of the evacuating civilians. [npc=misc]“Hey, monster! Can I have my bear back?”[/npc]

The devil reared back and winged the teddy into the path ahead of the masses, splattering part of the road into the marsh below. Gasps, chattering, and shrieks of terror erupted from amongst the crowd.

“Are you sure I can’t keep it? Who’s going to get it back for ya? Any of you knights?” Doji had heard the clattering of the men’s armor and felt obliged to poke at their pride.

The knights were silent, none of the guards' best and brightest were tasked with the evacuation, these men were simply present to guide the civilians through the swamp.

[npc=misc]“No, you can’t keep him!”[/npc] The boy cried out to the monster. At this moment, the youngster was willing to defy the demon if it meant any chance of being reunited with his fuzzy companion.

Doji cracked a sharp grin, seemingly just keeping himself from bursting out laughing. “Yahoo! Alright kid! You know what? He’s yours!” The jovial oni hurled the little teddy bear down towards the boy with unwarranted force.

The toy would be terrified if it could be, but instead, the inanimate object simply crashed into the mud of the road in front of the kid like a meteor falling from the heavens. The scapegrace’s ephemeral and capricious act of sympathy was like a shooting star on the night’s tapestry of his misdeeds.

David, Napoleon, Adonis, and Sacha had all straggled and climbed their way to the main road out of Cossia and were present as the monster said its last farewell to the people of Aube.

“You people better build a graveyard! Why wait to etch your mark on the annals of history?” The people were confused by the brute’s encouraging words, but this phrase stuck with them. In the coming months, Aube would begin to flourish, its local wine trade burgeoning into a proper industry, owing primarily to the competent rule of Queen Annabelle and her closest counsel.

With his business finished our giant set out along the path leading out from the swamp, galavanting blindly along the road that, unbeknownst to Doji, actually led to Jewel!

Post Word Count: 2,867
Total Word Count: 10,542

[Episode] Earning Ensign

To remain in place, for things to remain as they are, is this the essence of peace? To watch on blissfully as soldiers set sail for turbulent waters, is this what it means to live a peaceful life?

In just under a week’s time Moreau was set to cast away his peace, to fight in obeisance of a commanding officer’s orders, and to venture away from the place that had been so patient with him. However, his assignment would be at Commodore Faivre’s discretion. She'd even said that she might have to hold him back at the academy in her letter; she was probably joking.

Like a distant dream, the waves beyond the horizon carried glory, hardship, and ambition in equal measures; but here, the rocky beaches of the 119th branch served as an unyielding bastion of hope and peace. Each winter Moreau had watched his fellow students culminate into stronger and more confident versions of themselves, blooming into Navymen as the island’s flowering carnelians returned from their dormancy. He had always attended their sendings off with tears of pride for them, hope for their safety, and the fear that he would never be a true Marine like them.

A gentle snow had fallen over the Naval base since the middle of january, never giving way to hail nor heavy snowfall, the hoary clouds had been persistent in their politeness. In the dining hall the holdout ate alongside his fellow graduates, a raucous group ready to set sail and bring justice to the seas.

“Hey Moreau! Aren’t ya excited?” one of the others shouted over to the demure young man.

With a weak smile he called back over “Of course!... it’s just all happening so fast." The others , knowing that their classmate had been in training for 7 years, initially attempted to hold back their laughter but quickly burst out into an uproarious cacophony. Moreau smiled politely, finished the rest of his herring noodle, donned his winter coat and left the hall.

The snow gave way with a light crunch as the lonesome man made his way towards the beach. The base’s walkways had been vacated by all but the errant straggler, the evening was bitter cold, chilled by the winter’s seabreeze. After some time Moreau reached the boulderous border of the branch’s beach and brushed the snow from a large rock before taking his seat beneath one of the island’s budding willows. As the salted mistral wind cut against his cheeks, he thought of what it would mean to fight and to die for a commanding officer, to bombard an enemy fleet alongside an Admiral, to capture a pirate’s ship alongside Commodore Elise, to die in battle against one of the world’s many monstrous pirates; to serve a duty seemed natural, but to take a life?

A moment passed as the falling snow insulated the young man’s grim contemplation.

“Hey, sorry about things back there.” The classman who had incited the group’s laughter, Ben Bingham, had evidently followed Moreau’s tracks. He stood at the tree’s base, keeping a respectful distance.  

“Nothing to worry about. It has been a while.” the somber retort escaped Moreau’s lips, as he looked up through the parting clouds, to the stars and their waning crescent. “It’s nice here, it feels like home.”

“Hah really? This stuffy place?” the mustachioed man looked over to his younger comrade and nodded. Ben brushed off another rock to sit and get a better view of the night’s sky.

“Guess I never thought of it that way.”

That night the two watched as twinkling powder fell gleaming like stardust, scarcely speaking a word between them. The base, even the sea, for a short time were completely tranquil; as though blessed by the stillness of the Northern cold.  As a blanket of clouds rolled back over the island, the two departed back for their dormitories, sharing a handshake before going their separate ways.

The next morning Moreau awoke at 6:00 AM, as is his preference, and started into his morning routine: First was the matter of getting dressed, Moreau layered his lounging-robe over his pajamas, prepared his day’s uniform, and poured himself a glass of water on his way to the bathroom. After a hot shower and a cold glass of water the gentleman emerged from the bath exfoliated, hair slicked backwards, stubble shaved, wearing a well-kept cadet’s outfit, and ready to embark for his day. Before departing from his dormitory the young man prepared his morning’s supplies, a tea-set, and a triad of novellas he intended to read on the beach:
- The Bizarre tale of Mr. Jackson and the Sixth Street Surgeon, by Louis Robertson, a dark and rich horror story and the longest of the day’s selections.
- The White Death of Flevance, by Leo Toy, a semi-historical story of a minister of Flevance who succumbed to the white lead’s poisoning.
- Woadman, by Henri Thoreau, a text of greenery and philosophy.

Once ready he quickly went back to the dining hall to meet with other early-risers. While the gentleman was accustomed to serving morning tea to a couple of the base’s faculty each morning, two full tables of the hall were fully occupied by them, including most notably the base’s presiding Commodore Wilford “Rook” Drace. Quickly noticing his cadet enter, Drace waved Moreau over. “Morning Cadet!”

“Good Morning Sir!” Moreau responded, alongside the salute for his superior.

Drace laughed “At ease boy! We were waiting for you! We figured ya'd make some tea for us!"

Relaxing his shoulders the cadet stuttered out "A-apologies for making you wai-” Suddenly, with one hand the Commodore slammed a triad of tall tea tins onto the table, embedding them slightly into its surface of the wood through sheer force. Moreau startled, but was quickly enthralled by the delicacies sitting before him: White Peony, Dark Jeelong, and Green Sencha, all distributed by the renowned and historic Feuilledor tea company. A highly coveted selection of blends fit for a seasoned connoisseur.

After accepting the blessing of  leaves in the young gentleman was stunned, taking an effort to collect himself he stuttered out "Th-thank you sir, are you su-"

"Absolutely sure! And you're welcome boy! Cost me an arm and a leg, but it's all yours so long as ya get to brewin' some up for us!" The Commodore’s interjection was paired with a hearty grin.

With an order from his superior Moreau nodded, and with a bit of effort pried the tea tins from the table before departing for the galley. Excited to serve, the cadet rummaged the kitchen cupboards for every teapot & kettle he could find; and in fact, stashed amongst the pots & pans were four serviceable vessels. Moreau filled each up high with tap water, before setting them on the burner to boil; now was the matter of finding another two strainers and a sufficient number of cups, a task that proved vexing, but ultimately accomplishable.

In some eight minutes the young butler was able to prepare five pots of tea (having, of course, brought his own teapot initially): two pots of Dark Jeelong, one of White Peony and of Green Sencha, and a small pot of his personal blend. With efficacious grace and speed Moreau was able to take and serve 28 cups of tea perfectly; his final order would be for the Commodore.
"What would you like sir?"

Drace quickly scanned the remaining 8 cups, and looked over to the 5 Cadets who had filtered into the hall. “Ha! Well what do you have left?!”

“A cup of Sencha, one of Peony, two of my own blend, and a fair amount of Jeelong.”

“Alright boy, we’re leavin' the rest of the Jeelong for the Cadets. Y’all could use a pick me up. I want Sencha and Peony in those two little cups there” the Commodore gestured to two of the remaining mugs “and I want the rest of your Rose tea in that big ‘un there!” he gestured again, this time towards a comically large mug.

Moreau smiled knowingly “Are you sure sir?”

Wilford looked back quizzically, and paused a moment before retorting  “Sure I’m sure boy! Get the dang tea!”

The young gentleman chuckled to himself as he fetched his Commodore’s sampling of beverages, setting them down on a small platter. Two small white mugs each flanked their novelty counterpart: a large white mug, glazed with black text reading “{#}1{/#} Cadet.”

Drace looked down, then shot the boy an exasperated glower. Moreau looked back timidly, worrying his joke was over the line. Then suddenly the Commodore turned his mug to the rest of the table and began laughing. The rest of the table soon followed suit as Drace went to show the other faculty; in short order the entire dining hall was, once again, filled with uproarious laughter.

Moreau continued to serve tea until Drace and the remaining faculty filtered out of the hall at 9:13 AM. Afterwards, he packed up his tea kit, and enjoyed a day to himself in his dormitory watering his roses and herbs, and reading his novellas late into the evening.

The next day the young gentleman slept into the leisurely hour of 8:00 AM, a rare occurrence, but not unheard of. He was surprised to find, however, that those in the dining hall were awaiting his return, with several members of faculty expecting a reprisal of Monday's démontrer de thé. Moreau quickly apologized for his lateness and prepared a round of tea before making his exit.

As the holdout had spent 7 years at the base he had grown quite fond of the library, having familiarized himself with every weapons manual available and read over much of the remaining selection. Upon arriving he was met with the librarian Maxine’s usual orneriness:
“Hey… if I’m not mistaken this is gonna be the 7 year nerd’s last visit to the library! Finally gettin’ outta my hair eh?!”

“Hello Maxine, pleasure as always.” Moreau was always cordial with Maxine, and he did genuinely appreciate her.

“Alright kid where am I sendin’ ya?” The boy had often required direction to find what he was looking for amongst the base’s stacks.

“Actually Maxine, I think I’ll just be wandering today.”

“Dang not even gonna ask me to bump your access again? Maybe you really have grown up.”

“Well if you’re offering.” Moreau smirked sarcastically. Over the last several years the young man had repeatedly, if not somewhat jokingly, asked the librarian to grant him access to the faculty stacks in hopes of finding more weapons manuals and schematics.

“Real funny kid. Careful I don’t lock ya in there, make ya miss yer boat out.” Maxine commented, as she opened the door for her nerdy nemesis.

The library had a cold ambiance, its stone walls and labyrinthine halls would be well suited for a dungeon. Moreau perused the shelves by chandelier-light, picking a selection of books he had overlooked in his prior visits, and that he figured he would be able to finish by the end of the day. When he had finished choosing his material, the following texts sat upon his library reading desk:
- A Sea of Old men, by Errant Heironimus, a semi-autobiographical novella written by a former pirate about the futility in searching for the One Piece.
- The Book of Five Elements, by Mishima Nobunaga, a book written by a Wano Kuni samurai describing the techniques of a swordsman through pragmatic and metaphorical lenses.
- Booby Traps & Common Pitfalls, by Vernon Quint, a manual describing how to set up & avoid booby traps.
- Small arms Schematics, by Stanway Sweat, a small manual and portfolio outlining how to draft Small arms Schematics.
- White Leviathan, by Sherman  Millefoille, a book about it’s author’s encounter with, and fixation on, a Sea King.

Wednesday was, as Wednesdays often are, largely unremarkable. After serving morning tea Moreau went for a walk, hoping to appreciate the base’s foliage, but the prolonged snowfall put a damper on these plans as it had kept much of the island's flora in dormancy.  

"Purururu Pururur-"
Moreau picked up the receiver of the ringing snail. Whoever was calling chose to do so at the crack of dawn, waking Moreau an hour earlier than usual.

"Hello?"

"Howdy kid. We're making  time, so we'll see you Saturday. Hope you're in fighting shape, one of my officers has a bone to pick."

The drowsy young man paused for a moment as he stretched and rose from his bed. "Oh… Elise, good to hear it. Is it something important?”

“Could be. Only for you really. I highly reccomend you get yourself back in practice, my men are in the best shape they’ve ever been. I’d like to see that you’re up to snuff.”

“I don’t know that I’ve fallen out of practice, I’m just enjoying the last of my time here.” Moreau looked down from his icy window to the campus’ frosted willow trees.

“No excuse can change the consequence of poor performance on the battlefield. I wouldn’t be so sure of that last part either Moreau.” Elise’s tone was cold and stern, and the more subtle implication of her reprimand flew over the drowsy gentleman’s head.

“I agree. I’d best get back to practicing then, in the future would you give me warning before you sicc your crew on me?” The young man responded with a playful but exasperated tone to his voice as he stared out towards the carpet of fresh coruscating snow.

“Watch it. We’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Ko-Cha” The call was brief, but Moreau’s sleep had been cessated, and so his day was to begin an hour early.

Separating the 119th branch from its surroundings is a ring of sheet-ice and glaciers, the branch is accordingly: quite difficult to enter or exit, and therefore used almost exclusively for training and logistical purposes. In most sea-charts, the area is simply referred to as an icefield. Elise and her crew sailed onwards relentlessly through the broken ice, as they had been training on a Marine base not far to the north, they only had to travel a short way southwards; however the Commodore had still had to drive her men in order to break through the ice.

Moreau, anxious at the coming of his harshest instructor, quickly prepared his joggers, and made his way to the base’s training facility. For all the 119th’s faults, it was a brutal proving ground. Its track and sparring field had been built upon a short tower the same height as the base’s ramparts, and thus were exposed to the Northern winds; Marines who emerged from the 119th were often quite resilient against the wind and cold because of this training.

The exhausted young man set down his messenger bag, and arranged a small recovery area for himself using a floor-mat, a set of hand-weights, a set of hand towels, and two full bottles of rose water.

Moreau had engaged in a thorough and extensive stretching routine since noticing stiffness in his joints shortly after eating his devil fruit, the rotation of his joints had sounded more similar to articulating metal ever since; as the gentleman went about his warm-up a pair of young cadets looked over in evident concern. Coming to his routine’s conclusion he snapped his back and shoulders into place, before doing a final test of flexibility: nice and limber, might last a day or two.

Between the hours of 6:00 AM and 8:00 PM Moreau engaged in vigorous exercise, running a total of seventy kilometers between his weight training and combat forms. To run against the island’s icy seabreeze was torturous, the crystals of salt and ice that permeated the winds were like tiny daggers dragging themselves against the cadets faces. Instructor Gus had always taken time to make clear to the recruits that this was a fraction of the pain that it was a Marine’s duty to undertake, that this would be the least of their hardships. Over his 7 years training Moreau had taken this message to heart, and sprinted forwards through the pain, interval after interval, running as quickly as he could. As it began to rain, the young man looked upwards, the burning pain of his rubbed-raw cheeks was lightly assuaged by the falling droplets; the remainder of those training had made their exit promptly, however one cadet was just arriving.

“Hey buddy.” That familiar voice cut through the rainfall with deadly accuracy. Prendick Drace, son of the commodore, and Moreau’s opponent in the two’s final combat examination. “Heard dad gave ya a nice graduation present, n’ here I was thinkin’ I’d graduate this year. Honestly I don’t even know what pops n’ his judges were on about, I did everything perfectly, just figured I could get things over with quickly against some old loser.”

“Well we all have our lessons to learn, don't we Prens?” Moreau retorted.

“Tch. Fight me again then, prove it wasn’t a fluke.” The young Drace snarled out across the rain-slicked sparring field.

And so Moreau, politely obliging his fellow cadet’s challenge, donned his live-sparring clothes. Both of the young men, now set to fight, bowed to one another and began their melee. The purple-haired gentleman had chosen an estoc from his inner armory, whereas the commodore’s son had brought along his sabre; the two clashed, leaping from the soaking ground towards one another.

“You know that the sabre is generally viewed as an inferior form? You come to rely on your edge…” Moreau made a thrust for his opponent’s shoulder before continuing. “... rather than your technique!” He followed with a salvo of lunging strikes, his opponent deftly avoiding or parrying each one.

“And you know why you’re inferior Moreau?...” The young Drace feinted for a blow to the shoulder before dropping his blade. “Because you’ve come to rely on pity rather than ability!”

The sweeping flat of sabre struck into Moreau’s knee, knocking him off his balance. The gentleman grunted as he withdrew, assuming a full guard against his opponent. The two exchanged blows and parries for some 8 minutes, Moreau guarding himself while managing his stamina and knee, Drace toying with his prey.

As Moreau, now thoroughly winded, gasped out for air, Prendick struck. The slash was made against the exhausted Moreau’s right hip, and left ankle, and was followed by a pushing kick. This allowed Prendick to knock his opponent to the ground and bring an end to the duel with his sabre ready to coup de grace.

Moreau shot a solemn and pained look up towards his opponent, as the commodore’s son looked down disdainfully at his opponent’s gasps for air. “Neither one of us is winnin’ on a fluke. Meet me back here tomorrow at midnight.” Prendick strode away with his victory and the last word, but with little actual satisfaction, thus as soon as Moreau’s rival had arrived he was gone.

Low to the ground the wind was gone, and the young man lay lonesome on the ground, soaking beneath the rain like the roots of the island’s willows. Amongst the falling droplets his gray eyes were as storm clouds, pouring their bounty upon the earth. As the rain continued on the 119th branch was absolved of its prideful snowfall, father winter had begun to falter.

After warming up in the training facility’s showers Moreau returned to his dormitory with his head hung in shame.
“SHIUH-HU” upon arriving the young gentleman, cold from the day’s wind and rain, began sneezing violently and seeing white. Recognizing the issue the young man immediately took efforts to resolve his hypothermic symptoms, putting a pot of tea on, changing into his lounging-robe and fleeces, and running a bath; trembling and struggling to maintain consciousness throughout. Luckily his self-treatment was sufficient, as his breathing steadied and the bath raised his core temperature. With the thoroughly exhausting and awful day behind him Moreau retired for the evening and steeled himself for tomorrow’s challenge.

Moreau awoke that Friday early as usual, and went about the beginning of his day at a leisurely pace, savoring what would be one of his last chances to serve tea to the base, and it seemed that a sizable portion of the cadets and faculty had a similar idea. The dining hall was all but completely full, a rare occurrence for the mornings, but it seems word had spread of the morning tea’s quality. Once again the young man put himself to the task of serving a great amount of tea, and fortunately it seemed that somebody had brought an additional set of cups and fetched the kitchen’s teapots from its depths. Though there were sufficient cups, it would require multiple rounds of tea from each kettle to serve all present; and so Moreau steeped pot after pot of tea, emerging from the kitchen with plattered cups to serve a table at a time.

The first table served was that of the graduate cadets who raucously ushered their server over as soon as he had prepared his first steep. "Hey Moreau!" Ben beamed at his fellow cadet, and a number of the other graduates also seemed happy to see their former stooge in good spirits.

"Hello Ben, good to see everybody doing well! What can I pour for you?"

"I'm pretty excited! Haven't been much for tea, but I heard yours was really good so surprise me! We'll be able to head out onto the open seas soon here man!"

"Hah! I hope so! Even as much as I enjoy it here with all of you!"

Moreau quickly served the cadet's orders, bringing Ben a cup of Peony. As he served the group he made small talk with them, and offered to bring them another round once he had gotten to the other tables.

Maxine and other administrative faculty awaited their server's arrival, as the purple-haired gentleman exited the kitchen the ornery librarian called over: "Hey nerd! What's with the hold-up?"

Moreau sighed and carried the platter over to her table. "So what's the deal? Servin' those kids over there 'fore ya get to our most esteemed party here?” The middle-aged woman exaggeratedly rolled her palm over towards the rest of her table, Moreau squinted back for a moment before the librarian broke character with a self-satisfied smile. "Hei-hon-hon-ho Hei-hon-ho!" The librarian cackled. "You shoulda seen the look on yer face! Hei-hon-h… oh alright, I've had my fun, get on to servin' us."

"Of course Maxine. Yare-yare-shi." Moreau let out a mildly irritated laugh before pouring Maxine her preferred cup of Dark jeelong, and serving the rest of the table courteously.

Only two tables were yet to be served, that of the underclassman, and that of the upper faculty. Upon returning to the floor Commodore Drace waved the young gentleman away from his table, over towards the last of the cadets. After turning away from the elder Drace Moreau was met with the condescending smile of the younger. Prendick beckoned his server over.
"Hello Prens, I don't suppose you were wanting tea then? I thought you hated the stuff?"

The gentleman recalled the first time Prendick had attended morning tea, wherein a cup of fine Nilgiri had been spat out rather dramatically.

"Oh no I want some! Pops bought ya plenty didn't he? Plus, last night was pretty chilly,I could use somethin' to warm up.”

"Quite so.” Moreau bitterly recalled his brief encounter with hypothermia. “But of course I can make tea for you Prens. Wouldn't want to face tonight on unequal footing would we?"

"Hah. I don't know what you're gettin' at, I'll beat ya tonight too! Just don't get yourself winded before we start again!” The elder Drace looked over to his son from the other table, he had been wondering why Prendick had returned to his dormitory so late last night. The young cadet immediately shot Moreau a panicked look, before barking out his order: "Get me some of the Sencha! C'mon just get on with it!" The young Drace was flush in the face as he buried his head in his hands. Moreau smirked, before pouring the young man his tea, and graciously serving the others at the table.

Now the time had come to complete the Ordeal, the butler would serve tea to senior faculty, and then he would  be free to go about his day. “What will it be today sir?” the gentleman asked the senior Drace, who had attended each day’s tea since Monday, sampling each of the blends he had purchased for Moreau extensively.

“I’d love some more ‘a your Rose Blend. Damn good stuff kid.” Moreau was pleased with the Commodore’s compliments, and fetched his order with a joyful smile before attending to the remainder of the table, serving a bit more to the first table of Cadets, and promptly making his exit.

Moreau spent the remainder of daylight at the training facility, engaging himself in light exercise consisting primarily of combat forms and aerobic weight training. By the end of his training day he was feeling far less exhausted than his prior day of compulsive cardio, a bit of composure had gone a long way. The young man continued his training well into the night, by the time midnight came, he had grown somewhat tired but was ready for his second duel.

The sky was clear that night as the waning crescent moon leaked its light upon the sparring field, Prendick arrived in shadow, followed by a familiar pair of hulking figures. As the trio drew nearer the faces of Instructor Gus and Commodore Drace were revealed.

“Hello Gentlemen.” Moreau spoke out to the trio, neglecting his superior’s titles as he spoke, if only for convenience's sake.

“How’s it going, Moreau? Heard my kid challenged ya to another fight.” The elder Drace spoke on his son’s behalf.

“Well enough, Elise told me to train so I’ve been doing so. Your son has actually challenged me to three fights since our exams, I simply denied his request for a rematch while we were being evaluated. Here we are for our third little bout, might as well call it a set.”

“Hah, I heard about yesterday. Seems like he caught you after you’d been running for 12 hours.” The Commodore glared down at his son, seemingly ashamed that Prendick had picked such an unfair fight. “I hope you’re doing better this evening.”

“I am. I’ve felt no compulsion to run from my problems.”

“Look at our Cadet, all grown up, and a man of quality it seems!” Instructor Gus interjected over top of his Commodore. “I knew we’d make something of ya one of these days!”

“I was all but grown when I came here Gus.”

“I don’t know about that Cadet! Still got a little bit of that sheltered brat in ya!”
The purple haired man shot a glare towards his Drill Instructor. Though he respected the man, it often seemed that Gus was flippant when mentioning Moreau’s past.

“Let’s get on with this, I’m ready.” The young gentleman’s forearm reconstituted from metallic ichor into his estoc.

“Finally! Now get outta the way pops, you too Instructor!” Prendick hissed back towards his cadre.

“Let’s settle this! No more flukes, playtime’s over.” The young Drace shouted over to Moreau, his voice cracking with “playtime.” After an embarrassed pause, he readied his weapon and the two opponents drew towards one another.

As Prendick advanced he saw no openings in his opponent’s form, Moreau’s demeanor had shifted from that of an incompetent inferior, to one of menacing calm. As Drace went for a lunge against Moreau’s shoulder he was met with a sharp pain against his cheek, the gentleman’s lightning-quick retort had drawn blood.

“Tch. Lucky.” Prendick dove in for another attack, but was tripped as his opponent sidestepped and bashed the estoc’s guard against the back of his head.

The fuzzy visage of estoc stabs were matched with sharp pains as Moreau’s blade drove into Prendick’s shoulders and sides. “There is no luck, Prens. Only technique and conditioning.”

“You smug asshole!” the young Drace roared as he wildly swung out towards his opponent.
Moreau dodged the sabre’s slashes as his opponent advanced blindly towards him.

“Ah, temper, temper.” The gentleman duelist sidestepped once again, tripping the young Drace onto his palms.

Prendick’s head began to clear, his vision stabilized, and his frustration had reached its breaking point. With a frightening glare upwards towards his opponent Prendick threw all of his strength into a single strike. “You’re mine!”

Moreau’s training lamé ripped as the sabre drew it’s cutting edge through the armor, drawing a thin cut all the way through to the gentleman’s torso. Prendick’s expression changed to that of a feral smile as he continued striking for his opponent’s shoulders with accuracy and fervor. Moreau blocked each successive attack with the guard of his estoc before dodging backwards, lowering his blade, and raising his hand.

“I concede, you win Pren. We shouldn’t be fighting on damaged armor.” the gentleman gestured towards the large tear down his vest, and the several holes driven into Prendick’s.

“Oh no! This isn’t over yet, Moreau! I was just startin’ to have fun!” The wild Drace charged towards his conceded opposition. Moreau dodged 3 strikes, before a hulking and menacing presence entered the battlefield, looming behind the berserker like a monstrous mountain.

“Son. YOU WILL NOT KEEP ATTACKING AFTER AN OPPONENT HAS SURRENDERED!” The Commodore had grabbed his son’s blade, a drop of blood spilled to the grass below, Prendick looked up at his father and was terrified. The hulking figure picked his son up by the scruff of his vest. “NEVER AGAIN!”
The Commodore Wilford Drace slammed his son into the turf of the training field, the youngling crumpled into semi-consciousness, letting out a choking cough as he was driven into the dirt. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to drive him to this.”

“No… no it’s not your fault. He’ll be damn lucky if he doesn’t get held back longer than you did!” The Commodore spoke loudly, his son groaned out from his human-shaped indentation.

“Guess ya learned surrender doesn’t always work out so well eh Moreau?” Instructor Gus called over from the benches. “Sometimes your just gonna fight people who don’t know when enough is enough! Be grateful our Commodore here didn’t let ya see what happens when ya give in to someone like that. Let me tell ya, you’ll be lucky if ya die fighting against someone like that.”

“As though I’m going to surrender to anybody outside the Navy?! As though we shouldn’t be able to expect some semblance of decency from our ranks?” Moreau called back with an irritated tone. The Instructor shot back a bemused smile.

The young gentleman checked his pocket watch, the hour was 12:15 in the morning. “I apologize sir. I have another matter to settle tomorrow before I embark, would you mind if I take my leave so I can go to sleep?”

“Of course Moreau. Get back safe. Sleep well.”

And so the fledgling retreated to his dormitory, having lost technically, but with his pride unscathed.

Commodore Elise was as boisterous and punctual as ever with her arrival to the 119th branch, her ship docking and blaring its siren’s “all hands on deck” pattern at the ripe hour of 4:39 AM. All across the base a collective groan could be heard as the Cadets and Faculty shuffled out of their living quarters and down towards the docks.

Moreau’s night of sleep had been rather short, as he had arrived back at his dormitory at 12:28 PM, and gotten to bed by 12:42 PM. In total the young man had been able to sleep for just under 4 hours, and upon his arrival at the docks this was evident; dark bags hung beneath the young man’s eyes, his movement was disjointed and laden with the sounds of creaking metal, and he seemed slightly delirious as he groaned out half-responses to those who greeted him.

Elise stood in a bold pose, throwing her pointer finger out towards her drowsy student.
“Moreau!” The Commodore bellowed with a dramatic pause. “It’s about time we see if you’re really ready to leave this place!” she procured a piece of paper from the inside of her suit-jacket, and held it outwards, pointing at it with her other hand “This here? This is my recommendation to hold you back another year, all it takes is a signature from Mr. Drace over here to keep you.” Commodore Drace looked apologetically over towards the young gentleman as Elise gestured to him.

“Warrick!” she called up to one of her crewmen, still resting against the navy ship’s railing. The man dropped from the ship, as he landed the wood of the dock let forth a thunderous groan. The man was lean and tall, with a broad muscular chest barely contained by the hem of his uniform.

“Yes Commodore Elise!?” The dark haired man awaited the orders of his superior. Moreau could swear he recognized this man, as though he was a more powerfully built version of a familiar face.

“State your issue to our Cadet here!”

“Hello Moreau! I understand that you’re now being permitted to attain the rank of Seaman Recruit! Before I can allow that to happen, we have a quarrel to resolve! On the date of september 16th 1822 you pointed firearms at two Officers! I was one of those Officers, and I want to make clear that I found that choice unacceptable then, and that I find it distasteful that such a person would be allowed to join the ranks of the Marines!” The crowd muttered amongst themselves, nobody had known that Moreau had engaged in any delinquent acts.

“I apologize sir! I didn't mean to do that!”

“Hah! Didn’t mean to do it eh? I haven’t known many men stupid enough to point a loaded weapon at anything they don’t intend to kill.” Warrick shouted over to the young man in a mocking tone.

“Sir I had no contr-” the young man was cut off.

“Enough talk!” the wolflike man growled down towards Moreau. “Fight me and we’re even. Beat me and we’ll take you out for deployment. All I ask is a chance to hold you at the end of my weapon!” Warrant Officer Warrick whirled his Jutte up to point towards the young gentleman.

“Alright. I suppose it has to be this way.” Moreau cast his estoc from his arm.

The crowd watched on excitedly as the two met gazes, and as the fight began. Warrick charged down the docks towards his young opponent, feinting an overhead strike with his Jutte Moreau went for a block, but was punished as the Officer shifted his weight into a devastating side kick. The young duelist stumbled backwards from the force of the kick and attempted to regain his balance before falling on his ass. With another sudden strike Moreau felt a crack to his chin, as the underhanded Jutte strike knocked him fully prone.

Moreau Coughed out “Ugh. Guess we’re even then eh?” His speech stilted and weak from the freshly-bashed fracture in his jawbone.

“Oh we’ve barely begun. This one’s for Lawrence!” The Warrant Officer kicked his prone opponent in the side, the Cadet crying out in pain. Warrick then proceeded to kick, stomp, and punch Moreau for a full minute as much of the crowd watched on in horror.

“You’re gonna Kill ‘im!” Maxine shouted out. The Officer continued his onslaught.

“That’s my buddy! You gotta stop man!” Ben called over to the Officer. The Officer stood with his foot pressed firm against the young man’s chest.

“We get it. He’s stayin’ with us Rick.” Commodore Drace started to walk over towards the combatants to break the fight. Moreau extended his arm, trying to crawl free.

“So your just gonna surrender again?” Prendick called over to his injured peer. “I’m sick of seein’ you give up, askin’ people for second tries.” Moreau looked back with a pathetic smile. “You gotta keep fighting, even if you break, ya gotta keep fightin’.” Prendick looked down at Moreau with shame “Plus I’m sick of seeing your fuckin’ face around here. Go fall off a ship.”

Taking his rival’s “encouraging” words to heart, Moreau continued the fight, transforming his extended arm into the estoc, and shunting it through the Warrant Officer’s Achilles tendon. The Officer cried out in pain and lept backwards, dragging Moreau partially back to his feet as his sword-arm sloughed out from his enemy’s grievous wound.

The young man, now free from his opponent’s restraint, took deep and laborious gasps for air as his opponent howled on in pain.

“You little bastard!” Warrick, with a swing of his Jutte, attempted to fight through the pain of his injury, but as he lifted his heel for a second strike against his young opponent, a sharp pain rang throughout his body. “Groughooo!”   the Officer cried out in agony as he toppled forwards onto his good leg.

The young man chuckled at his opponent’s futile efforts, and coughed out a mouthful of blood before uttering, with an eerie euphonia: “Guess I spoke too soon. This ends now.” Exploiting his opponent’s injury, Moreau quickly transformed his estoc into a sturdy bokken before cracking his opponent upside the head, sending the Warrant Officer staggering backwards as he jabbed wildly for the young duelist. Only one of these attacks landed, slamming into Moreau’s shoulder and pushing him backwards.

On his back foot Moreau lept backwards, evading his opponent’s meager followup before unleashing a hail of daggers on his enemy. The officer’s feet were impaled and stuck down to the board of the dock, and the remainder of this hail thoroughly lacerated the man’s Officer jacket.

Warrick grunted out in pain “Damn it! What is this rookie just made of weapons?”

A brief silence ushered over the crowd as the irony washed over them.

“Well actually yes.” Moreau stated matter-of-factly as he sprinted to his opponent’s flank and launched into a jumping ax kick. The force of Moreau’s kick was sufficient to knock the Officer off of the dock and over into the ocean; the wide-framed man’s fall splashing a large spray of salt-water upwards.

As Elise’s crew went to rescue their officer the remainder of those present began to cheer and applaud, and it seems that members of both Elise’s crew and the branch had been ready to celebrate as cups of ale and rum began to appear in the hands of Cadets, Faculty, and Navymen alike. This day the island’s carnelians and willow trees had begun to bloom, and the celebrating Marine base enjoyed their food & drink beneath the beginnings of the foliage’s beauty.

As the night wound to its conclusion Elise approached her protege, an Officer’s jacket draped over her forearm. “I’m surprised you could beat Warrick. Maybe you really have grown.” compliments, even backhanded ones, weren’t common from Commodore Faivre.

Elise handed Moreau’s jacket over to him, he received it with watering eyes. “Must have.”
“The unit we’re deploying you to needs a Weapons Officer, and a homemaker. Seems up your alley, and I guess you can hold your own against a Warrant Officer. Might as well make you an Ensign.” The Commodore procured another document and a pen from the inside of her jacket “Sign this and the job’s yours.”

Moreau looked over to his cold mentor. No going back. No more surrender. The young man took the paper and signed it.

“Kiah-ha-ha!” Elise smiled towards her new Ensign “Alright kid! We’ll get out to sea tomorrow then! Get packing!” Moreau smiled back at Elise before heading back to his dormitory.

The time had come for the island’s Gentle-Weapon to pack his things and on the morrow he would depart for broader horizons. He could hardly believe it. Moreau set himself about the task of gathering up his things, packing his teas, teaset, gardening supplies, book collection, hygiene products and other personal belongings into a steamer trunk before going about his laundry.

Before he packed his clothes Moreau was intent upon properly laundering them, he began with the precious new article he had earned: his Officer’s jacket, and ran it alongside his first load of whites, he proceeded through the remainder of his white uniforms before continuing to his pants, after running the bulk of his civilian clothes Moreau finished the matter by running his reds. As the young gentleman pulled his rouge suit from the laundry he noticed his mistake:

He hadn’t removed his jacket from the first load of laundry, and it had been run alongside every other load, the coat was now a gray-ish pink.

Moreau initially began to cry, taking his mistake to heart as a sign that he wasn’t fit to be an Officer. However he quickly reassured himself. There would be no more surrender. Moreau dried the coat again, sealing its pigment in as he slept his last night at the 119th branch.

The next morning was beautiful, the rose-colored sky sprouting from the morning sun. Elise had afforded her crew, and Moreau, the luxury of sleeping in until 6:30, at exactly that hour a series of rattling knocks were let forth at the dormitory’s door. “Ensign! Get your things! It’s time to go!”

Moreau, still somewhat sleep deprived, grabbed his coat and slid off of his bed onto the floor. After crawling out of his room Moreau accepted that he had to stand up, did so, put on his pink coat, and grabbed his luggage before double-checking that he hadn’t left anything behind, and making his way out the door. Elise and her fresh Ensign left campus, Moreau stopping by the dining hall to say a tearful goodbye to those gathered, the Draces, Bingham, Maxine, Gus, and a number of other Cadets wished him well on his journey.

As Elise’s ship, the SSS Mistral made it’s way through the icefields once more its inhabitants seemed in good spirits, savoring the orange and fuschia skyline and its clouds of willow and lavender. “Hey aren’t ya gonna apologize for stabbin’ me through the foot so many times kid?”

“You were trying to beat me to death. I figured we were even?” The Officers, now confrères, sat beneath the golden hour and voyaged outwards towards the thrilling mystery of the horizon.

Post Word Count: 7,065
Total Word Count: 7,065

[Episode] Iron Will

The member 'Amadeus Rhodes' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 1, 17, 16

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#2 'Reflex Check' : 18, 18, 11


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Gray struck out an extra roll from #1.

[Episode] Hunting Season

There it was. The blood lust in air. Lu Shang could feel it now, more intense than ever. He would know. He was sensitive to those sorts of things. Had been for years. Since even before he ate one of the devil's fruit and became even more carnivorous. He was a professional fighter after all and reading the crowd (as well as his opponent) was part of the job. Even the beach goers and restaurant patrons could sense it. They watched the show unfold from the edges of the road and from various balconies, porches and patios. Lu Shang could hear them murmuring, making bets and talking trash about one party or the other.

Then it happened.

It started when the homeless looking man charged passed Lu Shang and his company and struck one of the belligerent drunkards. From there it came to a fever pitch when a blue haired woman who smelled ever so faintly of blood, as if she'd been washed in it once, attacked the apparent leader of the violent officials. The crowd cheered and hurled insults at the marines while others screamed encouragement at the woman, the hobo and Lu Shang himself.

“Get 'em Lu! Show 'em you're the champ!” cheered the Bellagio beauties as they bounced around in their teeny, tiny string bikinis.

Lu Shang would turn to the crowd behind him and flex his massive biceps. Then he would let out a guttural roar so great that it would shake the shops that the lined the streets. The crowd in turn would cheer louder than ever before. Unfortunately for Lu however, his showboating would soon be cut short. As the big man turned back around to face the marines he was immediately force fed a flying knee to the face.

Lu would stagger back as the muscle bound, tank top wearing marine who fed him that kneed dropped to the ground, and landed on their feet. Lu looked down at the marine who immediately charged at Lu Shang with an advancing cross followed up by a hard right body hook. Lu Shang tensed his muscles up, opting not to dodge or block. Instead he chose to absorb each and every blow. He wanted to see that these marines could do.

So far it wasn't much.

“What's your name?” growled Lu Shang.

The marine opened his mouth, perhaps to answer the question or perhaps just to tell Lu Shang to go fuck himself. It didn't matter. Before they could say anything Lu Shang's right leg shot forward and the flat of this foot smashed into the marine's torso in a maneuver commonly known as a defensive front kick. The marine was sent flying back across the street by the blow, stopping only after they smashed through the wooden walls of one of the local bar and grills.

“It doesn't matter what your name is!” bellowed The Great Lu Shang as the crowd cheered some more.

Even if these guys were weak this was still going to be fun.

Word Count:

COMBAT TRACKERS:

[Episode] Hunting Season

Round 1:

Lu Shang uses:
Lion's Roar on Self, Seras Red and Canary A. Shotgun
UT on Nameless Drunk Marine {#}1{/#}

Nameless Drunk Marine {#}1{/#} uses:
LT on Lu Shang
LT on Lu Shang
UT onLu Shang

[Arc] The Execution of Victor Abio

The member 'Victor Abio' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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#1 'Reflex Check' : 18, 2, 16

In Justice We Trust [Episode]

COMBAT TRACKERS:

Listing all techniques and relevant passives used here [spoiler]

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mini post breakdown "I guess"




Listing all techniques and relevant passives used here

Spoiler:

Burton uses LT ( Tetris Fist - Force Motion ) On Self
{#}1{/#} Burton uses LT ( Tetris Fist - Burst Scattering ) On King Crab for 9 damage
{#}2{/#} Burton Uses LT ( Tetris Fist- Falling Stars ) On King Crab for 9 damage
{#}3{/#} Burton Uses UT On King Crab for 4 damage

{#}1{/#} King Crab Uses LT (Shockwave Clamp) On burton for 21 damage
{#}2{/#} King Crab Uss LT ( Crab Hammer) on burton for 21 damage
{#}3{/#} King Crab Uses UT on Burton for 10 damage