#starter;;

Burcu knew his experience before he submitted his existence to the program would be useful, but he never thought he'd have to profile other operatives. In fact, he tried incredibly hard not to in his first year following his initial training, however things changed. Missions would go poorly if agents suspected each other of being the mole, so Burcu was determined to find the truth for himself. Gently, of course.

Tensions had been high for days now so he went around filling every space in Atlantis with the sweetest aromas he could produce, relieving as much stress as he could manage. The perfumes were potent, calming, and—as Burcu secretly desired—would make it easier to open his fellow agents up and find the truth his way. "You don't mind, do you?" he asks the other while preparing tea. Floral, fruity, with hints of delicate spice, Burcu continues to push his abilities to swath the common space with this particular perfume. "I thought we all deserved some rest and relaxation before the next mission. Here, I made enough tea for two if you'd like some. I promise it'll pair well with the fragrance."

It was a passing comment on a stranger's lips, something vague about wanting to learn more about the Vanguard. It pissed Asael off to hear such nonsense and the thick threads of frozen water he began to tug at would've visualized his displeasure. Unfortunately, the glint of Olympian rings distracted him for a moment and his weave misfired, launching his frigid magic haphazardly into the crowd.

Asael didn't have time to stick around and get the scope of his accidental destruction. He slipped away in the resultant chaos, knowing a nearby entrance into the Bazaar. Clutching his hurting, ice-covered hand to his chest, he hoveled through his pain into the darkest alley he could reach, worried that the Olympians were still following him. Asael was visibly in rough shape, however stepping in pain was just second nature to him. When he walked back into another, his immediate reaction was to leap away and raise his uninjured hand, demonstrating that no matter how he may have looked, he was ready for a fight still.

"Well? Think I'm easy all you want, but I'm not," he says, hiding the strain in his voice well enough. He wasn't coughing up blood yet so he could pull off a few more spells before passing out from pain. "You won't get anything if you rob me, I don't got anything. Except for an ass-kicking. That I can give you for free."

The Duchess of the Skies, Athena's Hand, the most graceful airship to grace the skies. She was a gift Karme was still trying to prove he earned through diligent practice of its piloting systems. Participating in combat maneuvers on the front lines of the Queenset Isles was meant to streamline Karme's development as a pilot, but honestly he felt he got the most experience from flying around as he was currently.

The ship dipped, twisted, and flipped in the air, proof that Karme was practicing the controls daily. There was still more work to be done before he could call himself a pro, but the small crowd that had gathered to watch his aerial performance was proof Karme was making progress. As he landed and disbarked he pulled his goggles on top of his head and grinned widely with his arms on his hips. "If you thought that was cool, check this out!" From his pocket, he produced a small object he'd tinkered together in his spare time. It floated in the air and spat out colorful sparks, sparks that changed hue when he tapped the item. He thought it was super cool, plus he made it with his own hands. Sure, flying around in his grandmother's groundbreaking new invention was awesome, but his little trinket had merit too. He thought so at least. "Let's just say this buddy helps to keep the vibe light in the control room," Karme says, showing off how the sparks change color when his finger taps on it.

Thora watched them build the pyre as she cleaned her sword, though she didn't help. There were so many that had come so far only to end up beneath a fire, her own mother among them. Thora's stomach could barely handle it. It churned in disgust and twisted in anger, coiling into knots as she contemplated her life over the last few weeks. The circumstances of the Iskarans weren't random, someone was going to pay. Good thing too, she thought, because I actually enjoy wiping blood off my steel.

Not one for commiserating, Thora seemingly broke out of her trance-like state when Kari shifted her attention, growling in warning as she always did when someone stepped too close to her companion. The pyre no longer interested her, and neither did discussion beyond what came next. The wolf settles once Thora pets her neck. "You look well enough," she interjects abruptly as if she hadn't been soullessly breathing in smoke and death. "Have you been around? Do others seem ready to move? The longer we stay the higher chance there'll be another attack."

Calla may not have been an instructor at the Tower, but when her senior Scholars call on her mind to help guide the next generation of witches, she always answers the call. Teaching or holding demonstrations for the Novices was always fulfilling, and even though Calla's ability to cast was far beyond anything they could hope to achieve, their applause after seeing her weave a mini cloudburst before their very eyes was enough to make her bashful. "Please, that was hardly anything to write home about. Honestly, on my own, I'm nothing special..." But saying so out loud sparked a new idea for her. The girl with mist swirling at her feet hurried to the library's threshold, sensing the perfect addition to her small seminar. "I knew it, you're the perfect one to help," she says wistfully, her eyes visibly lighting up as her fingers interlock. "Would you be willing to help with this demonstration? I know the Novices would appreciate the knowledge we can provide them together."

While it would've been exceptionally more fun to turn Lysandra into a darkfriend and use her as a pawn under his thumb, Dantalion's promotion essentially accomplished the same in terms of access and influence within the Vanguard of the Light. "High Inquisitor" suited him nicely, and just like the he promised the Synod he would get to work rooting out apostasy and heresy from within Lysara. Gently, of course. Dantalion Althais would never upset the delicate, temporary peace between the queendom and Astoria.

The small contingency of faith militants he led were traveling with intention, following up on reports of Vanguard members behaving in disgraceful ways. Of course, to demonstrate their goodwill to the kind people of Lysara, they've already burned more than a few criminals with magic in their veins. The queen's law may have ruled the land, but members of the Vanguard of the Light walked with a higher purpose. Dantalion was well in his right  to enact the One God's justice while Lysara licked her wounds. They were so diligent in this purpose that they didn't just set up camp when they needed rest, they created checkpoints to investigate anyone who came through, seeking only the guilty of course. "All heads bow! All knees bend! Every being in the Realm Of Opposition pay homage, for the Maker of All Things Returns to you!" he recites the words of the faith as he obstructs the way forward for the oncoming travelers. "Today is a glorious day, for you walk in the Light of the One God. If you are weary, our encampments have provisions for you, assuming there is no sin you must repent for," Dantalion offers with his signature smile, unwavering despite the tortured screams coming from somewhere within this Vanguard camp. "Where is it you're heading to today?"

Vesper hired a personal assistant specifically to prevent this very scenario. Between his household staff, documentation for his various cases, and the constant stream of parole requests from the punished he'd undoubtedly reject, he relied heavily on his assistant to keep his busy life in order. Someone walking into his office without an appointment was a sign that perhaps, it was time to find a new one.

"Leave it to a witch who couldn't pass their trials to fail at such a basic task. Really, how difficult is it to keep people out when I'm busy?" he mutters as he tosses his quill down. "I hope you didn't just let your replacement walk in! You may as well start cleaning out your desk because they already seem ten times more competent than you!" he shouts out beyond the doorway despite suspecting his assistant has abandoned their desk. Vesper pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought about all the paperwork he'd have to waste time interviewing candidates yet again. Honestly, how could he be expected to keep up with the Speaker's directives when it was nearly impossible to hire appropriate staff? The younger generation had no work ethic at all. "I'm quite busy, and now I have to fire someone. What do you want?" he asks, finally addressing the one who waltzed in without scheduling a meeting. Eyes still clenched shut as he shook his head, Vesper only looked at them directly once he reigned in his irritation enough. "Mind you, I'm incredibly displeased. You should know better than to assume random drop-ins are conducive to my work. Do try to keep this brief. The clock on my agreeableness started ticking when you stepped foot here."