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| Topic Started: Jan 23 2009, 12:45 PM (197 Views) | |
| Renegade | Jan 23 2009, 12:45 PM Post #1 |
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Using carcasses as stepping stones.
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It was said to be the dominion of strength. Of the will of the people from pauper to prince. Strength inward more than outward, but strength all the same. Dragon's breath roiled through the city streets, or so they said. It was really just a fog, but superstitions and traditions insisted otherwise. Personally, she could care less. A flick of the thumb, and fire, again, dark. She whiled her time away, fire, dark, fire, dark. Her breath didn't mist on the air as the cloth covered her, purposefully of course. In truth she should not have given herself away. The flame was unmistakable, after all. But times were hard, they said. So it was that time of year again. Sacrifice. Poor innocent chickens and goats. Prey. Ah, but not hers. She was simply watching. Shoulders leaned again some cold stone icon. One of many, shaped like dragons. The men, cobblers and farmers, sacrificed their fowl and kids to the dragons of old. Pagan gods one could say. It reminded her of ... something. Times since ... passed. Freaks dancing naked around fires. They were dead now, burned in their own fires, drowned in the rivers, hung from trees like common thieves. Aimlessly a hand went to her throat at the later thought. Who'd have guessed that her fate was nearly the same. She started, flame flickering to nothing. Blood splattered across her boots. If she had been the kind of person who spoke, she would have cursed. Instead, she drew the dagger from her belt. Her mood was not, good natured. She'd be more than happy to work out her frustrations on some random cut purse. This was not to be. A muttered apology and old boots scrambling across the cobblestones faded away. Drunken idiots, dropping their sacrificial lambs at her feet. It was... Obscene. Then she was uncertain as to the blood, or something else. But she felt ill. Too much venturing into the cold too soon, she supposed. Not long ago she had escaped death. The rope left her voice dead and throat raw. Annoying. She'd never get any work done like this. They'd kill her before she'd even get a chance. Well. At least she remembered that much even if everything else was more obscure than this fog. Damn it. Now she was a cliche. All she needed now was unrequited love and an alcohol problem. Perfect. Novel. Material. In hindsight, standing around at the edge of a city street with misty weather wasn't helping. But. It was quiet. She liked quiet. There went the fire again, a mere flicker, light. Dark. Light ... dark. Again, and again. The dagger went to rest at her belt, blood scraped on the pedestal of the dragon statue. How mundane. |
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| Kaono | Jan 30 2009, 12:35 PM Post #2 |
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The Stormbringer
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Travel was important, its what allowed the warriors hell the people of the Dian Clan to learn and understand. This Day, Skaren found himself headed back to the main land, after a tussle with some mist demons on the island with the same name. The boy was growing up fast, and coming into his own. The months he was away from home, faced with situations of every shape, size, and type has allowed the Caged One to learn things about himself. This day was no different, this day the youth would learn from a city he has heard much about but has never been to. The City behind the forest of four souls, the city of the 4 guardians and a place of great isolation and even greater magic. The youth was heavily equipped, weapons adorned his figure and yet he moved ever so easily. 4 blades and a dagger, his traditional swords Alpha and Omega strapped diagonally cross on his lower back. His other two blades, magical swords found in some temple, holding the power of the skies and the heavens, swords that called storms for their masters. Rarely did Skaren draw the storm blades, somewhat because he fears their power, and otherwise doesn't understand them, the constant inaudible whispering in his head as if the blades were talking to him. He knew not their names, and not their history... just that he could feel the magical power seeping off the ancient steel. For one that relied on his own might, such magical power was... in-acceptable. Roaming into the old city the youthful boy eyed his surroundings well, in a way he was admiring the buildings. To have been built so long ago and still standing, the forces of nature on all sides. The sea water that could rust even the finest steel, and the forest at its front that if it so wished could uproot the stone walkways and buildings with ease. He was... impressed to say the least, and it showed on his face as icy silver eyes continued to sway back and forth in every direction truly admiring the draconic like culture of the current ward he was in. He was pleased until the smell of blood filled his nostrils, and his eyes went from roaming the city walls and streets to roaming the faces of people, carrying corpses of animals. Sacrifices? In this day and age? It set the youth ill at ease, what dragon would demand sacrifices? Not even the Evil Queen Tiamat would demand such. |
![]() "Come... Show me what your kind calls fury."-Kaono "If your blade is drawn... then cut."-Kaono }|{Description}|{}|{Theme Song}|{}|{Inventory}|{ PhantomInventory | |
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| Michael Dashfield | Feb 2 2009, 01:26 PM Post #3 |
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Newcomer
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Never before had a slab of old, hardened oak ever been so comfortable. Michael Dashfield, villain to some, hero to others, and another broken blade to most lay upon his crossed arms, face nuzzled against a cold tankard of what the locals tried to pass for a beverage as he tried to dredge up some kind of inspiration. Through his stupor the once proud knight could vaguely feel the prickly sensation of his coarse, unkempt beard. How long had it been since he arrived in town? When had he stepped off that large, surprisingly undermanned vessel and set foot in this bleak port. It could have been days, he realized with a sigh as he lifted his tired eyes up from his lonely table in the far corner of the room to one of the taverns few windows. There was fog, thick enough to cut, or so it seemed from his current location. The aged knight had seen worse sure, but the anchor fastened so resolutely about his heavy heart was not caused by something so inconsequential as the weather. Michael had come to this land, this fabled place to find something he doubted even existed. A weapon to kill a God, to level the playing field, something to gain the attention of the deity that had so ungraciously cast him from it’s favor. Sure, he doubted he would ever gain access to such an item, but he was unable to earn so much as a single clue to point him in the right direction. Kill a God? It was absurd certainly, but Michael was in a desperate place. His night terrors had returned, leaving him without rest for the last several days. The old soldier was consumed by a pervasive sense of failure, of being trapped in obscurity while being offered options that were futile at best. What did it take for a man to change the world? With a growl of disgust Michael sat up and pushed the empty tankard away from him. He blinked his eyes tiredly as his rough hands dragged his dark hair back behind his ears in an attempt to make himself more presentable. He was a nobleman, a man of honor and skill, his reputation deserved better then this. It was a strong realization that unfortunately, lasted only a little while as his eyes grew heavy once again, and threatened to drag him to sleep. In the morning he would gather his things and leave, find something deserving of his abilities, of his fleeting time. Of course, Michael never even made it out of his seat before his weary body succumbed to the alcohol and sleep deprivation. He didn’t even feel the table when his unconscious body collapsed across it. He awoke sometime later, his head throbbing but otherwise fine. The tavern was still open, and the fog was still there, so it musn’t have been to long since his nap had begun. With a groan Michael pushed himself to his feet, quickly straightening out his white tunic in an attempt to look less slovenly. It didn’t work, with the untrimmed facial hair and less then expensive clothing, he doubted he would appear as anything more then a common dock worker. He wasn’t even armed. All of his items were back at the room he was renting, safe, and completely out of reach. He opened the tavern door violently and shambled into the streets, glad to have the chill of the fog to help him wake up. The streets were filled with people carrying sacrifices, slaughtered lambs and such as an attempt to gain the favor of their god. What god would command the death of a creature that was essential to the well being of the family who worshipped it. He had already seen more then a few people carrying goats and the sort, and while those with money might not feel the economic blow, those without may very well being going hungry because of it. It was during this train of thought Michael spotted what was little more then a youth walking casually down the street despite the several blades he had strapped to him. He held himself with pride, even without the weapons, it was obvious he was a warrior of some kind. Normally Michael had at least a limited amount of discretion, but in his tired and still somewhat hung over state, he couldn’t help but stare blatantly at the mans armaments. They were all fine blades, far better then Michael had access to at the moment, and he was lying if he said he wasn't a little envious. Some kids had all the luck. |
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| Renegade | Feb 4 2009, 04:03 PM Post #4 |
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Using carcasses as stepping stones.
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One would think, that she would think, about where her life was heading and why her path had brought her here. But she wasn't. She was thinking about how stupid it was to by standing about in the middle of the foggy streets, playing with an only vaguely useful trick spell. The blood congealed on her boot heels, the coppery substance even bringing a smell through the mist to annoy her. It was sticky against her boots as she shifted her weight from hip to hip, a scowl crossing her features at every sickening squelch of the sticky blood gluing her feet to the cobblestones. She also thought of how nice a drink would be. The nameless witch hunter had no qualms against getting drunk off her ass and passing out on a bar stool somewhere to sleep. Even if it was mildly dangerous giving her status of 'you're supposed to be dead!' And some drinks were more pain than warmth or flavor thanks to the condition of her throat. She had not yet healed up from her unfortunate misadventure with the mother loving gallows. Though one would suppose she could count herself lucky that it had not broken her neck. On the other hand, strangulation had been at the low point in her list of 'ways I'd rather die'. After tugging the cloth of her shirt below the chin, she allowed the flame to fizzle out. It made a sound like a match fizzing out in the rain, then it was no more. Glancing through the fog, she allowed her gaze to drift. Amber eyes fell past two fellows in particular which drew her attention. If not for the fact that they didn't dress as the people in this town thus labeling them a foreigner no doubt, then the myriad of blades one youth carried. Alas she was neither capable nor the type to do so in asking questions. So she stood there, watching the two and wondering if they would encounter one another in the misty street. There was just something in this potential meeting that drew her attentions and rooted her feet. |
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| Kaono | Feb 5 2009, 09:56 AM Post #5 |
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The Stormbringer
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Skaren often felt…. Naked when he did not have steel on him in some way shape or form. True enough he didn’t wear armor, finding it hindering rather than protective. Thus, the most he wore would be leather traveling trousers and boots. His boots were special, made of hard leather and metal, almost like greaves but much less cumbersome and true enough not very protective. They are high, protecting his shins, mostly from impacts against roots and rocks and such while traveling in the mountains or the forests other than that they had no real protection. Freedom of Movement, agility and constitution the three things Skaren depended on in a combat situation, and well so far it’s done him pretty well. Silver eyes watched in obvious disgust as animals of all shapes and sizes, types and genders were continuously slaughtered in the hopes of appeasing some dragon god that did not exist. The youth had learned something new, and it was something he had rather not learned. People like this existed outside his own little bubble that The Harbinger was use to. His mind drifted and wandered, to the times as a child, being preached to by Dragons and Humans alike explaining to him the strange things that humans outside his Clan do. It was… much more vibrant and distasteful than what he heard in the stories. The light flickered in his peripheral vision. And it wasn’t the shining that bothered him, it was when the light suddenly disappeared, almost as if being pulled in that direction, his head turned slowly to the side, catching view of a woman, standing in a pool of sacrificial blood, and probably the perpetrator of the light flickering on and off, and then it finally shutting off for good. Magic and it was the first time Skaren had seen anyone since he got a hold of the Storm Blades Tempest and Infinity. He expected no help, but in his travels he had learned it was always best to ask, for if she couldn’t help she may know of someone that could. With a purpose, and the careful stride of a mountain lion, Skaren made his way towards the girl, avoiding the bodies of animals as well as much of their filth that littered the ground. Being sure to keep his hands away from his steel far away enough so that he posed no threat, yet close enough that just incase if an unforeseen event of him, being attacked. “Miss… Lass, you standing in the blood.” An unnatural still and calm voice rang out over the crying of animals and the chants of men, a hand waving slightly in hopes of catching the woman’s attention. |
![]() "Come... Show me what your kind calls fury."-Kaono "If your blade is drawn... then cut."-Kaono }|{Description}|{}|{Theme Song}|{}|{Inventory}|{ PhantomInventory | |
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| Renegade | Feb 5 2009, 05:28 PM Post #6 |
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Using carcasses as stepping stones.
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She carried nothing but a dagger because it was all she had. And ... well ... could remember how to use. Armor was just an annoyance according to her, and though she considered herself no rouge or assassin she'd rather not sacrifice speed for defense. Who needed defense anyways when you had the capability of teleportation? She sure didn't have any need for it. Even if such things may have been a good help to her in her recent ventures. A helm would certainly give her a different look, different from just covering her face with the extended collar of her shirt, or some scarves. But ... never mind, she wasn't the type to explain her manner of dress. She wasn't the type to explain anything actually. Even if she had the capability to talk these days, she had nothing to say. After all, she was supposed to be dead, she was supposed to be hanging low so people would continue to think her dead. It wouldn't do to have some smuggler run home to his 'boss' and give mention of a familiar voice. Her hand nearly dropped to her belt, as she caught the sight of someone making a beeline for her. Suspicious, then she recognized the youth as one who she had been spectating before and instead her arms simply crossed. It wasn't as if she would admit to having been watching hi or that he was ... nearly as obvious a foreigner to these lands than she. After all, they weren't so accepting in regards to the sacrifices going on. She could see it in eyes, in body language too, they were accustomed to the slaughter and slitted throats of many a fowl and kid and swine. Some poor sap had even sacrificed a dog of all things, as if that would grant hem any fortunes. The blood, as if she'd forgotten. It was hard not to miss the thick red substance spilled everywhere. She only stared at him with orange eyes as if to say 'yeah ... and?' as it was something she'd already accepted as unavoidable. However she did give a shrug too in order to prove that she could care less. It wasn't as if she could explain anything further than that. He'd probably ask too and be met with more silence and like most people think her simply rude or figure out that she was mute and ask why. Or ... something, she really didn't care. |
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| Michael Dashfield | Feb 6 2009, 03:59 AM Post #7 |
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Newcomer
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Michael stood there, in the middle of the fog choked street as the heavily armed man approached him, and then turned swiftly away from him, towards some magic wielding, dark cloth wearing lady standing in blood. The eyebrows on Michaels face raised when that last thought finally triggered his curiosity. A dark brooding character creating flame with the flick of her finger standing in what the retired knight hoped was animal blood. Sometimes, it really didn't pay to stumble out of a bar during a day dedicated to sacrificing and the spilling of blood. Especially when not five feet from the door you could run in to not one, but two people capable of handing you your own drunken ass. Disgruntled and tired Michael took a swig of the strong fluid from the bottle he held in his right hand before looking at it in surprise. He didn't remember taking the bottle with him, in fact until he had taken swig from it he hadn't realized it was there. Maybe he was magical too, capable of summoning alcohol with the wave of a bushy eyebrow. He doubted his luck would change so suddenly, even if he really did wish he could stop having to pay for his own drinks. Another swig from his bottle and he was certain he had seen the young heavily armed man before. Even if the boy hadn't been armed to the teeth, his demeanor, and callous silver eyes were unforgettable. It had been a little while, long enough for Michael to grow a substantial amount of facial hair, dive into depression, and relapse into his habitual drinking. In fact, he would have been surprised if the boy would have been able to recognize him. Their chance encounter in the forest had been brief, and Michael having lost most of his money and possessions for this trip had only the basic clothes of an established commoner, no peculiar weapons or markings with which to identify him. That wasn't necesarily a bad thing, even though his clothing was of foreign design, he still didn't look like much of a threat. |
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| Kaono | Feb 7 2009, 05:21 AM Post #8 |
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The Stormbringer
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It wouldn’t be too far off to say that Skaren was both… impressed and taken back by the woman’s standoffish nature. In a way it resembled his own still self, but it was different all the same. Regardless, he would not be thrown off by her own cold demeanor. Instead Skaren kept it simple, unsheathing the Ancient Lighting blade at his hip, holding it hilt up with its tip pointing downwards. The she-sword crackled with energy and hummed in his grip, almost as if she had missed his tough. The youth looked her in the face with silver eyes, calm as a morning breeze and asked “How much do you know about magic?” His focus entirely on her, almost as if the world around him melted away. He was good with body language, for normally he relied on it himself. As a warrior, he judged another’s strength by the way they walked, the way they talked… their general feeling. And true he felt no really overwhelming magic from the girl, but he had a feeling she had dealt with a fare share of it, enough to know the depth of a magical items power. Or at least a scale to compare it to, and in the end that was the only thing Skaren was looking for. Why did Tempest and Infinity choose him? Why is it that he could grab the swords without being cut to shreds or electrified? His last two companions, the two he was with in search of the swords were destroyed by the blades themselves, and yet… he can touch them with no problem. It made him uneasy, magic always made him uneasy. An energy like that, people can control freely was a scary thing. What would happen if that very same magic came and bit them in the ass? No, the strength of his arm and a keen blade would be his weapons, even against those that deemed themselves some type of super power. Magic should never be in the hands of men, too consumed by their own greed and want for power… that very same power would and has repeatedly in history destroyed them. No magic should be in the hands of those made by magic or in tune with it. |
![]() "Come... Show me what your kind calls fury."-Kaono "If your blade is drawn... then cut."-Kaono }|{Description}|{}|{Theme Song}|{}|{Inventory}|{ PhantomInventory | |
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| Renegade | Feb 23 2009, 07:02 PM Post #9 |
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Using carcasses as stepping stones.
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))Cutting down on topics. So I'm going to leave this one.(( Why did it seem to happen every time? People asking questions as if she could simply tip her hat and say good day. Wait, she didn't wear a hat. Anyways she couldn't talk either. It was not out of lacking the desire or withdrawn personality. No, physically she was unable to speak. A rope had insured of that. Her gaze drifted way from the lad momentarily as the stumbling drunk got her attention. But he was really of no concern to her, she had nothing to say to someone just crawled out of a bottle. Then again, a guy with swords was far more caution worthy than some one with a liquor bottle. Though she was a bit jealous of her own incapability to obtain a good drink. But that was beside the point! Her gaze narrowed at the drawing of the magicked blade. She really didn't like magic, as hypocritical as it may be that she had an ability or two at her own disposal. Still, as a witch hunter it was only natural to have some disdain for relating individuals. Know your enemy, et cetera, and did she ever know them. No matter the element, the poisoning or paralysis or anything else, she knew how to evade such techniques. Unfortunately, her recent bear death experiences and the injuries inflicted by said preceding events left her too weak to fight to he fullest potential. Of course, that was the reason for her being here. Those who had tried to kill her did not, as a rule, visit the West. For some reason however, she did not feel the least bit bothered in answering the boy's question. Perhaps she had been drawn to this town by unseen forces and for unseen reasons. Who knew? She sure didn't. Even though her method may be less than plainly given out of the simple fact that she couldn't talk. A hand rose as she gave a slashing motion to the throat, then inclined her head in the direction of the magic blade. Magic ... heh. She killed it. Having nothing else to chard and no desire to remain standing in blood, she turned from the lad. Tucking her hands into her belt, she circled past the statue and headed back down the street. She needed a drink. Or three. |
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11:56 PM Mar 20