Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-11527289-20130718200711/@comment-11588669-20130721034504

Dropping himself on a bench, Nox sighs. Hunters. Of all the groups...Hunters. The very name leaves a bad taste. Scowling, his thoughts drift back to how this happened.

He stares at the screen in shock. How could they?! How dare they?! The animosity between Mercenaries and Hunters is deep, but to stoop to this level! Nox rereads the email, trying to find a flw. "Noctum Ambrosious Caeruleus. It has come to our attention that your particular skill sets would better the world working for us, instead of for yourself. We understand your resentment, and have taken measures to secure your agreement. If you do not accept our proposal, we shall freeze your monetary accounts, and provide a more...in depth incentive to join us. Our request is quite simple; you come to Beacon, and become a Huntsmen. We dearly hope you choose the right course of action.- With best wishes, Beacon Academy.

Nox winces as pulsing floods his skull. "Not again." He mutters. Reaching into a pouch, he removes several items; a flask; several vials of a dark red liquid; a cleaning kit; headphones; and a whet stone. Taking a swig from the flask, he replaces the vials inside the pouch. The migraine has dialed down, but it is still present. Sighing, he places the headphones on his ears, drowning out the incessant chatter of others.

Unsheathing his large techknife, he promptly begins to clean it. Running the stone down the blade, he smiles darkly as the sparks run off.

Beacon Academy will never be the same.