RPG
Introduction
Chapter I: Pestilence
Gargantuan javelins raced towards the navy-blue ceiling, defiantly rising aloft the heads of jaded statues which lay on each side of the grand hallway. A mixture of peculiar scents, voices and colors molded the cohorts which took the council chamber (a circular room similar to an amphitheater, equipped with a total of eighty-eight seats and a large oval bureau placed in it's center, the aforementioned desk fitted with a total of four chairs) by assault: scholars, clergymen and politicians alike "exchanging greetings" in an attempt to obtain a better seat amongst the sumptuous gathering.
A slightly rusted pendulum clung to one of the chamber's columns had just recently conveyed the transition of yet another quarter of an hour through a somber gong, pitch-black limbs sliding across it's dial rigidly, causing the apparatus which held dominion over them to emit a brief shriek. If peering upon it, one would quickly gain the impression that the contraption itself would be better suited in a museum, the "magnificent" object highlighting the current government's refusal to provide it's institutions with adequate materials.
"They are late, I have told you ssso.." - An Anaur's high-pitched tongue sneered.
"I am aware, ah may the Gods curse those eccentric fools. We should have been done with this in a matter of moments." - The cryptic vociferation belonging to an elderly Neru'abar replied, it's tone baring an almost palpable hint of frustration.
"Do not worry my friend, I am sssure that everything isss all right."
"I am not worried you buffoon, I am simply speaking my mind - And mind your tongue when you address yourself, i detest the fact that you sound akin to a lizard."
"I am sssor.."
The conversation had been brought to an abrupt adjournment as the procession had lushly advanced inside the room. A total of twelve guardsmen garbed in plate armor adorned with the King's tabard were now marching towards the chamber's center whilst encasing two fairly large figures and a more petite individual engulfed in one too many items of clothing. As if signaled by an orchestra's conductor, men and women alike ceremoniously ascended to their feet, dozens of voices briefly chanting as one: "Hail the Sages of the Synod, Hail the all-knowing Harbingers, Hail the Conclave !" - As quickly as the hymn began, so did it end, the multitude of spectators present promptly scurrying towards their seats.
Without a moment's pause, a elderly Shara lifted her wrinkled form from behind the oval desk, index fingers loitering on a pair of pale lips: "The assembly has now been placed in motion. For those of you which have not been informed as to why we have gathered here, the Synod has of late received news that the invasion in the North is drawing closer to us. Two of the seven Thrones have now sworn to battle against the plague, while one has already shown it's refusal to lend a helping hand in these times of need. We can no longer rest idly and assume that the Neru'abar and the Naari shall solve these vexations, and thus, we must stand together in the quest to banish these beasts from our lands. We hereby solicit each of the Noble houses present here to offer their able soldiers to the Legions of our Kingdom and band in an effort to emerge victorious in this endeavor."
A feeble amalgam of murmurs and rustles enshrouded the room in mere trices as the gathering began to hesitantly shift in their chairs, a cocktail of fear and disapproval vividly impregnated across hollow gazes. Each and every Noble house had been "persuaded" to pledge their allegiance against the blight since the earliest of times, yet as modernistic governments had gained sovereignty, as of late, over the nations the aristocrats found it fit to pursue their own interests, forsaking the needs of the many for their own
"Still your hissing !" - The baronial voice rose above the masses whilst a pair of robust fingers struggled to crane upon the bureau what could only be described as a plump frame. A thick light-brown beard, green eyes, a curved nose and bristly eyebrows portrayed the Baldor which vainly stood before the gathering, sturdy hands now gesticulating as if independent from his body. "We shall summon the Conclave, and they shall decide what we are to do." - The magisterial words came alike sorcery, the entire gathering now collapsing upon their chairs as if nothing more than a rose's withered petals. Clumsily revolving his torso towards the pair of Harbingers which tacitly lay near his posterior, the Baldur cleared his throat and spoke, firmly: "Minerva, Arius, there is no other way, they must be summoned. Greed, mistrust and dishonesty now openly saunter along these rows, we can no longer reckon that these petty fools shall lend us their aid. Yet they would be forced to obey the Conclave, that is the custom and it has been so for endless generations."
A doddering sigh parted from the female as the Naari male slightly bowed his head in acceptance. In a matter of moments, the twelve guardsmen which had escorted the Synod inside the spacious chambers had besieged the council, the wooden desk now inundated with various objects. Fingers clasped upon a ceramic vessel adorned with a multitude of symbols, the Baldor cautiously set the item upon the forth empty chair, mutely babbling an odd chanson. Graciously clenching her hands around what could be described as a kettle of sorts, the Shara female meticulously filled the object with water, nimbly emptying its contents in the aforementioned container. Narrow eyes gingerly investigated the counter, the Naari clasping a fragile vial enclosed in a thin shred of cloth, wearily spilling it's contents inside the cauldron, the object discarded as the last drop its reddish flame united with the crystalline water. Ending his chant, the Baldor inclined his torso above the pot, parting his lips as a gust of his stale breath now swept past the burning water.
Silence.
Moments crawled away alike grains of sand in an hour glass, the entire assembly immersed in a fleeting flicker of tranquility. And in that one, brief moment, the object began to tremor, the water now boiling, the fire hissing ardently as without a warning the pot shattered in to a dozen fragments. As if bewitched, scorching clay began to dwindle in the air, the oaken parquet fracturing itself limb by limb as a towering deer torpidly gained shape before the congress' gaze, callow leafs embellishing it's horns, sinewy vines shrouding it's legs.
"Why do you disrupt us, mortals ?"
The words were melodic, alike a romantic ballad played by an old gramophone. "Honorable Envoy, we are the Synod of the lands, and we ask the Conclave for their aid. We are present here to decide if the Seven Thrones are to engage in the crusade against the invasion, yet we cannot reach a suitable agreement with the aristocrats." - Arius, spoke gravely. Quivering it's head slightly, the beast replied:
"Your legions,
Shall battle and die,
Fathers shall perish,
Mothers shall cry,
Redemption lies in misfits,
Not in your Kings,
Cast the many to find the few,
Send those heroes to protect you."
The final phrase came as a languid echo, the beast sluggishly stretching itself upon the wooden floor whilst transfiguring in to the broken items from which it originated. Swiveling their bodies towards the assembly, the Synod spoke in unity: "The Conclave has decided. Our armies shall be sent to scour the lands in search of the chosen ones. The noble houses are called to honour their commitments towards their empires and offer their able men to the quest. This council is adjourned."
Race Descriptions:
The Baldor
- Stone Skin (Available once per Battle-RP scenes, immunity to melee damage).
- Solitary beings.
- Accomplished smiths and brawlers.
- Inclination towards armed and melee combat
- Aggressive
- Ruled by a Monarch and six advisers.
- Rulers of the First Throne.
The Anaur (parasitical organisms which converge with the fauna)
- Prolonged life-span (upon death, the parasitic organism has the chance of relocating to another host)
- Forbidden to merge with any of the other six races.
- Ruled by the Matriarch (the first-born female).
- Connection with Mother Nature (can use the fauna in a defensive or offensive manner, to an extent)
- Known to have greatly skilled Enchanters. (Arcane alternators)
- Rulers of the Second Throne
The Naari & Neru'abar (avian entities)
- Distinguishing both races: Neru'Abar hold skin pigment comparable to a human's. The Naari inhabit the upper heavens, thus, through intense contact with the sun, their skin adopts shades of red.
- Winged dash (can achieve great speeds through flight - wings cannot be used more than once per attack, per battle).
- Governed by a Royal Family (Both an Emperor and an Empress).
- Both races hold the ability to converse with the creatures of the sky.
- Can reach heights of seven feet or more.
- Holders of distinguished Wizards. (Arcane callers)
- Rulers of the Third and Forth Throne.
The Shara (spirit warriors)
- Ethereal (on activation, halfens the mellee damage received yet even a minor spell can bring the individual near death)
- Arcane Atonement (greater magical capacities)
- Governed by a council of four members
- Outer-racial breeding is utterly prohibited out of fears of tainting the lineage, the punishment being the shattering of the soul's link to the body.
- Other details: hollow eyes (the kin lacks a pupil of retina, the eye itself having one color alone), pale skin, chilling to the touch.
- Rumored to utilize some of the most able Arimans in the land. (Arcane shapers)
- Rulers of the Fifth Throne.
The Orii'm
- Beastmaster and/or Druid. (Able to choose at a young age between the path of the warrior or the path of the healer. Beastmasters are allowed to control one animal at their choosing whilst Druids are the only ones gifted with healing arts)
- Members of the breed are prohibited from hunting without their savage counterpart, as it is believed that the creatures only prey upon the souls which the forest no longer has a use for.
- Other details: athletic bodies, keen senses, increased agility.
- Females of the Orii'm tribe are the exclusive leaders in a family.
- Governing form: unknown.
- Rulers of the Sixth Throne.
The seventh race shall not be revealed for now, remaining as an item to be unveiled in the future. These are the main breeds which dwell upon the lands, yet there are other less numerous species which have only partially been documented.
Brief Explanations:
Enchanters - Magi which can accentuate the elements through the arcane arts. As an example: In a mild storm, an elderly enchanter could metamorphose the phenomenon in to a Blizzard. Enchanters have no abilities if there is no elemental circumstance which they can influence.
Wizards - Magi which can conjure the elements to a certain point and force them to accept their bidding. As an example: A wizard can cast a fireball, and he can also freeze an enemy's arm, yet only few wise wizards have managed to bring their spells to the extent at which they cause as much peril as an Enchanter's sorcery when influencing an element. Unlike Enchanters and Arimans, the wizards can summon the arcane arts no matter their surroundings.
Arimans - Magi which shape the elements to their will. Unlike Enchanters, they do not require a natural occurrence to be able to exercise their talents, the only perquisite being the existence of the element itself nearby (As an example: an Ariman could mold the water in a pond, the fire smoldering a forest, a young tree which idly slumbers). In the absence of the primordial factors, Arimans, alike Enchanters, have no power.
Spirit Healers (Restricted to Anaur/Orii'm Druids) - Magi which, due to their close ties to Mother Nature have unveiled a way in which to mend both the mind, body and soul through the arcane arts.
Note: Wizards cannot use their witchcraft in order to provide either Arimans or Enchanters with the elements required for them to use their talents. Every class of Magi can perform acts which its counterparts cannot, thus, choose wisely. I am willing to accept other sorts of arcane arts if you can evolve a solid explanation for them.
Note: You are not obliged as an applicant to use a magic-wielder if applying for one of the races with aptitudes towards the arcane. You can of course simple choose a race and build your character as a warrior (classes will be inexistent, whilst you can of course build your character to be more adept at bows than swords, I will not further complicate the RP through class introduction).
Note: The setting of this story is Medieval-Fantasy with just a few pinches of steampunk. Gun-powder has only recently been invented, the majority of the folk still functioning on oil lamps. Take this into consideration when creating your character.
Compendium:
Map
X1 - Synod Location
X2 - Current Caravan location
X3 - Market Encampment
X4 - Howling Caves
X5 - Echo Beach.
Creatures:
Common Nieral - Click
Wraith - Click
Rules
Rules and Regulations:
- God-modding of any sort shall not be tolerated and shall be instantly dealt with.
- I want this RP to be literate, so if you are declined on that premise I will assist you in improving if you so desire.
- One-lines are not accepted. Three paragraphs when posting are a minimum requirement.
- Maintain decent activity. Whilst I do not require you to post every single day, I expect you to be able to keep up with the general pace of the story.
- As GM, what ever is instructed by myself is law for this roleplay. Please keep that in mind.
- Mary-Sues of any sort shall more than likely be declined - please avoid these characters.
- Please follow the character sheet exactly. Take your time with the creation process - characters which were slapped together in two minutes will have fewer chances of being accepted.
- Rules can be bent, added or removed throughout the story as the GM pleases. Please ensure you read this thread from time to time as to keep yourself updated.
- This is a Fantasy setting, please keep your IC language, gear and items in check with the scenery. No lord uses: "Fuck it." every other two words whilst carrying a chaingun in his pocket.
- Cussing and IC relationships are allowed, yet please keep it tasteful and in check with the website's rules.
Character Sheet:
- Name:
- Age:
- Race:
- Gender:
- Orientation:
- Class (if arcane user):
- Companion (beastmaster):
- Equipment:
- History:
- Description: (please accompany pictures with a written description)
- Personal Notes:
Reviews
22/30
Characterization: Proficient
Plot: Advanced
Depth: Advanced
Style: Proficient
Mechanics: Proficient
Overall: Proficient
AugmentationAudit wrote:I have taken a good look at this Roleplay, especially that which is present in the Introduction area. First and foremost, I’d like to point out that your introduction is quite difficult to read, as the style of writing you use is very heavy; your spelling, punctuation and grammar are good, but I think that some of your prose could do with being toned down to aid easier reading. Although skilled, your introduction does favour purple prose, which isn’t always favourable when you are trying to attract players into a venture. This isn’t to say that such a style wouldn’t make an interesting and engaging read as a stand-alone, however, as an opening post for a Roleplay I’d class it as a bit heavy-going. The introduction reads as part of an ongoing story, and although there is a great deal of content there, it is also lacking in adequate scene-setting text. It has the feeling of a sample taken from the middle of the beginning of a book, so the reader is left a little at sea as to what is going on, although your race description does go on to make sense of some of what wasn’t clearly explained in the taster. Your races appear to be detailed and well thought out, which is conclusive to a good RP, and makes it easier for other players to fit in without getting lost, and your descriptions are a useful aid to the perspective player. The fact that you include a map lends towards a more interactive, detailed game, and helps your players find their way around, which is very beneficial when it comes to the sort of epic-style RP that you appear to be going for. Your rules are fair, detailed, and don’t have grey areas, which is good, and you offer to help, rather than scorning less skilled players. Your character sheet could possibly go into a little more detail, as you specifically said that you wanted well thought out characters. Overall, I think that you have put together a good RP with large potential for plot development and interesting characters, which is bound to impress like-minded users, though I do think that toning down the purple prose would make your introduction more user-friendly. The introduction is the first thing a player sees when looking at the Roleplay, so it is often better to have something engaging in the first instance, and then put “chapter one” like things after, so that they have already had their interest caught when then get to your first chapter. This RP seems to have taken off well, and is still active after quite some time, which is a credit to its creator and the players that are taking part in progressing what is clearly a well thought out story.
View All »Characters
Rivael Andur'me played by Frozen Soul
Change and adaptation are optional: not each and every individual is meant to survive.
Risu Tamashii played by Seijun13
"Words are powerful weapons, able to strike where no sword can reach."
"Call upon the Goddess and God to protect you and teach you the secrets of magic. Ask stones and plants to reveal their powers - and listen"
Nahdib Tashael played by Ezarael
After having sworn fealty, must I spend the rest of my life in servitude?
Aurelia Ceau?? escu played by Airanea
To feel anger is to feel passion, to feel passion is to feel love.
A pretty Orii'm spirit healer with an overload of curiosity and entirely too much time on his hands
Nathan Briskwind played by spacetime
Young and inventive, Nathan is keen to get into trouble - and out.
Linnea played by nellethiel
"A hero is no braver than an ordinary woman, but she is brave five minutes longer."
Visit »The Orphanage
These poor, unfortunate souls were once a part of this great world, but have been abandoned. Why don't you consider viewing their profiles and making a decision on whether or not you can roleplay them accurately?
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Places in The Seven Thrones
81 postsFeirin'Na
Main Continent.
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OOC Notes
Please read the OOC thread before posting.
Weary stars stared upon the desolated earth which lay in slumber beneath them, a rabid gust of wind apathetically resonating past valleys whilst marking the coming of Father Winter. A year had now transcended into the pages of history, a year which would only be recalled due to it's atrocious and venomous events. A year which had turned the pious into heathens and the rich into beggers, sentiments such as compassion and benevolence now only tarnished shades of their former sleves, the world's "hereafter" now a macabre nightmare.
Another evening had grown old, yet in a tacit scenery, manifestations of life originated from inside a crimson tower which rose above the lands:
Voiceless figures draped in tarnished garments cautiously ascended a helical staircase which led towards the principal room situated in the column's apex. Bristled fingers clasped a corroded handle, rusted hinges shrieking in discomfort as the door was impelled inch by inch towards a damp wall. A modest study chamber studded with an amalgam of items unfurled beneath fatigued glares, the pack proceeding to hurriedly occupy the few seats available.
In a laconic pause, the cluster of individuals had discarded the vestments which obscured their physiques, a number of charts now distributed upon what seemed to be an oaken coffee table. Murmurs traversed the study, ferried by the remnants of a restless gale as an almost tangible sensation of anxiety nomadically lingered amidst the assembly consisting out of the Synod and several other guards. It was as if even the walls had blossomed ears in such grim times. Shriveled hands fleetly uncoiled a parchment whilst rending its seal, a once gallant Nauri now translating its contents for the others present:
"Eight suns have now faded since our last collision with the horde. Our ranks are dwindling. Each dusk proffers only despair and decay - we have grown to surmise that the Gods have forsaken us, yet here we stand, our spears primed to mangle each and every beast in our path. As the Synod has dictated, the House of Irvim has persisted in its hunt for the chosen ones. In the prior evening to this missive, we have faltered past yet another individual which coincided with Lady Minerva's vision. Abiding to prior instructions, he was captured and confined in the caravan's ward, the procession commencing it's march precisely two suns ago, the route undertaken in concordance with the Synod's desire. The eventuality of our absconding is tenuous, yet we shall not fret. We shall continue our march in the effort of fulfilling the Council's ambitions.
Hail the Sages of the Synod, Hail the all-knowing Harbingers, Hail the Conclave !"
A fleeting sensation of deceitful frustration shaded in grimaces traversed the quarter. Alike the disdainful Salmoneus, the assembly now bathed in a false sentiment of assurance and arrogance, oblivious to the events which silently burgeoned past the marble walls, once chastened figures now revolving egotistically towards the lonesome guard which obediently withheld his position in the chamber's corner. Eyes briefly meditated upon the well-known Rivael Andur’me, son of Durim Andur'me, provoking the male to shunt with a slight tint of irritation:
"The hour has come." - A corpulent Baldor spoke whilst arching a robust torso in order to captivate the gazes which rose past his stature.
"By your own desire, you have offered us your consent, and had vowed to see this task to its end." - Minerva deviously annexed her proposition upon the statement's sequel.
"Miscarry our will, and you shall further defile the name of your late Father." - The Nauri male concluded the 'lecture' whilst extending a tarnished sack in which several quaint objects lay compiled.
"The Synod's cravings be done." - The sentence hesitatingly conveyed past sere lips as in a brief trice, the Neru'abar idly immersed past the wooden door.
Doubt.
The alloy of potential aftermaths imbued the male's limbs with a veiled burden, compelling the individual to gradually delay the advent of his presence. Tears of exertion lethargically slithered upon white cheeks as the hardship of the task given seemed to subdue his persona if even for a moment. Had he been a fool ? Had he willingly sacrificed his soul, his ignorance secreting the perils which lay upon the path he now walked ? A frivolous judder of his head dispersed the pesimistic contemplations. Hurried steps reached the stables, the impatient neighing originating from the mounts bestowing the scenery with a sensation of imminent liberty. He was now absolved of his chains, no longer confined by the ties of nobles which stood alike a precipice between him and the outer world.
*Time-lapse, four hours total.*
Hooves cannoned upon a mucky forest floor, unintentionally heralding the rider's advent. Hours evanescenced away, the steed's frame seeming to lightly wrench time and time again due to the taxing burden which mounted it. Trepid neighing echoed, the steed displaying a resolute halt in its path whilst commencing to revolt in an effort to warn its subduer of the imminent ambuscade. Withal, in an eerie moment it was all to no avail. Alike hyenas the cohorts of Nierals surfaced from the shadows, the creatures most likely enticed by the prospect of an innocent victim, fangs coruscating in the pale starlight.
An immediate leap executed by an impatient beast compelled the Neru'abar to unsheathe an ivory blade, its pinnacle forthwith splintering the creature's head from its torso in one swift swipe; the skirmish had commenced, the male descending from the saddle with fingers embracing a titanic polearm. Spiteful howls clambered beyond the landscape as yet another brute performed an elongated vault, its form mangled in mere moments with the spear's apex pierced its trunk. And yet in a trice the soldier's advance had been hindered, claws puncturing his waist as a gangling demonic began to brashly peal the plate armor veiling his body. Pain. Encircled, disarmed and wounded, the omen's of his demise were now almost undoubtable were it not for the feeble sounds of cavalry marching through the eve, a myriad procession displaying the Synod's flags now emerging into sight.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!" - a wounded Rivaled cried.
OOC Notes
The darkness of his cell was nothing new to Nahdib, and as long as he pondered upon his years spent within the confines of armor, it proved to be of little import to him. He had only a general idea of how large it was, the hallway was pitch-black due to its lack of torches, and the only time he saw any light was when a gaoler was ushered forth with a pan of mush and cup of water, but he paced it once, having to hunch over slightly as the cell was at the least a foot shorter than he was tall, and found it to measure roughly ten foot wide by ten foot long. Amazingly the rushes kept within as his bedding were changed weekly to deter the spread of fleas and lice from the inhabitants, but the smell from their dampness was unbearable, and they molded with amazing speed. He had found that there was a drip of water emanating from the ceiling that focused upon his bedding, but he supposed it was better to have a wet hay-pile than a puddle of water in the center of the room. In the opposite corner from that of his bed lay a hole in the floor, approximately a foot in width and length discovered by an unfortunate accident when he was pacing the room to discover its size, and found it very useful for his relieving himself, but cared not to imagine where the hole lead.
No matter how hard he tried, Nahdib found his mind continually ventured back a month prior, only knowing this date by the numbers of times his bedding had been changed, to that fateful night with his beloved, the Princess Tashii, when he was forced to slay his two youngest brothers. The memories were merely blurs now, one event hardly distinguishable from the next, but he could remember his treachery. They had been locked in an embrace when his brothers, Kin’Drael and Rin’Tael, had burst through the windows. He had pleaded with them to forget his treachery, but they would not be persuaded, and drew their swords. There was no way for Nahdib to tell how long the fight had lasted, every minute seemed to stretch into an hour, until it seemed days had drug by before he stood bleeding over the corpses of his kin.
Without thought he had fled the Princess’ apartments, taking only his sword, arm, and leg, coverings, and an amulet that Tashii had given him upon his induction into the Royal guard, needing to discard what he could so that he could flee to the Synod as quickly as possible to petition the Council for his pardon. He did not know for what reason the kingdoms were being convened, but that his only hope would be to confront his father, and with him the Emperor and Empress.
The trip had been exhausting, having been forced to put off sleep for all but an hour the first day of the trip so that he could maintain distance between him and any soldiers in pursuit. The most he could hope for was an hour or two before scouting parties had been sent to track his path, and knew that if they were to reach him before he could make it to the Synod that his demise was imminent. Somehow he had managed to outrace the soldiers in pursuit, but not without collapsing from his horse upon arrival at the gates.
When he had woken up the first time it had been under the care of healers, but afterwards he found himself in his current residence. With the first changing of the rushes a healer had attended to his wounds one last time, removing the bandages and poultices that had been covering the larger cuts upon his abdomen, and left him in the darkness to ponder his past, and what form of execution his future would hold.
He needed to abandon his ponderings one day, when he received an unexpected visit from the Lady Minerva, and found himself chained hand and foot, lead out of the cell to a caravan. She had mentioned that he was a hero from prophecy, but Nahdib still had no clue what was to happen to him. Where they sending him on this quest so that they could find an easier way to executing him? Why would they need to bind a hero hand and foot?
*Time Lapse Present Time*
Nahdib had been dragged along with this caravan for eleven months, his once battled-honed body had wasted away slightly, and if it were not for the weight of his chains, or their allowance to his physical training needed to sustain proper fighting form, he would have wasted away totally. Yet no matter how active he stayed while in fetters, he was unable to achieve the physical prowess of his previous state. Over the course of their travel they had acquired several other “heroes”, a Baldor, two Shara, two Orii’m, and an Anaur. The procession had been slow, as was the custom of persons bound in chains, and seemed to drag on for ages. The guards had treated him with much disdain from the start, ofting finding reasons with which to "ugre" him on with a kick or slap with the flat of their blade. The Naari guardsmen despised oathbreakers such as he, and kin-slayers even more so, and it proved very calamitous for Nahdib, trying to retain as much dignity as possible under their glares.
He often heard them converse concerning their trip, however, and often heard the name Rivael Andur'me mentioned. He recalled that this was the son of an aristocratic Neru'Abar, but he had never experienced more than stories of the man's exploits. They said that when they reached the man he would take control of their procession, and after which Nahdib had no clue as to what their fate would hold, however as they drew near he heard a cry in distance, and saw several bodies locked together in battle.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!"
Nahdib lifted his head anxiously towards the guardsman who sat mounted next to him, letting a rock-hard stare bury into his body. The guard hesitated for a moment, not wanting to allow Nahdib a weapon, doubting his true intent, but hastened when he saw the plight up ahead, and the other prisoners pausing to rub raw wrists. He unlocked the manacles quickly, and passing Nahdib his sword, let out a quick warning.
"Do not attempt escape Kin-Slayer, you may be spared until this quest is finished, but your father Tandarael will have you death."
Without sparing another moment Nahdib bent over slightly, letting a thrust of his wings toss him forth into a creature grappling with a Neru'Abar ahead of the party. He had a grip of his sword that had it pointing in the opposite direction that his body was moving, and twisting his body to the left to bring the length of the blade against the creature's neck, using his body-weight to cleave it off in one smooth motion. He rebounded as quickly as he could, taking a defensive stance over the wounded man underneath him, letting his protective instincts reemerge. Glancing down through the side of his eyes he made a quiet inquiry of his wounds.
"Can you stand and fight comrade?"
No matter how hard he tried, Nahdib found his mind continually ventured back a month prior, only knowing this date by the numbers of times his bedding had been changed, to that fateful night with his beloved, the Princess Tashii, when he was forced to slay his two youngest brothers. The memories were merely blurs now, one event hardly distinguishable from the next, but he could remember his treachery. They had been locked in an embrace when his brothers, Kin’Drael and Rin’Tael, had burst through the windows. He had pleaded with them to forget his treachery, but they would not be persuaded, and drew their swords. There was no way for Nahdib to tell how long the fight had lasted, every minute seemed to stretch into an hour, until it seemed days had drug by before he stood bleeding over the corpses of his kin.
Without thought he had fled the Princess’ apartments, taking only his sword, arm, and leg, coverings, and an amulet that Tashii had given him upon his induction into the Royal guard, needing to discard what he could so that he could flee to the Synod as quickly as possible to petition the Council for his pardon. He did not know for what reason the kingdoms were being convened, but that his only hope would be to confront his father, and with him the Emperor and Empress.
The trip had been exhausting, having been forced to put off sleep for all but an hour the first day of the trip so that he could maintain distance between him and any soldiers in pursuit. The most he could hope for was an hour or two before scouting parties had been sent to track his path, and knew that if they were to reach him before he could make it to the Synod that his demise was imminent. Somehow he had managed to outrace the soldiers in pursuit, but not without collapsing from his horse upon arrival at the gates.
When he had woken up the first time it had been under the care of healers, but afterwards he found himself in his current residence. With the first changing of the rushes a healer had attended to his wounds one last time, removing the bandages and poultices that had been covering the larger cuts upon his abdomen, and left him in the darkness to ponder his past, and what form of execution his future would hold.
He needed to abandon his ponderings one day, when he received an unexpected visit from the Lady Minerva, and found himself chained hand and foot, lead out of the cell to a caravan. She had mentioned that he was a hero from prophecy, but Nahdib still had no clue what was to happen to him. Where they sending him on this quest so that they could find an easier way to executing him? Why would they need to bind a hero hand and foot?
*Time Lapse Present Time*
Nahdib had been dragged along with this caravan for eleven months, his once battled-honed body had wasted away slightly, and if it were not for the weight of his chains, or their allowance to his physical training needed to sustain proper fighting form, he would have wasted away totally. Yet no matter how active he stayed while in fetters, he was unable to achieve the physical prowess of his previous state. Over the course of their travel they had acquired several other “heroes”, a Baldor, two Shara, two Orii’m, and an Anaur. The procession had been slow, as was the custom of persons bound in chains, and seemed to drag on for ages. The guards had treated him with much disdain from the start, ofting finding reasons with which to "ugre" him on with a kick or slap with the flat of their blade. The Naari guardsmen despised oathbreakers such as he, and kin-slayers even more so, and it proved very calamitous for Nahdib, trying to retain as much dignity as possible under their glares.
He often heard them converse concerning their trip, however, and often heard the name Rivael Andur'me mentioned. He recalled that this was the son of an aristocratic Neru'Abar, but he had never experienced more than stories of the man's exploits. They said that when they reached the man he would take control of their procession, and after which Nahdib had no clue as to what their fate would hold, however as they drew near he heard a cry in distance, and saw several bodies locked together in battle.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!"
Nahdib lifted his head anxiously towards the guardsman who sat mounted next to him, letting a rock-hard stare bury into his body. The guard hesitated for a moment, not wanting to allow Nahdib a weapon, doubting his true intent, but hastened when he saw the plight up ahead, and the other prisoners pausing to rub raw wrists. He unlocked the manacles quickly, and passing Nahdib his sword, let out a quick warning.
"Do not attempt escape Kin-Slayer, you may be spared until this quest is finished, but your father Tandarael will have you death."
Without sparing another moment Nahdib bent over slightly, letting a thrust of his wings toss him forth into a creature grappling with a Neru'Abar ahead of the party. He had a grip of his sword that had it pointing in the opposite direction that his body was moving, and twisting his body to the left to bring the length of the blade against the creature's neck, using his body-weight to cleave it off in one smooth motion. He rebounded as quickly as he could, taking a defensive stance over the wounded man underneath him, letting his protective instincts reemerge. Glancing down through the side of his eyes he made a quiet inquiry of his wounds.
"Can you stand and fight comrade?"
OOC Notes
Drinking was not something Risu did often. It clouded his mind and made speaking difficult. As if that weren't bad enough, he would find himself forgetting the most common, everyday words or become unable to phrase his questions properly. He had made a fool out of himself more than once with the cursed drink, saying things that made sense only to himself.
Yes, drinking was something the traveling Shara avoided with a passion. And yet, the light-headed, fuzzy feeling was enough to draw him back. Not often, of course, but for special occasions it was more than enough reason. His love for words and language was what kept him far away from alcohol most of the time and his desire to learn was the only thing preventing him from becoming a drunkard.
And yet, here he was, sharing a drink with a soldier of sorts in some dingy tavern. Risu knew he should have turned the offer down. The man was polite to the point of being scary and far too pushy for his own good. And yet, for reasons unknown to himself, he accepted the offer with a warm smile. He had tried to deter the soldier, flat-out refused the man more than once, and had even tried tricking said annoyance to leave with some fancy words but the soldier stayed, pushing and nudging him towards the tavern.
It was barely an hour before Risu was aware of the effects of his drinking. He felt as though he were floating, and all the troubles in the world no longer mattered. But even with that lightheaded pleasure, he couldn't help but become increasingly irritated by his suddenly failing ability to speak despite his constant chatter. The fact that he was having difficulty focusing his eyes and was beginning to see a double-image didn't help matters at all.
“So then this bird, see, it jus' jumps up an' screams li'e it's the end o' th' world er somethin'.” The soldier laughed, partly from the story and party from how badly the words were slurred. And, partly, from how Risu had jumped to three different topics within the past two minutes and still managed to make it sound as though he was telling one story.
Still chuckling, the soldier slipped off the stool and wandered over to the traveler. “Come on,” he grunted, pulling Risu off the stool. He tried to guide the man towards the door but Risu waved him away.
“Ah can do it m'self!” Risu slurred right before tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor. Several attempt soon had him slightly bruised but walking, though not in a straight line. A sharp tug from the soldier prevented him from trying to walk into the door frame only to have him walk out the door and into the waiting arms of another soldier, only sober and looking not at all pleased to be holding a drunk.
“There's your man!” the first soldier declared, striding forward to join the pair.
The second soldier sniffed, glaring at the bundle in his arms, and asked, “You sure? How do you know this is the one and not some other guy?”
“It's gotta be him.” The soldier pulled Risu back, holding him by the scruff of his shirt. Risu squirmed and did his best to support himself without the help of the soldier. “See? Silver-gray hair about yeah long, dirty clothes, somewhat tanned, and carries a bow,” the soldier described, pointing out each object described before finally rubbing a hand along the wooden handle of the bow. That brought forth a particularly nasty cry and a stream of profanity as Risu kicked and thrashed in an attempt to get free.
“'Ave you learned nothing, you pretentious fool?” The soldier growled but Risu merely continued to pour out verbal abuse at the soldier. “Hands off my... bow! Haven' you been told not to touch... touch... those things that don' belong to you?”
“Why you...” A sharp slap silenced the Shara and the stinging skin kept his mouth sealed as he was dragged over to the Caravan. But once the soldiers shackled him, he unloosed his tongue once more only to scream and rant as they traveled towards their destination.
*Three months later*
Three months certainly was a long time to be dragged around from one place to the next. Not quite as bad as it could have been for Risu, having been traveling for years before. But it was absolute torture for him to have his every destination decided beforehand for him. He loved drifted from one village to the next, meeting new people and gaining new tidbits of information. But being forced to travel on a specific path, camping often next to large bodies of water (more than once, he had panicked violently and the chains were all that kept him from running away), and not being able to talk to anyone other than the other captives (he assumed they were captive. He had overheard talk of 'chosen ones' but he never got enough information to truly understand what was happening) was absolute torture for him. Not to mention, every member of the battalion they traveled with had threatened him at least once to try and get him to shut up.
Naturally, Risu had learned tidbits of information about everyone around him. However, not wishing to make enemies just yet, he had stored the information away to be used later, should the need arise. But there were two members that had captured his interest and, thus, he was always talking to them in hopes of gaining new information; Nahdib and Lyfer. Nahdib because of the secrets and treasure trove of information hidden deep within and Lyfer for reasons unknown to himself.
On this particular day, however, Risu had been unnaturally quite. He would often lose himself in his thoughts and he would unconsciously avoid the other members of their odd group. Sometimes he would talk to himself, repeating some of his favorite phrases and sayings as though trying to force back some kind of growing unease.
A laughing cry signaled the arrival of the hyenas and a throaty growl warned of the oncoming attack. Risu squeaked and began tugging at the chains on his wrists, trying desperately to wriggle out of them. The chains were all that had ever kept him from running away and they were all that held him with the group. Surrounded by sudden danger, he felt himself panicking as he found no way of escape and without his bow and arrows, fighting back was not an option.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!"
The sudden cry brought forth hope and Risu practically laughed as the soldiers rushed to remove his shackles. The first thing he did as soon as he was released was locate his bow and quiver and quickly arm himself. The next thing he did was locate a tree that was nearby but in the opposite direction of the ongoing fight. He was not a warrior and his weapons were designed for long-range use. There was no sense in getting himself killed simply because he jumped stupidly into a battle with the wrong type of weapons. Besides, he didn't particularly like fighting and hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't get dragged into the sudden battle.
Pulling himself into the tree, Risu scanned the area quickly to assess the situation. Then, grabbing an arrow, the pulled the string back and aimed carefully. There was a sharp twang as the string snapped forward and the arrow streaked silently through the air towards one of the many attackers. What should have been an instant kill for the beast ended up being a lethal wound as the creature shifted suddenly. While still ensuring the beast's death, it could still move about in an enraged fashion as it had begun to do.
Risu swore under his breath and quickly aimed with another arrow. “Please don't be able to climb,” he breathed to himself, releasing the arrow and grabbing another, not bothering to check if the first had struck its intended target. “And please be dumber than a bag of rocks. I like it up here and I don't want to have to move.”
Yes, drinking was something the traveling Shara avoided with a passion. And yet, the light-headed, fuzzy feeling was enough to draw him back. Not often, of course, but for special occasions it was more than enough reason. His love for words and language was what kept him far away from alcohol most of the time and his desire to learn was the only thing preventing him from becoming a drunkard.
And yet, here he was, sharing a drink with a soldier of sorts in some dingy tavern. Risu knew he should have turned the offer down. The man was polite to the point of being scary and far too pushy for his own good. And yet, for reasons unknown to himself, he accepted the offer with a warm smile. He had tried to deter the soldier, flat-out refused the man more than once, and had even tried tricking said annoyance to leave with some fancy words but the soldier stayed, pushing and nudging him towards the tavern.
It was barely an hour before Risu was aware of the effects of his drinking. He felt as though he were floating, and all the troubles in the world no longer mattered. But even with that lightheaded pleasure, he couldn't help but become increasingly irritated by his suddenly failing ability to speak despite his constant chatter. The fact that he was having difficulty focusing his eyes and was beginning to see a double-image didn't help matters at all.
“So then this bird, see, it jus' jumps up an' screams li'e it's the end o' th' world er somethin'.” The soldier laughed, partly from the story and party from how badly the words were slurred. And, partly, from how Risu had jumped to three different topics within the past two minutes and still managed to make it sound as though he was telling one story.
Still chuckling, the soldier slipped off the stool and wandered over to the traveler. “Come on,” he grunted, pulling Risu off the stool. He tried to guide the man towards the door but Risu waved him away.
“Ah can do it m'self!” Risu slurred right before tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor. Several attempt soon had him slightly bruised but walking, though not in a straight line. A sharp tug from the soldier prevented him from trying to walk into the door frame only to have him walk out the door and into the waiting arms of another soldier, only sober and looking not at all pleased to be holding a drunk.
“There's your man!” the first soldier declared, striding forward to join the pair.
The second soldier sniffed, glaring at the bundle in his arms, and asked, “You sure? How do you know this is the one and not some other guy?”
“It's gotta be him.” The soldier pulled Risu back, holding him by the scruff of his shirt. Risu squirmed and did his best to support himself without the help of the soldier. “See? Silver-gray hair about yeah long, dirty clothes, somewhat tanned, and carries a bow,” the soldier described, pointing out each object described before finally rubbing a hand along the wooden handle of the bow. That brought forth a particularly nasty cry and a stream of profanity as Risu kicked and thrashed in an attempt to get free.
“'Ave you learned nothing, you pretentious fool?” The soldier growled but Risu merely continued to pour out verbal abuse at the soldier. “Hands off my... bow! Haven' you been told not to touch... touch... those things that don' belong to you?”
“Why you...” A sharp slap silenced the Shara and the stinging skin kept his mouth sealed as he was dragged over to the Caravan. But once the soldiers shackled him, he unloosed his tongue once more only to scream and rant as they traveled towards their destination.
*Three months later*
Three months certainly was a long time to be dragged around from one place to the next. Not quite as bad as it could have been for Risu, having been traveling for years before. But it was absolute torture for him to have his every destination decided beforehand for him. He loved drifted from one village to the next, meeting new people and gaining new tidbits of information. But being forced to travel on a specific path, camping often next to large bodies of water (more than once, he had panicked violently and the chains were all that kept him from running away), and not being able to talk to anyone other than the other captives (he assumed they were captive. He had overheard talk of 'chosen ones' but he never got enough information to truly understand what was happening) was absolute torture for him. Not to mention, every member of the battalion they traveled with had threatened him at least once to try and get him to shut up.
Naturally, Risu had learned tidbits of information about everyone around him. However, not wishing to make enemies just yet, he had stored the information away to be used later, should the need arise. But there were two members that had captured his interest and, thus, he was always talking to them in hopes of gaining new information; Nahdib and Lyfer. Nahdib because of the secrets and treasure trove of information hidden deep within and Lyfer for reasons unknown to himself.
On this particular day, however, Risu had been unnaturally quite. He would often lose himself in his thoughts and he would unconsciously avoid the other members of their odd group. Sometimes he would talk to himself, repeating some of his favorite phrases and sayings as though trying to force back some kind of growing unease.
A laughing cry signaled the arrival of the hyenas and a throaty growl warned of the oncoming attack. Risu squeaked and began tugging at the chains on his wrists, trying desperately to wriggle out of them. The chains were all that had ever kept him from running away and they were all that held him with the group. Surrounded by sudden danger, he felt himself panicking as he found no way of escape and without his bow and arrows, fighting back was not an option.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!"
The sudden cry brought forth hope and Risu practically laughed as the soldiers rushed to remove his shackles. The first thing he did as soon as he was released was locate his bow and quiver and quickly arm himself. The next thing he did was locate a tree that was nearby but in the opposite direction of the ongoing fight. He was not a warrior and his weapons were designed for long-range use. There was no sense in getting himself killed simply because he jumped stupidly into a battle with the wrong type of weapons. Besides, he didn't particularly like fighting and hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't get dragged into the sudden battle.
Pulling himself into the tree, Risu scanned the area quickly to assess the situation. Then, grabbing an arrow, the pulled the string back and aimed carefully. There was a sharp twang as the string snapped forward and the arrow streaked silently through the air towards one of the many attackers. What should have been an instant kill for the beast ended up being a lethal wound as the creature shifted suddenly. While still ensuring the beast's death, it could still move about in an enraged fashion as it had begun to do.
Risu swore under his breath and quickly aimed with another arrow. “Please don't be able to climb,” he breathed to himself, releasing the arrow and grabbing another, not bothering to check if the first had struck its intended target. “And please be dumber than a bag of rocks. I like it up here and I don't want to have to move.”
OOC Notes
“Stuffy and half-witted, that’s what they are, I would call them bird-brains but you are much wiser then they, aren’t you Cheep.” Ciel’s voice changed from arrogant to affectionate as she reached out her palm in front of her and her companion fluttered into it. A very small bird, Cheep was, he twittered musically to her, assuring her that they were simply jealous and unfortunate given the recent times. That Ciel was correct, of course, to call him wise as well, for Cheep was not exactly a humble beast. He was proud to be Ciel’s companion and held himself in a similar manner to honor that feeling. Even if they were currently forced to be the toy of some winged man with a head to big and ears too small for Cheep’s liking, for even though the man could converse with birds, he never spoke a word or listened to what Cheep had to say. Not that Cheep had anything to say that was particularly kind, Cheep was not a fan of Ciel’s captor in the least.
Ciel smiled warmly and brought the small bird to her lips, where she gave him a small kiss. “Just you and I Cheep, one day I’ll grow wings and we can fly away…” Idle and wishful thoughts that Ciel had been thinking since she was first captured, thoughts which she had no hope of achieving, until perhaps when she grew too old to appease her master’s desire. Even then…
Stepping lightly on silken slippers Ciel made her way up the steps of the quiet adobe she called a place to sleep (or not sleep depending on her master) in rather than a home. She was back from her walk in the village, and once she stepped through heavy doors, the voice of her master could be heard, intensely arguing with someone who Ciel did not know, nor did she need to in her opinion. She could care less. However today it involved her more then she knew.
Her master must have heard her shut the door, because he called for her in an uncharacteristically rude and brash manner from the room he was in. No matter his mood he was an aristocrat first and foremost, what could have possibly possessed him to shout for her? Ciel lowered the pale silk scarf from her head and made her way suspiciously past the master’s wife, a usually bitter looking woman who was now smiling broadly and smugly. “Usually I inform you that a smile on your face would do your looks better than a scowl, but now seeing it there…I think the scowl was much more becoming.” Ciel quipped at the spiteful woman maliciously.
“You will not have such a cozy position momentarily little wingless whore, after seven years, you are finally out of my house!” Her smile grew. This produced an inquisitive look on Ciel’s otherwise haughty expression. Her name was called again roughly; she jumped, as if out of a trance, and quickly obeyed the call. Cheep spewed outraged insults at the wife until Ciel covered him in her palm.
“She fits every bit of physical description from Lady Minerva.” Spoke an armored Naari man. “Lucian, you and I are friends, let this go smoothly and at the very least I can assure you another woman. It is only because of our acquaintance that A squad does not come in here and chain her where she stands.” He explained.
“Not leading my mistress out of the village in chains is the best that can be done? And you know how I boast of her, what makes you think I want another?” Lucian boomed, he was a tall man, sturdily built and intimidating with his hawk like features and slick black hair.
“Lucian…”
“Fine, at least allow her to change and bring her own weaponry.” Lucian stood up from his cushion, his large black wings stretching out for balance.
“Of course.”
Ciel honestly could not believe what she was hearing, and for once she had been stunned into silence. No one could say that he did not care for Ciel, for he gave her the new forged sword he had made with her name engraved in it, and he told her to be careful in his own way…’Remember you are mine, and you don’t do anything without my permission. You do not have my permission to die.’ He had said. Ciel had told him that she was happy to go, wherever she was going. And at that he only smiled sadly, and retorted that she would not be very happy for very long. That was the only time she had ever seen a tear escape the eyes of Lucian Dukhelm, if only a single tear.
-present time-
It had been almost a month since Ciel had left that shinning abode she knew for the worse part of seven years. She adorned new boots, brown cloth leggings with leather plating, a vest made to look like it was made of silk, but was actually something much sturdier, and for her liking, her favorite pale silk scarf. She must have been the best dressed among the tired group, and she looked the liveliest. Eyes bright despite their color, and cheeks pink because of a smirk; she was the happiest she had been since seven years ago. Even if the golden collar was still around her neck (which openly marked her as a mistress), which was now visible because she had tucked away the scarf due to recent weather. She was chained sure, but she was not walking. No, rather she had taken the opportunity to jump into the caravan and sit at its edge, tucking in her feet as she looked at the scenery; it all seemed to interest her, everything except for the people. She had missed nature and all its splendor, for an Orii’m to be away from nature was a true crime in her opinion, and Cheep had a thing or two to say of it too, he had taken to chatting away in her ear, which sounded like music to some, and annoying to others, but she didn’t care, if Cheep was happy then so was she for now.
Altogether she had counted seven other ‘prisoners’ and the Naari man who had escorted her out of the village before chaining her had told her why she was traveling with them. They were going to be heroes.
Hah. A band of misfits is more what they seemed to be.
She had kept to herself for the most part, for some knew what her collar meant, and they saw her as dirty, like she cared, at least she wasn’t like that Shara who freaked out next to water. She had herself as company all these years, so it was nothing new to her.
A noise Ciel had never heard before reached her ears, and before she knew it they were being ambushed, and winged man look out a few quickly, even though he was chained, and an order was shouted to unchain them, She quickly spotted the Naari who had originally chained her and they made eye contact. ‘Well get on with it’ she seemed to convey, and as soon as he released her and tossed her sword to her, she was gone in a flash.
Ciel leapt off of the caravan and onto a Nieral’s back, slicing his spine’s chord swiftly before leaping off, as agile as ever. She wove around her next opponent, taking the tactic of again attacking his behind rather than his front, she spun around him and sliced. Another leapt at her and she let it fall, suddenly she was behind her opponent again. With Cheep cheering her on in the sky, ready to attack the eyes of an unsuspecting Nieral; which he had to do for the Naari man on horseback, goodness couldn’t the humanoids fend for themselves these days?
Ciel smiled warmly and brought the small bird to her lips, where she gave him a small kiss. “Just you and I Cheep, one day I’ll grow wings and we can fly away…” Idle and wishful thoughts that Ciel had been thinking since she was first captured, thoughts which she had no hope of achieving, until perhaps when she grew too old to appease her master’s desire. Even then…
Stepping lightly on silken slippers Ciel made her way up the steps of the quiet adobe she called a place to sleep (or not sleep depending on her master) in rather than a home. She was back from her walk in the village, and once she stepped through heavy doors, the voice of her master could be heard, intensely arguing with someone who Ciel did not know, nor did she need to in her opinion. She could care less. However today it involved her more then she knew.
Her master must have heard her shut the door, because he called for her in an uncharacteristically rude and brash manner from the room he was in. No matter his mood he was an aristocrat first and foremost, what could have possibly possessed him to shout for her? Ciel lowered the pale silk scarf from her head and made her way suspiciously past the master’s wife, a usually bitter looking woman who was now smiling broadly and smugly. “Usually I inform you that a smile on your face would do your looks better than a scowl, but now seeing it there…I think the scowl was much more becoming.” Ciel quipped at the spiteful woman maliciously.
“You will not have such a cozy position momentarily little wingless whore, after seven years, you are finally out of my house!” Her smile grew. This produced an inquisitive look on Ciel’s otherwise haughty expression. Her name was called again roughly; she jumped, as if out of a trance, and quickly obeyed the call. Cheep spewed outraged insults at the wife until Ciel covered him in her palm.
“She fits every bit of physical description from Lady Minerva.” Spoke an armored Naari man. “Lucian, you and I are friends, let this go smoothly and at the very least I can assure you another woman. It is only because of our acquaintance that A squad does not come in here and chain her where she stands.” He explained.
“Not leading my mistress out of the village in chains is the best that can be done? And you know how I boast of her, what makes you think I want another?” Lucian boomed, he was a tall man, sturdily built and intimidating with his hawk like features and slick black hair.
“Lucian…”
“Fine, at least allow her to change and bring her own weaponry.” Lucian stood up from his cushion, his large black wings stretching out for balance.
“Of course.”
Ciel honestly could not believe what she was hearing, and for once she had been stunned into silence. No one could say that he did not care for Ciel, for he gave her the new forged sword he had made with her name engraved in it, and he told her to be careful in his own way…’Remember you are mine, and you don’t do anything without my permission. You do not have my permission to die.’ He had said. Ciel had told him that she was happy to go, wherever she was going. And at that he only smiled sadly, and retorted that she would not be very happy for very long. That was the only time she had ever seen a tear escape the eyes of Lucian Dukhelm, if only a single tear.
-present time-
It had been almost a month since Ciel had left that shinning abode she knew for the worse part of seven years. She adorned new boots, brown cloth leggings with leather plating, a vest made to look like it was made of silk, but was actually something much sturdier, and for her liking, her favorite pale silk scarf. She must have been the best dressed among the tired group, and she looked the liveliest. Eyes bright despite their color, and cheeks pink because of a smirk; she was the happiest she had been since seven years ago. Even if the golden collar was still around her neck (which openly marked her as a mistress), which was now visible because she had tucked away the scarf due to recent weather. She was chained sure, but she was not walking. No, rather she had taken the opportunity to jump into the caravan and sit at its edge, tucking in her feet as she looked at the scenery; it all seemed to interest her, everything except for the people. She had missed nature and all its splendor, for an Orii’m to be away from nature was a true crime in her opinion, and Cheep had a thing or two to say of it too, he had taken to chatting away in her ear, which sounded like music to some, and annoying to others, but she didn’t care, if Cheep was happy then so was she for now.
Altogether she had counted seven other ‘prisoners’ and the Naari man who had escorted her out of the village before chaining her had told her why she was traveling with them. They were going to be heroes.
Hah. A band of misfits is more what they seemed to be.
She had kept to herself for the most part, for some knew what her collar meant, and they saw her as dirty, like she cared, at least she wasn’t like that Shara who freaked out next to water. She had herself as company all these years, so it was nothing new to her.
A noise Ciel had never heard before reached her ears, and before she knew it they were being ambushed, and winged man look out a few quickly, even though he was chained, and an order was shouted to unchain them, She quickly spotted the Naari who had originally chained her and they made eye contact. ‘Well get on with it’ she seemed to convey, and as soon as he released her and tossed her sword to her, she was gone in a flash.
Ciel leapt off of the caravan and onto a Nieral’s back, slicing his spine’s chord swiftly before leaping off, as agile as ever. She wove around her next opponent, taking the tactic of again attacking his behind rather than his front, she spun around him and sliced. Another leapt at her and she let it fall, suddenly she was behind her opponent again. With Cheep cheering her on in the sky, ready to attack the eyes of an unsuspecting Nieral; which he had to do for the Naari man on horseback, goodness couldn’t the humanoids fend for themselves these days?
OOC Notes
All that could be heard in the forest was the sound of hooves clapping on the ground. There was no wind, no birds chirping, no animals howling, it felt like the dense woods had long since been abandoned by everything. The soldiers had been traveling all morning, following shadows and stories of their target. They had been on the move for days, and were finally led to that forsaken place, where the "monster" had supposedly fled. The stories they heard were numerous and extravagant, each making the man seem more and more like a being from a nightmare.
"From what we've gathered he should be here." The man on the leading horse looked back at the worried faces of his men. He looked back forward, unable to stand the weakness they were showing. "Rellian Seneschal, a criminal Shara. He is responsible for several deaths in the past several years, including some from his own home. Beyond that he is nothing more, muster your courage if only a little."
"But, Sir, from what we've heard it sounds like we're after a monster." Spoke a young, spooked soldier toward the back of the group. "From what the last person said, we're looking for a shadow, with swords for hands. And the person before him said Seneschal had a serpent-like body with horns!"
The lead soldier looked back at him with a cold stare. "Don't act so pathetic in my sight, its disgusting. We are here to fulfill our duty, and no one is running away now."
The brief exchange was cut short by the sound of a rustle only twenty yards away. In such a quiet place, the slightest noise can be heard even by daft ears. The soldiers jumped down from their mounts and readied their weapons. The lead soldier moved closer to the origin of the noise, the rest following behind on nervous legs. The lead soldier circled around the dense area, looking in from behind his shield. He jumped at the sight of a small animal running out of the area and deeper into the forest. The lead soldier breathed a sigh of relief and sheathed his sword, looking back at his men. "Let's move on." The soldiers nodded in agreement, each putting their swords away. The young, spooked soldier kept his sword drawn. "No. I'm not going any further. I didn't ask for this. I'm going back to town." Before the lead soldier could say a word, the young man was backing up toward the horses. Bringing someone so inexperienced to such an ominous place was a risk, but no one thought that such a small fright could make him crack. The young soldier continued to back up, nearing the road. He stood a few feet from a tree, planning to make a dash for the horses and take off.
"I'm sor-" Before the young soldier could finish, a large black hand pushed against his face, slamming him into the tree. The soldiers looked on as the young soldier fell to the ground, blood rolling down the left side of his face. A large impact mark was left on the tree, the soldiers staring in fear at the being that stood before them. The creature looked back at them, its face blank. The lead soldier was fixed on the large black circle on its chest, realizing that they were looking at what they had been sent out there for, Rellian Seneschal. "Men! Draw your blades!" The men were slow to react, allowing Rellian to move in quickly. The lead soldier watched as his men fell to the ground one after one. Before Rellian could make a move on the second to last, the lead soldier stepped in and fended him off with his shield. Before the lead soldier could say a word, Rellian was upon him again, striking ferociously. The lead soldier swung his sword at him, only to miss by a wide margin, allowing Rellian to kick him in the side. The talon-like feet of Rellian dug into the lead soldier, creating a gash on his side. He dropped his shield and covered the wound with his left hand, backing up from Rellian as he slowly approached. Rellian knocked the sword away with ease and gripped the throat of the soldier, lifting him up. "My name is Lyfer. Rellian Seneschal is dead. I thought you should know before you die." The soldier tried to fight back, but his sight faded to black.
The soldier awoke a few hours later in the back of a caravan with the young soldier lying beside him. Rellian, or Lyfer as he called himself, was knocked out by the soldier he had stepped in front of. While Lyfer was choking him, the other soldier bashed Lyfer's skull with the broadside of his blade. Lyfer was brought back to town and given to another caravan to meet with the others. All the soldiers were alive, including the young one who suffered a severe head injury, but would live. After being filled in on the situation, the lead soldier laid down and took a much needed rest. However, whether or not what he saw would stay with him, even in his nightmares, is unknown.
*Time Lapse Present Time*
Lyfer laid flat, his hands and legs bolted to the ground of the caravan. It had only been a few days, but the confinement was still to a better degree than his living conditions usually are. Two soldiers road on the front, occasionally looking back into the darkness through the small hole, the only visible light. Lyfer's eyes were the only thing they could see most nights, the lifeless look of them giving them goosebumps the first few times. "At least the freak is well behaved." Said the guard controlling the rains. The other took a bite out of an apple and grunted. He lifted the long black staff the soldiers found on his person when they captured him. The weight was enough to make it difficult to carry for most people, the soldier unable to even tell what it was made out of. The sounds of a commotion up ahead alerted both of them, the one holding the apple stood up to see what was going on.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!"
The guards looked at each other and quickly jumped off the caravan, making their way to the door on the backside. One of the soldiers put his key into the lock and opened the door, his eyes meeting Lyfer's. He hesitated letting him out, given what he heard happened to those who captured him. His key dangled from his hand, the other guard tugging on his arm. "Oi! What are you doing?!" The soldier nodded and took a step into the caravan, only to be pulled out immediately by a Nieral, his keys falling onto the wooden ground of the caravan. The other soldier removed his sword and drove it into the back of the brute. He tried to tend the wounds of the other soldier, but too much blood had been lost. He stood up, ready to fight, only to have a trunk bashed into his knee. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The Nieral jumped into the caravan, a small object hitting its face and falling to the floor. The object was a key, and the locks it opened. Out of the corner emerged Lyfer, his eyes meeting those of the Nieral. With a loud howl the Nieral attack him, only to slam itself against the wall of the caravan. Lyfer grabbed the bottom of the beasts jaw and and dug his claw-like fingers into it. He tore the jaw off the beast. Lyfer left the caravan, tossing the jaw into the woods. The soldier lied on the ground, still screaming in pain. His leg was likely broken from the impact of the trunk. Lyfer ignored him and went to the front of the transport to retrieve his staff. Now, with his weapon in hand, Lyfer was prepared to make his escape. Jumping off the transport, he was immediately stopped by the appearance of another beast. The Nieral leapt at him, its fangs only a foot away from his face when several tree roots emerged from the ground and thrust into the Nieral, pinning it against the caravan. "It seems my departure won't be as smooth as I thought it would be."
"From what we've gathered he should be here." The man on the leading horse looked back at the worried faces of his men. He looked back forward, unable to stand the weakness they were showing. "Rellian Seneschal, a criminal Shara. He is responsible for several deaths in the past several years, including some from his own home. Beyond that he is nothing more, muster your courage if only a little."
"But, Sir, from what we've heard it sounds like we're after a monster." Spoke a young, spooked soldier toward the back of the group. "From what the last person said, we're looking for a shadow, with swords for hands. And the person before him said Seneschal had a serpent-like body with horns!"
The lead soldier looked back at him with a cold stare. "Don't act so pathetic in my sight, its disgusting. We are here to fulfill our duty, and no one is running away now."
The brief exchange was cut short by the sound of a rustle only twenty yards away. In such a quiet place, the slightest noise can be heard even by daft ears. The soldiers jumped down from their mounts and readied their weapons. The lead soldier moved closer to the origin of the noise, the rest following behind on nervous legs. The lead soldier circled around the dense area, looking in from behind his shield. He jumped at the sight of a small animal running out of the area and deeper into the forest. The lead soldier breathed a sigh of relief and sheathed his sword, looking back at his men. "Let's move on." The soldiers nodded in agreement, each putting their swords away. The young, spooked soldier kept his sword drawn. "No. I'm not going any further. I didn't ask for this. I'm going back to town." Before the lead soldier could say a word, the young man was backing up toward the horses. Bringing someone so inexperienced to such an ominous place was a risk, but no one thought that such a small fright could make him crack. The young soldier continued to back up, nearing the road. He stood a few feet from a tree, planning to make a dash for the horses and take off.
"I'm sor-" Before the young soldier could finish, a large black hand pushed against his face, slamming him into the tree. The soldiers looked on as the young soldier fell to the ground, blood rolling down the left side of his face. A large impact mark was left on the tree, the soldiers staring in fear at the being that stood before them. The creature looked back at them, its face blank. The lead soldier was fixed on the large black circle on its chest, realizing that they were looking at what they had been sent out there for, Rellian Seneschal. "Men! Draw your blades!" The men were slow to react, allowing Rellian to move in quickly. The lead soldier watched as his men fell to the ground one after one. Before Rellian could make a move on the second to last, the lead soldier stepped in and fended him off with his shield. Before the lead soldier could say a word, Rellian was upon him again, striking ferociously. The lead soldier swung his sword at him, only to miss by a wide margin, allowing Rellian to kick him in the side. The talon-like feet of Rellian dug into the lead soldier, creating a gash on his side. He dropped his shield and covered the wound with his left hand, backing up from Rellian as he slowly approached. Rellian knocked the sword away with ease and gripped the throat of the soldier, lifting him up. "My name is Lyfer. Rellian Seneschal is dead. I thought you should know before you die." The soldier tried to fight back, but his sight faded to black.
The soldier awoke a few hours later in the back of a caravan with the young soldier lying beside him. Rellian, or Lyfer as he called himself, was knocked out by the soldier he had stepped in front of. While Lyfer was choking him, the other soldier bashed Lyfer's skull with the broadside of his blade. Lyfer was brought back to town and given to another caravan to meet with the others. All the soldiers were alive, including the young one who suffered a severe head injury, but would live. After being filled in on the situation, the lead soldier laid down and took a much needed rest. However, whether or not what he saw would stay with him, even in his nightmares, is unknown.
*Time Lapse Present Time*
Lyfer laid flat, his hands and legs bolted to the ground of the caravan. It had only been a few days, but the confinement was still to a better degree than his living conditions usually are. Two soldiers road on the front, occasionally looking back into the darkness through the small hole, the only visible light. Lyfer's eyes were the only thing they could see most nights, the lifeless look of them giving them goosebumps the first few times. "At least the freak is well behaved." Said the guard controlling the rains. The other took a bite out of an apple and grunted. He lifted the long black staff the soldiers found on his person when they captured him. The weight was enough to make it difficult to carry for most people, the soldier unable to even tell what it was made out of. The sounds of a commotion up ahead alerted both of them, the one holding the apple stood up to see what was going on.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We have been ambushed!"
The guards looked at each other and quickly jumped off the caravan, making their way to the door on the backside. One of the soldiers put his key into the lock and opened the door, his eyes meeting Lyfer's. He hesitated letting him out, given what he heard happened to those who captured him. His key dangled from his hand, the other guard tugging on his arm. "Oi! What are you doing?!" The soldier nodded and took a step into the caravan, only to be pulled out immediately by a Nieral, his keys falling onto the wooden ground of the caravan. The other soldier removed his sword and drove it into the back of the brute. He tried to tend the wounds of the other soldier, but too much blood had been lost. He stood up, ready to fight, only to have a trunk bashed into his knee. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The Nieral jumped into the caravan, a small object hitting its face and falling to the floor. The object was a key, and the locks it opened. Out of the corner emerged Lyfer, his eyes meeting those of the Nieral. With a loud howl the Nieral attack him, only to slam itself against the wall of the caravan. Lyfer grabbed the bottom of the beasts jaw and and dug his claw-like fingers into it. He tore the jaw off the beast. Lyfer left the caravan, tossing the jaw into the woods. The soldier lied on the ground, still screaming in pain. His leg was likely broken from the impact of the trunk. Lyfer ignored him and went to the front of the transport to retrieve his staff. Now, with his weapon in hand, Lyfer was prepared to make his escape. Jumping off the transport, he was immediately stopped by the appearance of another beast. The Nieral leapt at him, its fangs only a foot away from his face when several tree roots emerged from the ground and thrust into the Nieral, pinning it against the caravan. "It seems my departure won't be as smooth as I thought it would be."
OOC Notes
"Alles quiet on de home fr'nt, Duregar. A fine day fer th' hunt, ta be sure." The massive bear huffed in agreement, casually strolling through the forest. Astride his massive back sat Chisheema, crosslegged and smiling faintly. So far, the day was turning out well. They'd slept in till long past sunrise, ate a light, but refreshing breakfast, and found a new cave to explore.
"Dese'll be good in a stew...Eh Duregar?" The grizzly sniffed the mushrooms she was holding and sneezed in surprise. She frowned, glancing back and forth from the 'shrooms to the bear. He shook his enormous head and snorfled, pawing at her impatiently. It'd been many moons since they'd last run together, and he was getting impatient. Chisheema rose to her feet and sighed, but her grin betrayed her inner feelings. Without warning, she tapped him lightly on the nose and blasted off through the forest. Duregar roared, caught off guard, but soon was barreling after her like a cavaliers war-horse. The Orri'm warrior laughed wildly over her shoulder, dodging trees and ducking branches. Her companion simply went through all his obstacles, and thus was able to overtake her quite easily. Knowing she was beaten, Chisheema leapt onto his massive back and lay down, streamlining herself.
The duo stopped at a crystal brook for a refresher. The crisp, cool water was so inviting that Chisheema felt obliged to plunge her entire head into the stream and take enormous gulps. Her head broke surface with excessive force as she gasped for air. Duregar peered at her sidelong, sipping gently from the stream. She rolled her eyes and punched him playfully on the shoulder. After a while spent in contemplation, Chisheema's face slowly turned concerned. She looked about, eyes darting back and forth.
"Odd...Nary a bird ta be heard, nor a deer in sight. Somethin's not right. We press on, Duregar." Watching his surroundings with increased caution, the bear grunted in agreement. They took the high route, keeping to the brush and treeline.
"Duregar...We must make haste across th' field. Warn th' village o' th' danger." He roared in agreement, lumbering down the side of the mountain. It was only when they were halfway through the field that Chisheema noticed the smoke.
"No...no. No. No! NO! Nonononononono!!!" Sensing his mistress' distress, the bear increased the length of his paces to hurry their way to the source. It was as his master feared, however. The village she called home had been burnt to a cinder and the inhabitants slaughtered. Even worse, the soldiers who committed the atrocity remained to pick over the bones and loot anything of value. A piece of her died then, a piece of her sanity along with it. She screeched like a wild cat and leapt upon the nearest soldier. Her blows came fast and hard, raining down on the screaming man. Soon, however, his cries ceased as she pulped his internal organs with her fists. His companions were helpless to assist him, on account of the raging grizzly chasing them around the city. The group of soldiers soon grew, however, and they managed to herd Duregar and Chisheema together.
"These ones'll make a fine prize. Take them!" shouted the lead soldier. The group yelled and surged inward, overwhelming the pair in a small lake of flesh.
~Two months later~
Duregar sat in his usual corner of the wagon, watching out the window blankly. Every so often, he'd grunt or huff a comment to Chisheema, who replied in a monotone. His fur had lost its luster in captivity, becoming limp and matted. His neck had a ring of fur missing from the collar he usually had to wear. His partner was not in any better condition. Actually it was safe to say that she was worse than him. Chisheema acted much like an animal, and after two months of being treated as such it wasn't hard to see why. She also had to wear a collar, to keep her from attacking everyone on sight. She'd become something of a phenomenon amongst her captors. Tame under the presence of the collar, but woe be to those near her when it came off. When her "handler" removed it, she transformed into a wild, blood-lustful rage-spirit.
Duregar tapped her on the shoulder with his massive paw and muttered something to her. Chisheema perked her head up, straining her ears.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We've been attacked!"
The wagon stopped and the doors were thrown wide. Chisheema raised one arm to protect her eyes from the blinding sun, but yelped in surprise when Duregar pushed her out into the midst of the chaos. The soldier stepped back in surprise when a fully grown grizzly leapt lightly out of the cart, and was even more so when it swatted him away. Chisheema looked about, eyes wide but unmoving. The scene around her was full blown chaos. Men fighting for their lives, Nieral just fighting, and some other prisoners doing the same. Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her neck and she heard someone swearing mightily. With a sharp popping noise, the collar fell away from her neck and the man shouted, "Lo, I have leased the dog of war!"
As if electricity suddenly blazed through her viens, Chisheema's muscles snapped to attention and she did a backflip/spin. She hit the soldier in the neck seven times with the side of her hand. He vomited blood with a look of ultimate shock as he died. Duregar nodded once, satisfied, and then fiercely attacked a close by Nieral. Chisheema turned to do the same, reveling in the bloodshed.
"Dese'll be good in a stew...Eh Duregar?" The grizzly sniffed the mushrooms she was holding and sneezed in surprise. She frowned, glancing back and forth from the 'shrooms to the bear. He shook his enormous head and snorfled, pawing at her impatiently. It'd been many moons since they'd last run together, and he was getting impatient. Chisheema rose to her feet and sighed, but her grin betrayed her inner feelings. Without warning, she tapped him lightly on the nose and blasted off through the forest. Duregar roared, caught off guard, but soon was barreling after her like a cavaliers war-horse. The Orri'm warrior laughed wildly over her shoulder, dodging trees and ducking branches. Her companion simply went through all his obstacles, and thus was able to overtake her quite easily. Knowing she was beaten, Chisheema leapt onto his massive back and lay down, streamlining herself.
The duo stopped at a crystal brook for a refresher. The crisp, cool water was so inviting that Chisheema felt obliged to plunge her entire head into the stream and take enormous gulps. Her head broke surface with excessive force as she gasped for air. Duregar peered at her sidelong, sipping gently from the stream. She rolled her eyes and punched him playfully on the shoulder. After a while spent in contemplation, Chisheema's face slowly turned concerned. She looked about, eyes darting back and forth.
"Odd...Nary a bird ta be heard, nor a deer in sight. Somethin's not right. We press on, Duregar." Watching his surroundings with increased caution, the bear grunted in agreement. They took the high route, keeping to the brush and treeline.
"Duregar...We must make haste across th' field. Warn th' village o' th' danger." He roared in agreement, lumbering down the side of the mountain. It was only when they were halfway through the field that Chisheema noticed the smoke.
"No...no. No. No! NO! Nonononononono!!!" Sensing his mistress' distress, the bear increased the length of his paces to hurry their way to the source. It was as his master feared, however. The village she called home had been burnt to a cinder and the inhabitants slaughtered. Even worse, the soldiers who committed the atrocity remained to pick over the bones and loot anything of value. A piece of her died then, a piece of her sanity along with it. She screeched like a wild cat and leapt upon the nearest soldier. Her blows came fast and hard, raining down on the screaming man. Soon, however, his cries ceased as she pulped his internal organs with her fists. His companions were helpless to assist him, on account of the raging grizzly chasing them around the city. The group of soldiers soon grew, however, and they managed to herd Duregar and Chisheema together.
"These ones'll make a fine prize. Take them!" shouted the lead soldier. The group yelled and surged inward, overwhelming the pair in a small lake of flesh.
~Two months later~
Duregar sat in his usual corner of the wagon, watching out the window blankly. Every so often, he'd grunt or huff a comment to Chisheema, who replied in a monotone. His fur had lost its luster in captivity, becoming limp and matted. His neck had a ring of fur missing from the collar he usually had to wear. His partner was not in any better condition. Actually it was safe to say that she was worse than him. Chisheema acted much like an animal, and after two months of being treated as such it wasn't hard to see why. She also had to wear a collar, to keep her from attacking everyone on sight. She'd become something of a phenomenon amongst her captors. Tame under the presence of the collar, but woe be to those near her when it came off. When her "handler" removed it, she transformed into a wild, blood-lustful rage-spirit.
Duregar tapped her on the shoulder with his massive paw and muttered something to her. Chisheema perked her head up, straining her ears.
"Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We've been attacked!"
The wagon stopped and the doors were thrown wide. Chisheema raised one arm to protect her eyes from the blinding sun, but yelped in surprise when Duregar pushed her out into the midst of the chaos. The soldier stepped back in surprise when a fully grown grizzly leapt lightly out of the cart, and was even more so when it swatted him away. Chisheema looked about, eyes wide but unmoving. The scene around her was full blown chaos. Men fighting for their lives, Nieral just fighting, and some other prisoners doing the same. Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her neck and she heard someone swearing mightily. With a sharp popping noise, the collar fell away from her neck and the man shouted, "Lo, I have leased the dog of war!"
As if electricity suddenly blazed through her viens, Chisheema's muscles snapped to attention and she did a backflip/spin. She hit the soldier in the neck seven times with the side of her hand. He vomited blood with a look of ultimate shock as he died. Duregar nodded once, satisfied, and then fiercely attacked a close by Nieral. Chisheema turned to do the same, reveling in the bloodshed.
OOC Notes
After taking one last look down on the town she had briefly called her home Hana adjusted her travel pack and was on her way. She had in her mind a vague idea of the next township she would visit. The day was unseasonably warm and she took pleasure in walking barefoot on the grass on the side of the road rather than on the road itself. She sighed sadly to herself. Leaving was always hard. Farming folk were good hearted people who lived humble lives, she loved and respected the people she met and helped dearly. Goddess and god look after these people.
She walked for three hours setting a good steady pace for herself. Travelling by foot for long distances was an arduous task especially through bad weather, but Hana didn’t mind. Toko, the farmer who organised the house for her, had generously offered her a horse for this journey. Hana had declined feeling that he had done too much for her already and she knew the beast would be needed in harvest.
She had just settled down on a picnic blanket fashioned out of her travelling coat to have some lunch when she heard the sounds of hooves beating down on the dirt road towards her. It sounded like seven or eight horses galloping hard. They were coming from the same direction that Hana was travelling from. She stood up and looked down the road alarmed. Eight riders in a cloud of dust were approaching fast. In their haste they almost past her, but at the last moment the front rider pulled his horse around and stopped. He dismounted and drew his sword, three of the other riders followed in suit. The first rider, a harden warrior from the look of him, looked Hana up and down. He turned to the rider on his right, a towering man with dead eyes, who nodded.
Hana’s heart sank, she knew this day was coming but had hoped her freedom would have lasted a little longer. She shrugged helplessly.
“Ok, you found me. Well done.” She said addressing the men. She watched them watching her wearily, swords still raised “I’m not sure what you’ve been told about me, but i’m not going to fight you. Put your swords away.”
“You are to come with us.” The first rider told her, stepping towards her sword still out.
“I figured that much. I’ll come peacefully.” She replied. She bent to gather her belongings. The rider surged forward and grabbed her firmly by her upper arm. Two of the other riders moved in, they collected and searched her things.
“Ow! You’re hurting me! I said i’ll come peacefully. What’s wrong with you?”
“No weapons sir.”
”No weapons hey?” With that he sheathed his sword and released his hold on Hana’s arm. He then searched her person. He seemed to take pleasure in her screams of protest. He was humiliatingly thorough in her search and unnecessarily rough. He found nothing. He raised his armoured fist and clocked her firmly in the temple. Hana was out cold. “Sleeping women are easier to travel with.”
-Present time-
Hana walked in chains behind the caravan not too sure, as usual, as to what was going on. She had been following this caravan for months now. It dawned on her pretty early in the piece that the riders were not sent by whom she originally thought. She had heard whisperings of “chosen ones” and “heroes” but that didn’t make much sense to her. She had had the chances to study and talk to (the ones that would talk) the other captives and couldn’t put aside the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she was not like these people and she didn’t belong here.
“Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We’ve been ambushed.”
A chill ran through Hana at these words. She was the first to be released by the guard, perhaps because she looked more savoury than the rest, but she stood rooted to the spot not sure what to do. The guard that opened her bonds slapped a dagger into her hand whilst the other seemed to be retrieving their personal arms. A flurry of movement and violence was going on around her and still she stood staring blankly at the borrowed dagger in her hand.
“You know what to do with that love?” The guard asked her laughingly before charging into combat.
“Um... the pointy end goes in the other man?” She replied, but more to herself than the guard as he was already gone.
Hana did the only reasonable thing she could do with no battle training. She ran. She ran behind a big tree flattening herself against it. She held the dagger in both hands against her chest and prayed.
Goddess and god hear my prayer: Save our souls.
She walked for three hours setting a good steady pace for herself. Travelling by foot for long distances was an arduous task especially through bad weather, but Hana didn’t mind. Toko, the farmer who organised the house for her, had generously offered her a horse for this journey. Hana had declined feeling that he had done too much for her already and she knew the beast would be needed in harvest.
She had just settled down on a picnic blanket fashioned out of her travelling coat to have some lunch when she heard the sounds of hooves beating down on the dirt road towards her. It sounded like seven or eight horses galloping hard. They were coming from the same direction that Hana was travelling from. She stood up and looked down the road alarmed. Eight riders in a cloud of dust were approaching fast. In their haste they almost past her, but at the last moment the front rider pulled his horse around and stopped. He dismounted and drew his sword, three of the other riders followed in suit. The first rider, a harden warrior from the look of him, looked Hana up and down. He turned to the rider on his right, a towering man with dead eyes, who nodded.
Hana’s heart sank, she knew this day was coming but had hoped her freedom would have lasted a little longer. She shrugged helplessly.
“Ok, you found me. Well done.” She said addressing the men. She watched them watching her wearily, swords still raised “I’m not sure what you’ve been told about me, but i’m not going to fight you. Put your swords away.”
“You are to come with us.” The first rider told her, stepping towards her sword still out.
“I figured that much. I’ll come peacefully.” She replied. She bent to gather her belongings. The rider surged forward and grabbed her firmly by her upper arm. Two of the other riders moved in, they collected and searched her things.
“Ow! You’re hurting me! I said i’ll come peacefully. What’s wrong with you?”
“No weapons sir.”
”No weapons hey?” With that he sheathed his sword and released his hold on Hana’s arm. He then searched her person. He seemed to take pleasure in her screams of protest. He was humiliatingly thorough in her search and unnecessarily rough. He found nothing. He raised his armoured fist and clocked her firmly in the temple. Hana was out cold. “Sleeping women are easier to travel with.”
-Present time-
Hana walked in chains behind the caravan not too sure, as usual, as to what was going on. She had been following this caravan for months now. It dawned on her pretty early in the piece that the riders were not sent by whom she originally thought. She had heard whisperings of “chosen ones” and “heroes” but that didn’t make much sense to her. She had had the chances to study and talk to (the ones that would talk) the other captives and couldn’t put aside the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she was not like these people and she didn’t belong here.
“Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We’ve been ambushed.”
A chill ran through Hana at these words. She was the first to be released by the guard, perhaps because she looked more savoury than the rest, but she stood rooted to the spot not sure what to do. The guard that opened her bonds slapped a dagger into her hand whilst the other seemed to be retrieving their personal arms. A flurry of movement and violence was going on around her and still she stood staring blankly at the borrowed dagger in her hand.
“You know what to do with that love?” The guard asked her laughingly before charging into combat.
“Um... the pointy end goes in the other man?” She replied, but more to herself than the guard as he was already gone.
Hana did the only reasonable thing she could do with no battle training. She ran. She ran behind a big tree flattening herself against it. She held the dagger in both hands against her chest and prayed.
Goddess and god hear my prayer: Save our souls.
OOC Notes
The sizzle-clank response of heated metal against her cold hammer was most soothing to Kazri. She had finished forging new horseshoes for Engruk, the stable master; but before making her way into town to deliver his crate, she began putting the finishing touches on a project she’d been working on. With an ever-so-small hammer and chisel, she chinked against the warm metal and completed the last swirl. Lowering the weapon’s head in a bucket of cold water, a reassuring hiss greeted her.
“That’s right… You’re finished now, beauty. Let’s take a look at you.” She cooed.
Lifting the axe to its full height, a grin danced across her face. She watched as the water droplets zoomed in and out of the ornate design and finally rushed downwards, and splashed onto her hands; she was very proud. Wrapping her knuckles around the handle, she stepped outside to the nearby woodpile. She kicked a round stump lose, and gently set the tip of the axe against its dry skin. Drawing it back, she felt the energy rush down her arms and into the weapon, thrusting it towards the wood. Schinnnk Dropping to her knees, Kazri ran her finger across the smooth grain of the wood. This was, without a doubt, one of her finest creations.
“Kazri! Haven’t you finished those shoes for Mr. Engruk yet? Or are you dilly-dallying once more?” her Mother shrieked.
“I am about to start into town, Mother.” She responded.
“Good. Try and pick us up a chicken.”
There was a slight pause, before Kazri heard the door slam shut. She returned to her workspace, gathered the neatly tied parcel, slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder, and carefully secured her new prized possession on her back. Hopefully a brave villager would ask her of its origin. And maybe, one day, she would be called Kazri the Smith, instead of the green-eyed girl. The thought had even occurred to her, once or twice, to cut the damned eye out and pass it off as an unfortunate accident. But, whether she wanted to be or not, she would always be remembered for her one green eye.
Kazri stopped a few paces away from the outskirts of the village; she paused and pulled her dusty green cloak over her head. This never seemed to deter the on-lookers, but at least it made her feel more invisible. She quickened her pace and headed towards Engruk’s stable. An unusual number of people gathered outside of their homes. They were trying to look busy, though when Kazri glanced quickly towards them she could see they were watching her.
Has yet another rumor been spread like wildfire? And what is it this time? Those were questions she was begging to ask. Bursting through the stable doors with unintended force, she startled the stable master making him leap from his stool.
“I apologize, Engruk. I did not mean to surprise you. Here is the parcel of horse shoes you requested.” She softly placed the neatly tied package down on his wooden workbench. Glancing at him, she realized he had a forlorn look on his face. Immediately she became tense. She recognized this look. This was the look people gave her before they oozed out some sad story about why they couldn’t pay.
She opened her mouth to question him, when a dark mass was pulled over her head. Frantically shouting and swinging her fists blindly, she heard Engruk respond.
“I’m sorry Green… I’m sure the village much appreciates your donation of shoes.”
Thick, rough fingers squeezed tightly around her neck. Her limbs became as heavy as the metals she worked with; voices became fuzzy and slow.
“I knew she wouldn’t go without a fight…” though nearly indistinguishable, she pinned the low tones as the voice of her Father.
-------- Present Time ---------
Kazri trotted behind the caravan. Her captures had tried to place her inside of the wagon, seeing as her stride wasn’t as large as the rest of the chained prisoners; definitely not a good decision. Kazri screamed and shouted lists of derogatory comments and curses, until the guards finally threw up their hands and returned her to the end of the caravan. She had been treated different her entire life, by her own kind, for the way she looked. She wasn’t about to let some half-witted, tall oaf do the same. The first few days were extremely intense; the days to follow were decreasingly difficult. Whether her body was adapting or the pace was continuously slowing, she could not be sure.
A bead of sweat made its way down Kazri’s face, dripping into her mouth. The sting of salt on her cracked lips made her try to lick them once again in a futile attempt to console them.
A few hours into their daily journey, the familiar sound of clinking metal rang in her ears. Shrill shouts and rustling sounds followed.
“Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We are being attacked!”
As soon as the shackles dropped from her arms and feet, she ran with renewed strength towards the wagon; throwing her small frame into the coverings. She rummaged through the contents until she procured her weapons. Scuttling towards a small tree she assessed the situation. Narrowing her gaze, she drew an arrow against her bow, aiming at a large brute. Fwwwch The arrow left her hand, the black bird feathers on the end spiraling rapidly towards it’s mark.
She missed.
Cursing her lack of ranged skills, she slipped her bow onto her shoulder. Twisting the handle of her axe anxiously in her hands, she gritted her teeth and ran towards a distracted beast.
“That’s right… You’re finished now, beauty. Let’s take a look at you.” She cooed.
Lifting the axe to its full height, a grin danced across her face. She watched as the water droplets zoomed in and out of the ornate design and finally rushed downwards, and splashed onto her hands; she was very proud. Wrapping her knuckles around the handle, she stepped outside to the nearby woodpile. She kicked a round stump lose, and gently set the tip of the axe against its dry skin. Drawing it back, she felt the energy rush down her arms and into the weapon, thrusting it towards the wood. Schinnnk Dropping to her knees, Kazri ran her finger across the smooth grain of the wood. This was, without a doubt, one of her finest creations.
“Kazri! Haven’t you finished those shoes for Mr. Engruk yet? Or are you dilly-dallying once more?” her Mother shrieked.
“I am about to start into town, Mother.” She responded.
“Good. Try and pick us up a chicken.”
There was a slight pause, before Kazri heard the door slam shut. She returned to her workspace, gathered the neatly tied parcel, slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder, and carefully secured her new prized possession on her back. Hopefully a brave villager would ask her of its origin. And maybe, one day, she would be called Kazri the Smith, instead of the green-eyed girl. The thought had even occurred to her, once or twice, to cut the damned eye out and pass it off as an unfortunate accident. But, whether she wanted to be or not, she would always be remembered for her one green eye.
Kazri stopped a few paces away from the outskirts of the village; she paused and pulled her dusty green cloak over her head. This never seemed to deter the on-lookers, but at least it made her feel more invisible. She quickened her pace and headed towards Engruk’s stable. An unusual number of people gathered outside of their homes. They were trying to look busy, though when Kazri glanced quickly towards them she could see they were watching her.
Has yet another rumor been spread like wildfire? And what is it this time? Those were questions she was begging to ask. Bursting through the stable doors with unintended force, she startled the stable master making him leap from his stool.
“I apologize, Engruk. I did not mean to surprise you. Here is the parcel of horse shoes you requested.” She softly placed the neatly tied package down on his wooden workbench. Glancing at him, she realized he had a forlorn look on his face. Immediately she became tense. She recognized this look. This was the look people gave her before they oozed out some sad story about why they couldn’t pay.
She opened her mouth to question him, when a dark mass was pulled over her head. Frantically shouting and swinging her fists blindly, she heard Engruk respond.
“I’m sorry Green… I’m sure the village much appreciates your donation of shoes.”
Thick, rough fingers squeezed tightly around her neck. Her limbs became as heavy as the metals she worked with; voices became fuzzy and slow.
“I knew she wouldn’t go without a fight…” though nearly indistinguishable, she pinned the low tones as the voice of her Father.
-------- Present Time ---------
Kazri trotted behind the caravan. Her captures had tried to place her inside of the wagon, seeing as her stride wasn’t as large as the rest of the chained prisoners; definitely not a good decision. Kazri screamed and shouted lists of derogatory comments and curses, until the guards finally threw up their hands and returned her to the end of the caravan. She had been treated different her entire life, by her own kind, for the way she looked. She wasn’t about to let some half-witted, tall oaf do the same. The first few days were extremely intense; the days to follow were decreasingly difficult. Whether her body was adapting or the pace was continuously slowing, she could not be sure.
A bead of sweat made its way down Kazri’s face, dripping into her mouth. The sting of salt on her cracked lips made her try to lick them once again in a futile attempt to console them.
A few hours into their daily journey, the familiar sound of clinking metal rang in her ears. Shrill shouts and rustling sounds followed.
“Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We are being attacked!”
As soon as the shackles dropped from her arms and feet, she ran with renewed strength towards the wagon; throwing her small frame into the coverings. She rummaged through the contents until she procured her weapons. Scuttling towards a small tree she assessed the situation. Narrowing her gaze, she drew an arrow against her bow, aiming at a large brute. Fwwwch The arrow left her hand, the black bird feathers on the end spiraling rapidly towards it’s mark.
She missed.
Cursing her lack of ranged skills, she slipped her bow onto her shoulder. Twisting the handle of her axe anxiously in her hands, she gritted her teeth and ran towards a distracted beast.
OOC Notes
Quietly hovering over twenty feet above the fight that had just broken out, a tall, slim figure folded her long fingers together and calmly watched gore and death work themselves out on the ground. With every breath she took, Endyne sunk a few inches closer towards the ground. She was slowly working herself down--down towards the fight, where she could dominate the field in no more than a few moments. Just a second before her feet came in contact with the dirt, she unsheathed a dagger from the black leather belt she wore and plunged it into the unsuspecting back of a beast. As she did this, three more were upon her--however, she was no longer present to be upon. She had made a quick side-step, using one of the oldest tricks in the book to cause the three to collide.
Behind the caravan there was an expanse of empty space, littered with only a few spatters of blood and a groaning Neru'abar. Bare feet racing along the red mud that had been made by the mixing of blood and dirt, Endyne knelt beside the wounded Rivael. She gently hit the side of his pale, now clammy face with her hand twice to see if he would respond. "I was told you were knowledgeable," she muttered, unclasping the buckles that held on the man's armor. "Informed that I was only brought as a precaution--" as she spoke, frustration and indignance mixing in her voice, she opened a satchel tied off of her belt and withdrew a long length of white fabric and a pair of shears. "--assured that I would not be needed," she quickly cut a line across his soft leather undershirt and opened the two now disconnected pieces from his chest. "And most of all, convinced that this--" she shook the fabric in her hand, and then began to use the tips of her fingers to delicately pick out the leather and metal pieces that had been embedded in the wound. "--would not be necessary. Lucky for you, I brought it, though I was strongly advised not to," she finished both her sentence and her work by putting one hand under Rivael's back, lifting his chest off the ground, and wrapping the bandage around him again and again.
"But what could I do except watch from above, as they did not allow me to eat or drink anything prior to my leaving? How am I to travel back or forth, with no sustenance in my body?" She was not so much talking to him as she was angrily rambling to herself. "Do you feel any pain in your fingertips? Can you roll your ankles for me?" She was looking at him with wide, expectant cool blue eyes.
Behind the caravan there was an expanse of empty space, littered with only a few spatters of blood and a groaning Neru'abar. Bare feet racing along the red mud that had been made by the mixing of blood and dirt, Endyne knelt beside the wounded Rivael. She gently hit the side of his pale, now clammy face with her hand twice to see if he would respond. "I was told you were knowledgeable," she muttered, unclasping the buckles that held on the man's armor. "Informed that I was only brought as a precaution--" as she spoke, frustration and indignance mixing in her voice, she opened a satchel tied off of her belt and withdrew a long length of white fabric and a pair of shears. "--assured that I would not be needed," she quickly cut a line across his soft leather undershirt and opened the two now disconnected pieces from his chest. "And most of all, convinced that this--" she shook the fabric in her hand, and then began to use the tips of her fingers to delicately pick out the leather and metal pieces that had been embedded in the wound. "--would not be necessary. Lucky for you, I brought it, though I was strongly advised not to," she finished both her sentence and her work by putting one hand under Rivael's back, lifting his chest off the ground, and wrapping the bandage around him again and again.
"But what could I do except watch from above, as they did not allow me to eat or drink anything prior to my leaving? How am I to travel back or forth, with no sustenance in my body?" She was not so much talking to him as she was angrily rambling to herself. "Do you feel any pain in your fingertips? Can you roll your ankles for me?" She was looking at him with wide, expectant cool blue eyes.
OOC Notes
Red neighed heavily in anticipation before the five armed men. They surrounded him, weapons bared. The tallest of the men, a whip-cord thin creature with a condescending sneer on his face, had blade master stripes on the breast of his uniform. He spoke first. "Mazren Krask, traitor and thug. You betrayed your oath and if it were up to me you would be dead now."
Mazren took the pipe out of his mouth and knocked the ash out on his thick leather leggings. Keeping the reins in his left hand he pulled out a wineskin with his right. "Seven men came to kill me once. One of them was a blade master like yourself."
The pre-dawn light began to sprinkle the dusty hills with color. In the distance a bird of prey called to it's mate. The small pass he was in had been the perfect place for an ambush, Mazren had grown careless the farther he had gotten from Baldor territory. They wanted him bad. He must have killed someone important while he wasn't paying attention.
As the mercenary took a deep draught from the skin the men looked at each other nervously. He didn't bother telling them that the same blade master he fought all those years ago had made him look like an oaf at child's play. Mazren loosened his blade in it's scabbard.
The officer licked his lips and glanced at the mercenary, unsure of himself. "We want you alive, Krask. I have sworn to take you in, as has every man here. A blood oath. Though something like that means little to you, we will die before you get away. Are you that sure you can best all of us?"
Red shifted underneath Mazren, making his discomfort known. A few moments passed in the lazy morning light as Mazren and the officer stared at each other. Without warning the sellsword slipped off of his mount and unsheathed his blade. "It's been a while since I fought a blade master, let's see what I've learned."
A few months later Mazren limped behind a caravan, favoring his right leg. His back bore scars from the whipping he had received from a Baldor captain, the scars had just started to scab. His skin had darkened under the bright and unmerciful sun. He wore nothing but a leather loincloth, yet he stood proudly and never faltered despite his limp. His feet were bloody from the marching, his wrists chafed from the rope that tied him to the wagon. His hair continually fell in front of his face obscuring his vision, they had cut his warrior's braid.
The captain that had delivered his punishment rode slightly ahead on Red. He fingered Mazren's pipe idly as it hung limply from his mouth. The man's name was Galud Reznot and he was marked for death, Mazren had promised him that he would die. Galud looked back at Mazren with a sneer on his face. "Are you thirsty, dog? I would share some of this Sharan wine I found recently, but I seemed to have drank it all. Good quality, I'm surprised a brigand such as yourself would have such refined tastes."
Mazren gathered what little bit of saliva rested in his mouth and spat at Reznot. "You crone like a woman. The only time I have seen a weapon in your hand someone has had their back to you. You have forgotten the face of your father."
Galud's face screwed up in contempt. "You think so highly of yourself, don't you? Well, listen here, verrater; you are less than nothing. I am going to kill you, then I will return to your father's clan and find myself a bride."
The connotation of that last insult would be meaningless to any but a Baldor. It was the worst insult one male could give another; a promise to not only desecrate his memory but his clan.
"Ha! You fool. The women of my father's clan will laugh at you and beat you with sticks." Mazren and the captain glared at each other for a few more moments before they could hear from up ahead;
“Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We are being attacked!”
The captain's head snapped to the front his attention gone from Mazren. A guard leading his horse stepped over to Mazren and tossed him a dirk before mounting and riding to the front. Mazren reversed the blade in his hands and sawed at his bindings for a moment before finally slipping free.
He lifted the rope from his bonds in one hand and began to swing it just enough so that a slight whistling could be heard right before he released it. The makeshift lasso pulled the captain from the saddle violently and Mazren stepped heavily on his stomach as he passed and leapt on to Red's back.
Red rode hard for the front, knocking aside more than one of the great beasts in his path. When the air became thick with blood and sweat Mazren knew he had reached his destination. He slipped from the saddle and slapped Red's flank to get him away from the fighting. He saw a rusted sword on the ground and scooped it up as he ran passed. With a roar and a running start the mercenary launched himself through the air onto the back of a colossal Nieral that kept attackers at bay with swipes of it's gargantuan claws.
"Arrrrgh!" Mazren stabbed the dirk into the nape of the beast's neck three times before being pulled off of it's back by his leg. The new threat gnashed at him with yellow fangs, pinning him to the ground. With a grunt of effort Mazren tossed the creature off of him and threw the dirk in it's left eye as he stood. He adopted a defensive posture, watching the great Neiral from before round on him slowly. It reared it's ugly head back to roar at him defiantly, as it did Mazren swung the blade in wide arc taking off the beasts left foreleg and sending a spray of blood outward. Mazren roared back at the now whimpering beast before driving the blade point first into it's throat. "Rarrrrrrrrrrrgh!!"
The mercenary stepped back, took a deep breath and pushed the hair out of his eyes. He picked up a fallen soldier's canteen and poured the water into his mouth greedily before turning to observe the rest of the fighting. The blade master that had captured him was fighting five of the beasts single handedly. It would be over soon. Mazren hefted his blade and ran into the thick of the fighting.
Mazren took the pipe out of his mouth and knocked the ash out on his thick leather leggings. Keeping the reins in his left hand he pulled out a wineskin with his right. "Seven men came to kill me once. One of them was a blade master like yourself."
The pre-dawn light began to sprinkle the dusty hills with color. In the distance a bird of prey called to it's mate. The small pass he was in had been the perfect place for an ambush, Mazren had grown careless the farther he had gotten from Baldor territory. They wanted him bad. He must have killed someone important while he wasn't paying attention.
As the mercenary took a deep draught from the skin the men looked at each other nervously. He didn't bother telling them that the same blade master he fought all those years ago had made him look like an oaf at child's play. Mazren loosened his blade in it's scabbard.
The officer licked his lips and glanced at the mercenary, unsure of himself. "We want you alive, Krask. I have sworn to take you in, as has every man here. A blood oath. Though something like that means little to you, we will die before you get away. Are you that sure you can best all of us?"
Red shifted underneath Mazren, making his discomfort known. A few moments passed in the lazy morning light as Mazren and the officer stared at each other. Without warning the sellsword slipped off of his mount and unsheathed his blade. "It's been a while since I fought a blade master, let's see what I've learned."
A few months later Mazren limped behind a caravan, favoring his right leg. His back bore scars from the whipping he had received from a Baldor captain, the scars had just started to scab. His skin had darkened under the bright and unmerciful sun. He wore nothing but a leather loincloth, yet he stood proudly and never faltered despite his limp. His feet were bloody from the marching, his wrists chafed from the rope that tied him to the wagon. His hair continually fell in front of his face obscuring his vision, they had cut his warrior's braid.
The captain that had delivered his punishment rode slightly ahead on Red. He fingered Mazren's pipe idly as it hung limply from his mouth. The man's name was Galud Reznot and he was marked for death, Mazren had promised him that he would die. Galud looked back at Mazren with a sneer on his face. "Are you thirsty, dog? I would share some of this Sharan wine I found recently, but I seemed to have drank it all. Good quality, I'm surprised a brigand such as yourself would have such refined tastes."
Mazren gathered what little bit of saliva rested in his mouth and spat at Reznot. "You crone like a woman. The only time I have seen a weapon in your hand someone has had their back to you. You have forgotten the face of your father."
Galud's face screwed up in contempt. "You think so highly of yourself, don't you? Well, listen here, verrater; you are less than nothing. I am going to kill you, then I will return to your father's clan and find myself a bride."
The connotation of that last insult would be meaningless to any but a Baldor. It was the worst insult one male could give another; a promise to not only desecrate his memory but his clan.
"Ha! You fool. The women of my father's clan will laugh at you and beat you with sticks." Mazren and the captain glared at each other for a few more moments before they could hear from up ahead;
“Release the prisoners, let them take arms! We are being attacked!”
The captain's head snapped to the front his attention gone from Mazren. A guard leading his horse stepped over to Mazren and tossed him a dirk before mounting and riding to the front. Mazren reversed the blade in his hands and sawed at his bindings for a moment before finally slipping free.
He lifted the rope from his bonds in one hand and began to swing it just enough so that a slight whistling could be heard right before he released it. The makeshift lasso pulled the captain from the saddle violently and Mazren stepped heavily on his stomach as he passed and leapt on to Red's back.
Red rode hard for the front, knocking aside more than one of the great beasts in his path. When the air became thick with blood and sweat Mazren knew he had reached his destination. He slipped from the saddle and slapped Red's flank to get him away from the fighting. He saw a rusted sword on the ground and scooped it up as he ran passed. With a roar and a running start the mercenary launched himself through the air onto the back of a colossal Nieral that kept attackers at bay with swipes of it's gargantuan claws.
"Arrrrgh!" Mazren stabbed the dirk into the nape of the beast's neck three times before being pulled off of it's back by his leg. The new threat gnashed at him with yellow fangs, pinning him to the ground. With a grunt of effort Mazren tossed the creature off of him and threw the dirk in it's left eye as he stood. He adopted a defensive posture, watching the great Neiral from before round on him slowly. It reared it's ugly head back to roar at him defiantly, as it did Mazren swung the blade in wide arc taking off the beasts left foreleg and sending a spray of blood outward. Mazren roared back at the now whimpering beast before driving the blade point first into it's throat. "Rarrrrrrrrrrrgh!!"
The mercenary stepped back, took a deep breath and pushed the hair out of his eyes. He picked up a fallen soldier's canteen and poured the water into his mouth greedily before turning to observe the rest of the fighting. The blade master that had captured him was fighting five of the beasts single handedly. It would be over soon. Mazren hefted his blade and ran into the thick of the fighting.
OOC Notes
Bleary clunks provoked by the constant friction of claws and iron lingered through a beating heart, the male's senses enshrouded by the anarchy which overlapped the battlefield. Fingers coiled and uncoiled in an effort to relinquish the last few remnants of a passing numbness, pearls of sweat now idly trickling down across a white forehead. Fear? Perhaps. In all honesty, what more of a harrowing event exists than to stare death in its eyes, leaving one without even the slightest eventuality to gamble for his life? Perchance such a circumstance was mandatory for the Neru'abar to fully comprehend the potential of those which would be called in the centuries to come "the chosen ones."
Latent orbs analyzed the on-going skirmish, Rivael undertaking the role of a mere spectator in the spar which now began to unmask itself. A band of misfits: criminals, outcasts and pariahs - still here they were, garbed in the simplest of clothing or armors, armed with the most basic of arms - defiantly standing against a force alike they have never seen. Had the prophecy been indeed true?
Yet in a mere moment the trail of his thoughts lay broken, a warm caress rendered by soft skin trailing across the male's bruised cheek. Crooking his neck as to better face his savior, he met the one which would later come to be known as Endyne Aphi'il: "I was told you were knowledgeable.." - the clearly irritated female muttered, the rest of her words stifled by the sounds of the on-going combat. Without even as much as a plea for aid she began to swiftly bandage his wounds, sturdy arms lifting a wounded Rivael from upon the forest's floor, the male now gaining a better perspective of the ongoing clash:
A rampant Baldor had now mounted a large Nieral in an attempt to pierce its windpipe (which later to his great surprise showed itself to be successful) as another Baldor had rapidly clambered atop a nearby tree in an effort to slay her victims from range. An Anaur had already fled towards the bushes (in her own defense, one cannot expect much from a woman) and strangely enough, an Orii'm prisoner had actually mutilated one of her assailants. To the side an odd creature had just been engaged by a nearby brute as another (handsome, if he were to admit himself) Orii'm had just sprinted through a series of demonics with it's avian counterpart cheering her from the air. Last but not least, a rather fragile-looking Shara male had also occupied a nearby tree as to deploy his arrows, the armor-clad Neru'abar male which had saved him occupied with the slicing and dicing of other Nierals.
Chaos.
Withal, in an eerie moment the battle had ceased. As if drawn by bait the creatures had all but burrowed in to the forest's depth, leaving behind an aftermath of horror and gore. Desecrated bodies pertaining to once honorable soldiers now lay scattered in shreds, crimson blood trickling from each and every corpse inhabiting the field.
Upholding himself with the aid of his polearm, the male inclined his head towards the woman which had tendered his rakes and gashes whilst swiftly commencing to gather the bodies of those which were no more: "Assist me. The stench of flesh shall draw more than we can handle. We need to incinerate them." - Rivael spoke towards the captives and the few soldiers which survived. A few moments later and with the assistance of an oil-lamp, carmine flames embraced the carcasses of the deceased. "Memorize their names: they shall be forever known as the first to die in the war which ended the blight." - the Neru'abar spoke towards the guardsmen, briefly pausing as to gather his ideas: "Take what ever belongings you have and leave the caravan in my care. Travel to the Synod and inform them that Rivael Andur'me has gained control of the chosen ones. We shall proceed as instructed and will deliver more news as soon as more events unfold."
And with that, the soldiers hastingly departed, leaving the male with what were soon to be his most trusted companions.
*Time lapse: two and a half hours*
The camp had been set as to his instructions, several tents encircling a joyful fire. Laboriously making his way in front of the crowd, the could-have-been-commander addressed himself: "I am Rivael Andur'me, heir to the noble house of Andur'me and leader of this mission. By the decree of the Synod and prophecy of the Conclave, you shall henceforth be known as The Chosen Ones. After many months of searching, through the grace of Lady Minerva's visions, we have stumbled across you - those which have been foretold to end this war. Let it be known that I neither care for your willingness to participate in this task, nor do I care if you shall enjoy any moment of it. For those of you which do not desire to undertake their part in this tale, the one and only other option is death by execution. Take a long stare towards those situated on your right and left as they will be the ones amongst which you shall dwell for the upcoming months, possibly years. Bond as brothers and sisters, respect each other as the best of friends. Failure is not an option. Any questions, important and intelligent questions, shall be directed towards me."
And with that the monologue had unexpectedly ended, the male swiftly carrying himself towards a nearby tent, sinewy arms plunging the polearm's body in to the ground as to form a prop against which he could support his body, Rivael clearly intending to stand guard.
Latent orbs analyzed the on-going skirmish, Rivael undertaking the role of a mere spectator in the spar which now began to unmask itself. A band of misfits: criminals, outcasts and pariahs - still here they were, garbed in the simplest of clothing or armors, armed with the most basic of arms - defiantly standing against a force alike they have never seen. Had the prophecy been indeed true?
Yet in a mere moment the trail of his thoughts lay broken, a warm caress rendered by soft skin trailing across the male's bruised cheek. Crooking his neck as to better face his savior, he met the one which would later come to be known as Endyne Aphi'il: "I was told you were knowledgeable.." - the clearly irritated female muttered, the rest of her words stifled by the sounds of the on-going combat. Without even as much as a plea for aid she began to swiftly bandage his wounds, sturdy arms lifting a wounded Rivael from upon the forest's floor, the male now gaining a better perspective of the ongoing clash:
A rampant Baldor had now mounted a large Nieral in an attempt to pierce its windpipe (which later to his great surprise showed itself to be successful) as another Baldor had rapidly clambered atop a nearby tree in an effort to slay her victims from range. An Anaur had already fled towards the bushes (in her own defense, one cannot expect much from a woman) and strangely enough, an Orii'm prisoner had actually mutilated one of her assailants. To the side an odd creature had just been engaged by a nearby brute as another (handsome, if he were to admit himself) Orii'm had just sprinted through a series of demonics with it's avian counterpart cheering her from the air. Last but not least, a rather fragile-looking Shara male had also occupied a nearby tree as to deploy his arrows, the armor-clad Neru'abar male which had saved him occupied with the slicing and dicing of other Nierals.
Chaos.
Withal, in an eerie moment the battle had ceased. As if drawn by bait the creatures had all but burrowed in to the forest's depth, leaving behind an aftermath of horror and gore. Desecrated bodies pertaining to once honorable soldiers now lay scattered in shreds, crimson blood trickling from each and every corpse inhabiting the field.
Upholding himself with the aid of his polearm, the male inclined his head towards the woman which had tendered his rakes and gashes whilst swiftly commencing to gather the bodies of those which were no more: "Assist me. The stench of flesh shall draw more than we can handle. We need to incinerate them." - Rivael spoke towards the captives and the few soldiers which survived. A few moments later and with the assistance of an oil-lamp, carmine flames embraced the carcasses of the deceased. "Memorize their names: they shall be forever known as the first to die in the war which ended the blight." - the Neru'abar spoke towards the guardsmen, briefly pausing as to gather his ideas: "Take what ever belongings you have and leave the caravan in my care. Travel to the Synod and inform them that Rivael Andur'me has gained control of the chosen ones. We shall proceed as instructed and will deliver more news as soon as more events unfold."
And with that, the soldiers hastingly departed, leaving the male with what were soon to be his most trusted companions.
*Time lapse: two and a half hours*
The camp had been set as to his instructions, several tents encircling a joyful fire. Laboriously making his way in front of the crowd, the could-have-been-commander addressed himself: "I am Rivael Andur'me, heir to the noble house of Andur'me and leader of this mission. By the decree of the Synod and prophecy of the Conclave, you shall henceforth be known as The Chosen Ones. After many months of searching, through the grace of Lady Minerva's visions, we have stumbled across you - those which have been foretold to end this war. Let it be known that I neither care for your willingness to participate in this task, nor do I care if you shall enjoy any moment of it. For those of you which do not desire to undertake their part in this tale, the one and only other option is death by execution. Take a long stare towards those situated on your right and left as they will be the ones amongst which you shall dwell for the upcoming months, possibly years. Bond as brothers and sisters, respect each other as the best of friends. Failure is not an option. Any questions, important and intelligent questions, shall be directed towards me."
And with that the monologue had unexpectedly ended, the male swiftly carrying himself towards a nearby tent, sinewy arms plunging the polearm's body in to the ground as to form a prop against which he could support his body, Rivael clearly intending to stand guard.
OOC Notes
A dance of death, one might call it. Ciel’s wounds were few and superficial due to her manner of engagement in battle. She was successfully weaving in and out of the Nierals, slicing vital points here and there, if she had ever let the fight become one of brutish strength, she would surely lose. This was something she knew to be true from very early on, and so in order to be the best, someone with her capabilities must find a unique way to fight that exercised what she was good at, and not the norm, which would in fact be brutish strength and frontal attacks.
And so, with this in mind, one might understand and stand in awe at the Orii’m’s tactic, she was as the wind might be, so fast and entirely untouchable. As much as her frame of mind was in such a romantic theory however, Ciel could of course not avoid injury entirely. Thanks to the sheer numbers of beasts she was often in a close call when dodging and spinning around, often running into another’s claws when backing from one. Her legs and arms had superficial scratches that would itch later, but had no immediate danger, and likely she would not even have scars.
A thought did cross Ciel’s mind, she could run while in the middle of the fight, but the Nierals came from the forest, and so it would not be wise to head there, what if they retreated? And it was not as if the opportunity arose either, she was in a continuous spiral with no sign of letting up until they left as one, headed into the forest as she expected they would.
Breathing heavily, she took a look at the carnage about her, and she could not run even if she wanted to. It was horrible, and the smell.
Ciel raised the back of her hand to her nose in displeasure and flicked her sword, causing most of the blood to splatter off of it and onto the already bloody dirt. She walked over to the caravan and took up her pack, tying her sheath to her belt and sheathing her sword as she walked over to quickly aid with the bodies. The winged man who spoke was correct, they needed to burn the bodies of the deceased before they really were dealing with an entire horde; numbers so high is was akin to parasites. Cheep fluttered on Ciel’s head and stayed perched there as they watched the fire, everyone, both captive and not, had suddenly become solemn. Ciel found herself mixed in her feelings, on one hand memorizing names sounded the right thing to do, on the other it felt silly. “I don’t even know their names….” She said softly, no one probably heard her, but at the very least she inclined her head. Especially since the Naari that had been so polite to her was among the dead. No doubt he wasn’t without his faults, and he was Lucian’s friend not hers…so why did she bother caring, it was tartish behavior on her part. Oh well.
Hours passed and Ciel was clean once more, years of perfect hygiene had given her the habit of preening herself regularly, as bird one might say. And she sat with her lower back resting on a log that had been dragged over, her legs tucked to the side as usual, her chin lifted slightly up. The man who had given orders at the beginning stood before them again, he was a Neru’abar, of course he had placed himself in charge. Men with wings were something she was used to, and they so happened to make her arrogance the size of a Baldor in comparison. Not that this man seemed ill suited for the position, his blunt statement of nobility told her that he was used to a leadership standing anyway. Besides, his speech was slightly impressive, he got rid of the need for complaints and idiotic questions then and there, saving himself the trouble of it later.
Everyone took a moment of silence and seemed to think deeply, Ciel decided to end this silence; she had already decided that she was perfectly ok with this, anything as opposed to being a mistress.
“We’ve certainly stared at one another for the past few months, so I think enough staring has been done, but certainly conversation of the sort has not been had. Well, except from our curious Shara…comrade I suppose.” She looked over at Risu through half lidded eyes, leaning back and surveying the rest. “I for one have reason to be thankful for being ‘chosen’, though I suspect it not the same for the rest of you?” Ciel tactfully started a conversation topic; she was used to gatherings, as she often served tea and entertained at them. Now she was an equal amongst it, and it was slightly uncomfortable if not relieving; though one would not be able to tell from her smooth voice and easy movements.
Cheep, on his own accord, fluttered off of Ciel's shoulder and over to Rivael, fluttering before his face and cheeping as softly as his beak would allow, even though only two could possibly understand his words in the entire vicinity. Ciel let him go without moving a muscle, they were more companions rather than co-dependant in this way, they didn't alwasy go about doing the same things or convercing with the same people in Cheep's case.
"I do have a couple of questions! Where are we headed, and how is only a small group supposed to affect such a parasite as the Horde? And if we are headed into infected territory, I can perhaps be of use to scout ahead! And as for my last question....do you have the athority to get Ciel's collar off? If she and I are serving the kingdom, certainly we don't need to be in service to another as a product? Certainly we can earn freedom?" Cheep spoke the last bit the quietest, hope in his high voice.
And so, with this in mind, one might understand and stand in awe at the Orii’m’s tactic, she was as the wind might be, so fast and entirely untouchable. As much as her frame of mind was in such a romantic theory however, Ciel could of course not avoid injury entirely. Thanks to the sheer numbers of beasts she was often in a close call when dodging and spinning around, often running into another’s claws when backing from one. Her legs and arms had superficial scratches that would itch later, but had no immediate danger, and likely she would not even have scars.
A thought did cross Ciel’s mind, she could run while in the middle of the fight, but the Nierals came from the forest, and so it would not be wise to head there, what if they retreated? And it was not as if the opportunity arose either, she was in a continuous spiral with no sign of letting up until they left as one, headed into the forest as she expected they would.
Breathing heavily, she took a look at the carnage about her, and she could not run even if she wanted to. It was horrible, and the smell.
Ciel raised the back of her hand to her nose in displeasure and flicked her sword, causing most of the blood to splatter off of it and onto the already bloody dirt. She walked over to the caravan and took up her pack, tying her sheath to her belt and sheathing her sword as she walked over to quickly aid with the bodies. The winged man who spoke was correct, they needed to burn the bodies of the deceased before they really were dealing with an entire horde; numbers so high is was akin to parasites. Cheep fluttered on Ciel’s head and stayed perched there as they watched the fire, everyone, both captive and not, had suddenly become solemn. Ciel found herself mixed in her feelings, on one hand memorizing names sounded the right thing to do, on the other it felt silly. “I don’t even know their names….” She said softly, no one probably heard her, but at the very least she inclined her head. Especially since the Naari that had been so polite to her was among the dead. No doubt he wasn’t without his faults, and he was Lucian’s friend not hers…so why did she bother caring, it was tartish behavior on her part. Oh well.
Hours passed and Ciel was clean once more, years of perfect hygiene had given her the habit of preening herself regularly, as bird one might say. And she sat with her lower back resting on a log that had been dragged over, her legs tucked to the side as usual, her chin lifted slightly up. The man who had given orders at the beginning stood before them again, he was a Neru’abar, of course he had placed himself in charge. Men with wings were something she was used to, and they so happened to make her arrogance the size of a Baldor in comparison. Not that this man seemed ill suited for the position, his blunt statement of nobility told her that he was used to a leadership standing anyway. Besides, his speech was slightly impressive, he got rid of the need for complaints and idiotic questions then and there, saving himself the trouble of it later.
Everyone took a moment of silence and seemed to think deeply, Ciel decided to end this silence; she had already decided that she was perfectly ok with this, anything as opposed to being a mistress.
“We’ve certainly stared at one another for the past few months, so I think enough staring has been done, but certainly conversation of the sort has not been had. Well, except from our curious Shara…comrade I suppose.” She looked over at Risu through half lidded eyes, leaning back and surveying the rest. “I for one have reason to be thankful for being ‘chosen’, though I suspect it not the same for the rest of you?” Ciel tactfully started a conversation topic; she was used to gatherings, as she often served tea and entertained at them. Now she was an equal amongst it, and it was slightly uncomfortable if not relieving; though one would not be able to tell from her smooth voice and easy movements.
Cheep, on his own accord, fluttered off of Ciel's shoulder and over to Rivael, fluttering before his face and cheeping as softly as his beak would allow, even though only two could possibly understand his words in the entire vicinity. Ciel let him go without moving a muscle, they were more companions rather than co-dependant in this way, they didn't alwasy go about doing the same things or convercing with the same people in Cheep's case.
"I do have a couple of questions! Where are we headed, and how is only a small group supposed to affect such a parasite as the Horde? And if we are headed into infected territory, I can perhaps be of use to scout ahead! And as for my last question....do you have the athority to get Ciel's collar off? If she and I are serving the kingdom, certainly we don't need to be in service to another as a product? Certainly we can earn freedom?" Cheep spoke the last bit the quietest, hope in his high voice.
OOC Notes
The hot blood ran freely over Nahdib’s violet eyes, turning the bloody combat-zone into more than just a comparison, and in all truth he had to close his right eye after his perspiration mixed with the blood, the salt beginning to burn like a hot-knife, as the Nieral kept leaping onto him. The wound was the product of one beast raking its claws down the soldier’s scalp, before a gauntleted hand could shove itself inside of the Nieral’s mouth, splintering jagged teeth, and ripping the jaw forcefully away from Nahdib’s powerful figure.
The beast slumped to the ground, a sickening wheeze issuing forth from broken mouth, as Nahdib began to take stock of the current predicament, scanning quickly for any other creatures that dared to attack again. Instead a Neru’Abar had flown drifted down amongst the chaos, attracting the attention of several Nieral, being forced to dispatch one the woman fled to the wounded Neru’Abar’s side, making haste in mending his wounds, while the spurned beasts focused their attention on the towering being nearby.
Nahdib had widened his stance slightly, putting left foot further outwards from right than previously, and raised two lengthy, armored arms above his figure, using the Falcon’s Strike posture, allowing the man to put much more force and speed behind every strike made. The first beast darted at Nahdib, attempting to trip the man, and bring him forcefully down, but an arcing slice had cleaved half of its head off, sending it sprawling at his feet, still twitching with remnants of life, while the others had begun circling the Naari, hoping to catch their foe in a vice.
The maneuver had worked, for when the first leapt the soldier had position slightly, revealing flank to the other creature, and while a quick swipe dispatched the first assailant, the other had managed to ensnare itself around the unfortunate being’s wings, tearing away at the vulnerable plumage. Nahdib managed to recover after a second of blinding pain, and brought the point of his sword backwards into the Nieral’s ribs, impaling the beast and forcing it to the ground, where a booted foot stomped into the soft flesh of its neck, crushing the windpipe.
As quick as everything had started, it had finished, and left the rag-tag group of would-be heroes in a daze, not yet trusting the safety of their predicament. The beasts melted away into the surrounding forest as shadows during sunrise, but the unfortunate souls who had not survived were not so lucky, their torn bodies thrown asunder, leaving mangled heaps lying in place of once thriving forms, awaiting the crows for the oncoming feast, but the carrion-eaters were not to have their banquet with this battle, for the Neru’Abar he had saved ordered their bodies burned, warding off other beasts that may not bow so easily.
Who the man was that ordered them into work was of little concern to Nahdib, merely assuming that it was the one, Rivael Andur’me, that he had heard tell of so much, and acquiesced to the instructions with a slight nod of blood-encrusted head, the wounds had nearly stopped oozing blood, but it would take much time to heal completely, and the ravaged wing would need to be immobilized, and of no use for at least a week.
The pyre took little time to assemble, amazingly, and was in large part due to the hurried efforts of the new comrades, but as the flames began to lick the bodies, slowly crisping the flesh, and igniting their clothing, the quiet guardsman raised hand to chest, raising index and little fingers, along with the thumb, while leaving the middle and ring fingers pointing into the palm, Nahdib quietly repeated the chant used for the burial of Royal Guardsman, and deemed appropriate for any that sacrificed their life for the well-being of the Empire, and upon finishing grasped the talisman strung about his thick-neck, touching it to eager lips for a moment, and listened attentively to the one Neru’Abar’s instructions pertaining to their camp.
The task had not taken much time, and Nahdib found time to rummage through loose materials in their supplies, acquiring a cleaning cloth and bottled of mulled wine, pouring a portion within the bottom of a helmet he had found, and setting it near the fire to boil, he took the cloth to cut several strips from it, placing them in the wine. A skin of water emerged also, and dampening the remnants of the cloth, he cleansed the grime of battle from battered body, but began with blood-soaked sword, a ceremony always observed by Royal Guards, and more so in Nahdib’s case, the sword being an heirloom passed down from his father, Tandarael.
After the wine began to boil, Nahdib began prodding around with a twig he had found, using it as a means to fetch the strips from their boiling residence, and began to wrap the wounds afflicting his face delicately. As the searing cloth touched gaping wound, Nahdib grimaced slightly, but only showed his discomfort by a twisting of his face and a sharp inhale of breath. The one man, Rivael Andur’me he discovered, began to elucidate their intention upon this purpose, and remarkably finished when the soldier’s tourniquet was completed.
An Orii’m began to initiate idle chatter with the rest of the group, while her second, a tiny-bird amazingly enough, flew up towards Rivael’s shoulder, making quiet conversation with the leader. The getting to know the others, or asking questions pertaining to their situation, mattered little to the disgraced soldier, he merely wanted to perform his duty, and whatever lay in store for them was of no consequence if the task was completed. What was bothersome, though, was the wounds inflicted upon his wings with which he was incapable of mending alone.
“Whether we are chosen, or not, is of little import to me. I was set with this task, and will see it fulfilled, no matter if it requires my death, and on my honor I shall not quit. Yet necessity forces me to ask for assistance in bandaging my wings, it would be sore-luck for them to incur a fever. Would anyone care to assist my person?”
The mountainous man tilted right-flank forward slightly, highlighting the two lower-most wings that had been tattered rather badly.
The beast slumped to the ground, a sickening wheeze issuing forth from broken mouth, as Nahdib began to take stock of the current predicament, scanning quickly for any other creatures that dared to attack again. Instead a Neru’Abar had flown drifted down amongst the chaos, attracting the attention of several Nieral, being forced to dispatch one the woman fled to the wounded Neru’Abar’s side, making haste in mending his wounds, while the spurned beasts focused their attention on the towering being nearby.
Nahdib had widened his stance slightly, putting left foot further outwards from right than previously, and raised two lengthy, armored arms above his figure, using the Falcon’s Strike posture, allowing the man to put much more force and speed behind every strike made. The first beast darted at Nahdib, attempting to trip the man, and bring him forcefully down, but an arcing slice had cleaved half of its head off, sending it sprawling at his feet, still twitching with remnants of life, while the others had begun circling the Naari, hoping to catch their foe in a vice.
The maneuver had worked, for when the first leapt the soldier had position slightly, revealing flank to the other creature, and while a quick swipe dispatched the first assailant, the other had managed to ensnare itself around the unfortunate being’s wings, tearing away at the vulnerable plumage. Nahdib managed to recover after a second of blinding pain, and brought the point of his sword backwards into the Nieral’s ribs, impaling the beast and forcing it to the ground, where a booted foot stomped into the soft flesh of its neck, crushing the windpipe.
As quick as everything had started, it had finished, and left the rag-tag group of would-be heroes in a daze, not yet trusting the safety of their predicament. The beasts melted away into the surrounding forest as shadows during sunrise, but the unfortunate souls who had not survived were not so lucky, their torn bodies thrown asunder, leaving mangled heaps lying in place of once thriving forms, awaiting the crows for the oncoming feast, but the carrion-eaters were not to have their banquet with this battle, for the Neru’Abar he had saved ordered their bodies burned, warding off other beasts that may not bow so easily.
Who the man was that ordered them into work was of little concern to Nahdib, merely assuming that it was the one, Rivael Andur’me, that he had heard tell of so much, and acquiesced to the instructions with a slight nod of blood-encrusted head, the wounds had nearly stopped oozing blood, but it would take much time to heal completely, and the ravaged wing would need to be immobilized, and of no use for at least a week.
The pyre took little time to assemble, amazingly, and was in large part due to the hurried efforts of the new comrades, but as the flames began to lick the bodies, slowly crisping the flesh, and igniting their clothing, the quiet guardsman raised hand to chest, raising index and little fingers, along with the thumb, while leaving the middle and ring fingers pointing into the palm, Nahdib quietly repeated the chant used for the burial of Royal Guardsman, and deemed appropriate for any that sacrificed their life for the well-being of the Empire, and upon finishing grasped the talisman strung about his thick-neck, touching it to eager lips for a moment, and listened attentively to the one Neru’Abar’s instructions pertaining to their camp.
The task had not taken much time, and Nahdib found time to rummage through loose materials in their supplies, acquiring a cleaning cloth and bottled of mulled wine, pouring a portion within the bottom of a helmet he had found, and setting it near the fire to boil, he took the cloth to cut several strips from it, placing them in the wine. A skin of water emerged also, and dampening the remnants of the cloth, he cleansed the grime of battle from battered body, but began with blood-soaked sword, a ceremony always observed by Royal Guards, and more so in Nahdib’s case, the sword being an heirloom passed down from his father, Tandarael.
After the wine began to boil, Nahdib began prodding around with a twig he had found, using it as a means to fetch the strips from their boiling residence, and began to wrap the wounds afflicting his face delicately. As the searing cloth touched gaping wound, Nahdib grimaced slightly, but only showed his discomfort by a twisting of his face and a sharp inhale of breath. The one man, Rivael Andur’me he discovered, began to elucidate their intention upon this purpose, and remarkably finished when the soldier’s tourniquet was completed.
An Orii’m began to initiate idle chatter with the rest of the group, while her second, a tiny-bird amazingly enough, flew up towards Rivael’s shoulder, making quiet conversation with the leader. The getting to know the others, or asking questions pertaining to their situation, mattered little to the disgraced soldier, he merely wanted to perform his duty, and whatever lay in store for them was of no consequence if the task was completed. What was bothersome, though, was the wounds inflicted upon his wings with which he was incapable of mending alone.
“Whether we are chosen, or not, is of little import to me. I was set with this task, and will see it fulfilled, no matter if it requires my death, and on my honor I shall not quit. Yet necessity forces me to ask for assistance in bandaging my wings, it would be sore-luck for them to incur a fever. Would anyone care to assist my person?”
The mountainous man tilted right-flank forward slightly, highlighting the two lower-most wings that had been tattered rather badly.
OOC Notes
Risu watched the battle and found himself particularly happy that he had chosen the spot he had rather than hiding among the bushes. He unleashed arrows swiftly, though not without carefully aiming so as not to have to shoot the same Nieral twice. Though he had many, his arrows were precious and he was careful not to waste many. How many he would retrieve afterward was unknown, but he doubted that he would get very many.
But that wasn't important at the moment. Shaking his head to refocus his thoughts, Risu quickly fired another arrow and mentally rewarded himself as the struck beast fell, arrow planted firmly in its chest. 'Good,' he mused, taking aim once more. 'My aim is getting better.' The arrow was fired and then he stopped, carefully watching the fight. He studied the actions of the other prisoners that he could see, as well as the soldiers that made up a majority of the caravan. With a smiled, he noted that the Nierals were being driven back and that his spot in the tree was no longer in a good position. Being too far away was almost as bad as being too close.
Gripping the bow tightly in one hand, Risu gripped the branch with his free hand and swung himself down to the branch below. Satisfied that he wasn't going to break his legs from the lower distance, he hopped off the branch and landed safely, though heavily, on the ground. But he wasn't still for long. Sprinting to where his weapons had been kept, he quickly sought out his knives and was more than pleased to find that they had been (mostly) untouched. He grabbed two, not wanting to lose all of them, and then hopped off the covered cart.
The battle was mostly over, he noticed, which was a good thing. However, it wasn't completely over since there were still several fighting Nierals. Risu really didn't feel like getting real close to them so he settled for positioning himself at a safe distance and stringing another arrow. That single arrow was the last he got to fire as the fight finished quickly. Satisfied that he wasn't needed anymore, he quickly gathered up the rest of his knives and hung them securely around his waist, hidden beneath the gold sash that held his shirt shut.
After that, there was nothing left to distract him. Risu had, several times, considered running away into the forest. There was nothing to stop him and the horror of the recent battle was finally starting to catch up to him. He wasn't a fighter, he was a talker (though many had told him he was just giving another name for cowardice). He was a poet, story-teller, and lover of words. And, he admitted, a bit of a coward. Okay, more than a bit. But fighting simply wasn't something he enjoyed. He had never been a part of a battle before and the worst thing that had ever happened to him was nearly drowning in a lake. The only fights he ever participated in were verbal fights. Physical battles and their bloody results were avoided at all costs. The fact that he happened to be standing next to the mutilated body of a soldier only made him feel sick and he quickly shied away from the corpse once he realized it was there.
But his desire to learn more about the other captives (and the fact that the Nierals had run into the forest) kept him with the group. But when called to help clean up the bloody mess, Risu quickly made himself scarce by hiding under one of the wagons and closing his eyes as though trying force himself to forget.
It wasn't until the soldiers had left (one had found Risu hiding and had tried to pull him out. Said soldier now left with a fresh bite mark on his hand and several cuts up his arms) that Risu decided to come out of hiding. He helped set up the tents before standing back and waiting. He finally joined everyone at the fire to hear just what the newcomer had to say. The one that had gotten him into the fight into the first place.
"I am Rivael Andur'me, heir to the noble house of Andur'me and leader of this mission. By the decree of the Synod and prophecy of the Conclave, you shall henceforth be known as The Chosen Ones. After many months of searching, through the grace of Lady Minerva's visions...”
Well, that made sense. Now he knew why the soldier had been so insistent on having a drink with him so long ago. And the odd conversations he had heard over the months suddenly made so much sense. Mentally congratulating himself on making the connections and filling in the gaps by himself, Risu leaned forward and focused completely on Rivael. He wasn't really that interested in what was being said, but it offered a nice distraction from the recent bloodshed.
And, just as suddenly as it had begin, the speech was finished. Risu blinked several times, half expecting something more to be said, before leaning back and looking around the fire. There was utter silence, and, for once, he was not the first to break it.
“We’ve certainly stared at one another for the past few months, so I think enough staring has been done, but certainly conversation of the sort has not been had. Well, except from our curious Shara…comrade I suppose.” At that, Risu crossed his arms and fake-pouted at her, once more glad for the distraction. Before she looked away, he offered her a quick smile before following her example and looking around at everyone once more.
“I for one have reason to be thankful for being ‘chosen’, though I suspect it not the same for the rest of you?” she asked.
Almost instantly, Risu opened his mouth and snapped, ”No way!” He glared sharply at the fire, letting his thoughts wander. ”It's like I'm a puppet, being controlled by someone else. I don't like it. I've always done things for myself. I go where my feet take me,” he explained to no one in particular. By that point, he was merely talking to himself, voicing his thoughts for the world to hear. A habit that he had formed during his travels when he spent most of his time on the roads by himself. ”Having someone decide everything for me... It's kind of scary. And unsettling. Like I have no control over my life. And being a 'Chosen One'?” He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. ”That means more fights, right? Fights like this one? Having my lips sewn shut is better than this. Honestly. All I ever wanted was to find some place where I could just talk.”
But there was no way out. While he really didn't want to participate in the upcoming fights, careful training from his teachers was all that had made him leap into the previous fight, his attachment to life was far stronger. Perhaps he could run away at some point in the future, but now he was stuck with an unpleasant task.
“Well, this sucks.”
“Whether we are chosen, or not, is of little import to me. I was set with this task, and will see it fulfilled, no matter if it requires my death, and on my honor I shall not quit. Yet necessity forces me to ask for assistance in bandaging my wings, it would be sore-luck for them to incur a fever. Would anyone care to assist my person?”
Once again, Risu accepted the distraction and pushed himself up from his seat. No sense dwelling on unpleasant matters. Best to distract oneself rather than being eaten alive by horror. Wandering over, he said, “Is it really so wrong to ask for assistance? There is nothing wrong with being unable to complete something yourself. What do you need me to do?”
But that wasn't important at the moment. Shaking his head to refocus his thoughts, Risu quickly fired another arrow and mentally rewarded himself as the struck beast fell, arrow planted firmly in its chest. 'Good,' he mused, taking aim once more. 'My aim is getting better.' The arrow was fired and then he stopped, carefully watching the fight. He studied the actions of the other prisoners that he could see, as well as the soldiers that made up a majority of the caravan. With a smiled, he noted that the Nierals were being driven back and that his spot in the tree was no longer in a good position. Being too far away was almost as bad as being too close.
Gripping the bow tightly in one hand, Risu gripped the branch with his free hand and swung himself down to the branch below. Satisfied that he wasn't going to break his legs from the lower distance, he hopped off the branch and landed safely, though heavily, on the ground. But he wasn't still for long. Sprinting to where his weapons had been kept, he quickly sought out his knives and was more than pleased to find that they had been (mostly) untouched. He grabbed two, not wanting to lose all of them, and then hopped off the covered cart.
The battle was mostly over, he noticed, which was a good thing. However, it wasn't completely over since there were still several fighting Nierals. Risu really didn't feel like getting real close to them so he settled for positioning himself at a safe distance and stringing another arrow. That single arrow was the last he got to fire as the fight finished quickly. Satisfied that he wasn't needed anymore, he quickly gathered up the rest of his knives and hung them securely around his waist, hidden beneath the gold sash that held his shirt shut.
After that, there was nothing left to distract him. Risu had, several times, considered running away into the forest. There was nothing to stop him and the horror of the recent battle was finally starting to catch up to him. He wasn't a fighter, he was a talker (though many had told him he was just giving another name for cowardice). He was a poet, story-teller, and lover of words. And, he admitted, a bit of a coward. Okay, more than a bit. But fighting simply wasn't something he enjoyed. He had never been a part of a battle before and the worst thing that had ever happened to him was nearly drowning in a lake. The only fights he ever participated in were verbal fights. Physical battles and their bloody results were avoided at all costs. The fact that he happened to be standing next to the mutilated body of a soldier only made him feel sick and he quickly shied away from the corpse once he realized it was there.
But his desire to learn more about the other captives (and the fact that the Nierals had run into the forest) kept him with the group. But when called to help clean up the bloody mess, Risu quickly made himself scarce by hiding under one of the wagons and closing his eyes as though trying force himself to forget.
It wasn't until the soldiers had left (one had found Risu hiding and had tried to pull him out. Said soldier now left with a fresh bite mark on his hand and several cuts up his arms) that Risu decided to come out of hiding. He helped set up the tents before standing back and waiting. He finally joined everyone at the fire to hear just what the newcomer had to say. The one that had gotten him into the fight into the first place.
"I am Rivael Andur'me, heir to the noble house of Andur'me and leader of this mission. By the decree of the Synod and prophecy of the Conclave, you shall henceforth be known as The Chosen Ones. After many months of searching, through the grace of Lady Minerva's visions...”
Well, that made sense. Now he knew why the soldier had been so insistent on having a drink with him so long ago. And the odd conversations he had heard over the months suddenly made so much sense. Mentally congratulating himself on making the connections and filling in the gaps by himself, Risu leaned forward and focused completely on Rivael. He wasn't really that interested in what was being said, but it offered a nice distraction from the recent bloodshed.
And, just as suddenly as it had begin, the speech was finished. Risu blinked several times, half expecting something more to be said, before leaning back and looking around the fire. There was utter silence, and, for once, he was not the first to break it.
“We’ve certainly stared at one another for the past few months, so I think enough staring has been done, but certainly conversation of the sort has not been had. Well, except from our curious Shara…comrade I suppose.” At that, Risu crossed his arms and fake-pouted at her, once more glad for the distraction. Before she looked away, he offered her a quick smile before following her example and looking around at everyone once more.
“I for one have reason to be thankful for being ‘chosen’, though I suspect it not the same for the rest of you?” she asked.
Almost instantly, Risu opened his mouth and snapped, ”No way!” He glared sharply at the fire, letting his thoughts wander. ”It's like I'm a puppet, being controlled by someone else. I don't like it. I've always done things for myself. I go where my feet take me,” he explained to no one in particular. By that point, he was merely talking to himself, voicing his thoughts for the world to hear. A habit that he had formed during his travels when he spent most of his time on the roads by himself. ”Having someone decide everything for me... It's kind of scary. And unsettling. Like I have no control over my life. And being a 'Chosen One'?” He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. ”That means more fights, right? Fights like this one? Having my lips sewn shut is better than this. Honestly. All I ever wanted was to find some place where I could just talk.”
But there was no way out. While he really didn't want to participate in the upcoming fights, careful training from his teachers was all that had made him leap into the previous fight, his attachment to life was far stronger. Perhaps he could run away at some point in the future, but now he was stuck with an unpleasant task.
“Well, this sucks.”
“Whether we are chosen, or not, is of little import to me. I was set with this task, and will see it fulfilled, no matter if it requires my death, and on my honor I shall not quit. Yet necessity forces me to ask for assistance in bandaging my wings, it would be sore-luck for them to incur a fever. Would anyone care to assist my person?”
Once again, Risu accepted the distraction and pushed himself up from his seat. No sense dwelling on unpleasant matters. Best to distract oneself rather than being eaten alive by horror. Wandering over, he said, “Is it really so wrong to ask for assistance? There is nothing wrong with being unable to complete something yourself. What do you need me to do?”
OOC Notes
Hana peered out from behind the towering tree which offered her refuge. The furious mêlée that she saw overwhelmed all of her senses. Her ears rang with the sounds of metal upon metal, metal upon flesh, cries of pain and cries of battle. The sight of bodies lying broken, their life blood staining the earth and the living still engaged in bloodshed seeming eager to join them. The air hung heavy with the scent of blood and sweat. So heavy she could taste the sharp tang of rust and salt in her mouth. She felt her heart beating erratically in her chest and adrenalin poisoning in her throat making it hard to swallow or breathe. She was close to panic. She flattened herself against the tree once more. The rough bark against her back gave her more comfort than the piece of metal shaped as a dagger in her hands ever could. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the tree. Matching her breaths with the deep rhythmic ones of her tall wood guardian. Calmness slowly engulfed her and the sounds of violence faded. She could feel the life pulsing in the tree, she could feel its age, its strength and its wisdom. It felt good. She felt good, calm, centred and in control.
Feeling more balanced Hana stepped out from behind the tree, just in time to see a Nieral barrelling towards her hiding place. She could feel the trees roots long and gnarly stretching out across the forest ground. She focused on one of these roots snaking out slowly, silently and waiting for its prey to pass. As the Nieral charged past the root-in-waiting it struck. Ensnaring the unsuspecting creature around the ankle bringing its charge to a sudden stop as the root held it fast. There was a snap as the Nierals foot buckled under the shin on an unnatural angle. There was a short lived cry of anguish from the Nierals wicked mouth. Followed by a dull thud of its body hitting the compacted dirt ground and a sharp crack as its head connected with a fortunately placed rock. Hana cautiously made her way toward the fallen Nieral. She could see its chest moving up and down. It lived but did not stir, unconscious with a traumatic head wound. Trembling she took the dagger in both hands, mustering all of the strength her slight frame could give she plunged the dagger into the heart of the beast. She missed, instead piercing the lung under the heart. She knew this from the horrible gurgling sound emitting from the creatures chest as it breathed on. Hana knew she had to end its life and put it out of its suffering, but try as she might she didn’t have the strength to remove the dagger and try again.
She sat down next to the dying Nieral defeated.
“Forgive me.”
Goddess and God may this poor creatures suffering be quick. Come and guide him into the afterlife.
She could see the fight was over. The dead were been burnt and the rest of the foes had fled. Eventually one of guards found her and her beaten companion. She smiled in recognition for it was the guard who released her and lent her his dagger. He looked more than a little surprised when he saw his dagger sticking out of the Nieral with his pint sized captive sitting prettily and unmarked next to it.
“I got lucky.”
~*~
Hana sat staring at the fire feeling grateful for its warmth and her general comfort compared to travelling as a prisoner. She had heard every word of Rivaels speech, but wasn’t too sure what to make of it. She almost found it laughable that she was a “chosen one”. Yet here she sat with blood on her hands (proverbial blood of course, she had washed before making camp.) assured that she was part of a prophecy to end the war.
She listened as the Orii’m marked as a former concubine of sorts expressed her feelings towards been chosen. She smiled at the pretty blonde girl knowingly belonging to a man is a fate worse than this she thought to herself pushing the memories of her past to the back of her mind. The injured mountain of a man who she knew to be Nahdib also voiced his commitment to the prophecy. Risu of course added his thoughts to the mix, never to be one without something to say. He continued to prattle on as he tended Nahdibs wounded wings.
I don’t know, i don’t know, i just simply do not know... This must be the path that the Goddess and God have made for me, who am i to defy them?
Hana retrieved her teapot which she was thankful hadn’t been abandoned or broken along the way.
“Would anyone like some tea?” She smiled at her new chosen friends.
Feeling more balanced Hana stepped out from behind the tree, just in time to see a Nieral barrelling towards her hiding place. She could feel the trees roots long and gnarly stretching out across the forest ground. She focused on one of these roots snaking out slowly, silently and waiting for its prey to pass. As the Nieral charged past the root-in-waiting it struck. Ensnaring the unsuspecting creature around the ankle bringing its charge to a sudden stop as the root held it fast. There was a snap as the Nierals foot buckled under the shin on an unnatural angle. There was a short lived cry of anguish from the Nierals wicked mouth. Followed by a dull thud of its body hitting the compacted dirt ground and a sharp crack as its head connected with a fortunately placed rock. Hana cautiously made her way toward the fallen Nieral. She could see its chest moving up and down. It lived but did not stir, unconscious with a traumatic head wound. Trembling she took the dagger in both hands, mustering all of the strength her slight frame could give she plunged the dagger into the heart of the beast. She missed, instead piercing the lung under the heart. She knew this from the horrible gurgling sound emitting from the creatures chest as it breathed on. Hana knew she had to end its life and put it out of its suffering, but try as she might she didn’t have the strength to remove the dagger and try again.
She sat down next to the dying Nieral defeated.
“Forgive me.”
Goddess and God may this poor creatures suffering be quick. Come and guide him into the afterlife.
She could see the fight was over. The dead were been burnt and the rest of the foes had fled. Eventually one of guards found her and her beaten companion. She smiled in recognition for it was the guard who released her and lent her his dagger. He looked more than a little surprised when he saw his dagger sticking out of the Nieral with his pint sized captive sitting prettily and unmarked next to it.
“I got lucky.”
~*~
Hana sat staring at the fire feeling grateful for its warmth and her general comfort compared to travelling as a prisoner. She had heard every word of Rivaels speech, but wasn’t too sure what to make of it. She almost found it laughable that she was a “chosen one”. Yet here she sat with blood on her hands (proverbial blood of course, she had washed before making camp.) assured that she was part of a prophecy to end the war.
She listened as the Orii’m marked as a former concubine of sorts expressed her feelings towards been chosen. She smiled at the pretty blonde girl knowingly belonging to a man is a fate worse than this she thought to herself pushing the memories of her past to the back of her mind. The injured mountain of a man who she knew to be Nahdib also voiced his commitment to the prophecy. Risu of course added his thoughts to the mix, never to be one without something to say. He continued to prattle on as he tended Nahdibs wounded wings.
I don’t know, i don’t know, i just simply do not know... This must be the path that the Goddess and God have made for me, who am i to defy them?
Hana retrieved her teapot which she was thankful hadn’t been abandoned or broken along the way.
“Would anyone like some tea?” She smiled at her new chosen friends.
OOC Notes
Mazren wrapped a discarded scarf around his face as he worked; carrying bodies to the pile where they would burn them. He threw a Neiral across his shoulders and trudged over to the mountainous pile. On his way back to that particular gathering of corpses Mazren noticed a dull sheen for a moment, he began to shove bodies off of a Baldor about his size wearing intact banded armor. The mercenary whistled at his luck. His thick gingers undid the armor's fastenings with experienced quickness. The sound of a dull whump could be heard throughout the camp as he tossed the armor to the side.
"Robbing the dead. I shouldn't be surprised." The blade master stood away from the corpses, one hand on his hilt the other covering his face. "You saved my life, verrater. I am not in the habit of owing debts to the likes of you. After your work is finished here come find me."
The only reply was a grunt as Mazren half-carried, half dragged a particularly large Neiral to the pile. His work would take a while yet.
Often long distance caravans carried washing barrels, it wasn't always safe to go off in search of a lake or stream to bathe in. Mazren was glad that this was such a caravan. He scrubbed the gore off of his arms and legs, dumped out the barrel for fresh water and started the process of cleaning and braiding his hair. It was not an impressive braid, with so little hair, but it would serve.
He watched as soldiers readied themselves to leave, a few helping those staying to set up camp. He had found a good pair of leather leggings in one of the wagons and had helped himself to them. His large brown woolen shirt was made for a Neru'abar, but it was serviceable. His new banded armor went on last, he was only able to salvage the chest-piece.
He picked up a moderate quality sword he had found and carried it a little ways away from the camp to a clearing where he knew the blade master to be. The man stood with a guard next to a small cliff face. The guard held two practice swords and had a cloth bag at his feet.
The blade master spoke, "When we first met you almost bested me. You are a natural fighter and have honed what you have learned into a more than effective style. I was surprised that you could fight just as well with both hands. I have decided to teach you one of the Seven Deadly Forms. It is called Nursing the Broken Wing. Most use it when they have injured their right arm, but I'm sure you will be able to do things with this form that will shock and amaze your opponents."
The guard tossed Mazren a wooden blade. Mazren placed his feet to mimic the blade master. "What is your name?"
"You may call me Master." With that he lunged.
The camp fire cast long and sparse shadows on the Chosen Ones. A few of the bolder folk stated their opinions on the subject to one another. A hexagonal shield with half of it's device, some mythic bird in flight, scraped off leaned against Mazren's leg. After most had spoken their piece he started scraping the rest of the device off of the shield with a broken sword blade. Purple bruises stood out on his forehead and arms, shiny in the eerie light.
He didn't believe the hog-wash about being a Chosen One, but he didn't care much either. The Andur'me fellow had promised battles to come; which meant more opportunity to make a name for himself and the spoils of war. At least here he would have a degree of autonomy, they'd probably just haul him off to the gallows if he tried to escape this one. Lots of reasons to stay.
He listened while some of the other chosen spoke to one another. A small girl offered him tea, he smiled and showed her a wineskin he had found. "No, but perhaps you have a poultice or salve for my feet?"
Mazren took off the heavy boots he had found and began to rinse the bloody pads of his feet with water. When finished he pulled out a long and thin pipe which he packed with tabac. He spoke to the assembled, "I am called Verrater by some. Anyone smoke?"
"Robbing the dead. I shouldn't be surprised." The blade master stood away from the corpses, one hand on his hilt the other covering his face. "You saved my life, verrater. I am not in the habit of owing debts to the likes of you. After your work is finished here come find me."
The only reply was a grunt as Mazren half-carried, half dragged a particularly large Neiral to the pile. His work would take a while yet.
Often long distance caravans carried washing barrels, it wasn't always safe to go off in search of a lake or stream to bathe in. Mazren was glad that this was such a caravan. He scrubbed the gore off of his arms and legs, dumped out the barrel for fresh water and started the process of cleaning and braiding his hair. It was not an impressive braid, with so little hair, but it would serve.
He watched as soldiers readied themselves to leave, a few helping those staying to set up camp. He had found a good pair of leather leggings in one of the wagons and had helped himself to them. His large brown woolen shirt was made for a Neru'abar, but it was serviceable. His new banded armor went on last, he was only able to salvage the chest-piece.
He picked up a moderate quality sword he had found and carried it a little ways away from the camp to a clearing where he knew the blade master to be. The man stood with a guard next to a small cliff face. The guard held two practice swords and had a cloth bag at his feet.
The blade master spoke, "When we first met you almost bested me. You are a natural fighter and have honed what you have learned into a more than effective style. I was surprised that you could fight just as well with both hands. I have decided to teach you one of the Seven Deadly Forms. It is called Nursing the Broken Wing. Most use it when they have injured their right arm, but I'm sure you will be able to do things with this form that will shock and amaze your opponents."
The guard tossed Mazren a wooden blade. Mazren placed his feet to mimic the blade master. "What is your name?"
"You may call me Master." With that he lunged.
The camp fire cast long and sparse shadows on the Chosen Ones. A few of the bolder folk stated their opinions on the subject to one another. A hexagonal shield with half of it's device, some mythic bird in flight, scraped off leaned against Mazren's leg. After most had spoken their piece he started scraping the rest of the device off of the shield with a broken sword blade. Purple bruises stood out on his forehead and arms, shiny in the eerie light.
He didn't believe the hog-wash about being a Chosen One, but he didn't care much either. The Andur'me fellow had promised battles to come; which meant more opportunity to make a name for himself and the spoils of war. At least here he would have a degree of autonomy, they'd probably just haul him off to the gallows if he tried to escape this one. Lots of reasons to stay.
He listened while some of the other chosen spoke to one another. A small girl offered him tea, he smiled and showed her a wineskin he had found. "No, but perhaps you have a poultice or salve for my feet?"
Mazren took off the heavy boots he had found and began to rinse the bloody pads of his feet with water. When finished he pulled out a long and thin pipe which he packed with tabac. He spoke to the assembled, "I am called Verrater by some. Anyone smoke?"
OOC Notes
The battle both dragged on forever and ended instantly for Chisheema. For the first half of the battle she focused on just a few Nieral, beating them into a bloody pulp before moving on. Duregar had to drag her away from a corpse after the fighting ended so the others could drag it to the burn pile. Chisheema, when she noticed the others, began dragging corpses as well. For the first time in several months, she felt good. After a while, she began whistling a tune, a spring in her step.
"Wake up, Duregar! Wake up an' smell th' ashes! Tis th' smell 'o freedom!" Chisheema's face broke into a wide grin. Her skin had black splotches where the floating ash clouds stuck to her, and her face was streaked and dirty as she wiped beads of sweat off her forehead, smearing the ash layer.
Having finished moving the bodies, Chisheema set up her little area around the fire. She padded in a circle on all fours before settling down. Duregar plodded up behind her and simply lowered himself onto the ground, drifting immediately into sleep. She raised her torso and twisted to glare at him. With a small shrug, she clambered onto his back and curled up again.
The other former prisoners chatted amongst themselves. Chisheema smiled and watched them, but decided against joining into a specific conversation.
"Wake up, Duregar! Wake up an' smell th' ashes! Tis th' smell 'o freedom!" Chisheema's face broke into a wide grin. Her skin had black splotches where the floating ash clouds stuck to her, and her face was streaked and dirty as she wiped beads of sweat off her forehead, smearing the ash layer.
Having finished moving the bodies, Chisheema set up her little area around the fire. She padded in a circle on all fours before settling down. Duregar plodded up behind her and simply lowered himself onto the ground, drifting immediately into sleep. She raised her torso and twisted to glare at him. With a small shrug, she clambered onto his back and curled up again.
The other former prisoners chatted amongst themselves. Chisheema smiled and watched them, but decided against joining into a specific conversation.
OOC Notes
The the battle had ended shortly after Endyne had arrived on a ground--it was no secret that the few people battling were all, in some way, masters of the art of combat. She herself was, as well, an unmatched talent in a brawl--but her orders were not to fight. They were to watch over and tend to Rivael, and the other wounded along the way, were he in working order. She had done her best to stay no more than a few feet away from him this entire time; her unsubtle technique was not meant to be kept a secret. She wanted him to know she was watching him. Endyne was a smart woman--she always had been. The man was undoubtedly aware that she had saved his life, or at least done it sooner than anybody else could have. She had not been riding on the Caravan, over the past months, but flying above it. Endyne's revealing of herself was not only her greeting to the rest of the party, but also her warning to Rivael. Both her entrance and her actions said You don't own me. I can do what I please, when I please--and it might just save your life.
Endyne felt that everything was in enough order to function without her shadowing the "leader" of the caravan, and so upon hearing Nahdib's request for assistance she, also, went to his side. Her feet and lower legs were spattered with blood, and her eyes told a story of extreme fury and bloodlust. "I can help, if you wish, though it seems you already have assistance. I may, however, volunteer myself as better than this man in the field of wounds, as I am the appointed medical officer of the caravan." She looked at Nahdib, and then to Risu with a calm, quiet sort of anger that flickered behind her front of knowledge. One of her hands rested on her satchel, and the other on her knife hilt, as she waited for a reply.
Endyne felt that everything was in enough order to function without her shadowing the "leader" of the caravan, and so upon hearing Nahdib's request for assistance she, also, went to his side. Her feet and lower legs were spattered with blood, and her eyes told a story of extreme fury and bloodlust. "I can help, if you wish, though it seems you already have assistance. I may, however, volunteer myself as better than this man in the field of wounds, as I am the appointed medical officer of the caravan." She looked at Nahdib, and then to Risu with a calm, quiet sort of anger that flickered behind her front of knowledge. One of her hands rested on her satchel, and the other on her knife hilt, as she waited for a reply.
OOC Notes
Kazri watched as the few remaining Nieral limped into the cover of the forest; her heart rate started to slow. For the first time since this journey had commenced, she looked around; thankful for her companions. Still reserving quite a bit of doubt for this so-called group of “chosen ones”, she wiped the blood and sweat from her face and returned towards the caravan.
A few hours later, the group gathered around the roaring fire. A simple speech from the caravan’s leader, gave them the ultimatum of death or consent. Wasn't that cheery? To Kazri, there didn't seem to be much of a difference between the two. Life in bondage or the freedom of death. Seeing as there wasn't much to be done with the current situation, she decided to push her helpless thoughts to the dark corners of her mind.
Kazri picked up a small piece of debris and began making rudimentary designs in the crunchy dirt floor. She listened to the idle chatter of those around her. Everyone seemed so… ordinary. As disconcerting as this fact was, it made her more comfortable. Her eyes danced around the conglomeration of captives; the flame’s flickering reflection sparking in most of their eyes. A smile graced her lips as a small-framed girl offered tea to the group.
“I, for one, would love some tea.” She answered, with a rustic roll in her dialect; offering a gentle smile.
A few hours later, the group gathered around the roaring fire. A simple speech from the caravan’s leader, gave them the ultimatum of death or consent. Wasn't that cheery? To Kazri, there didn't seem to be much of a difference between the two. Life in bondage or the freedom of death. Seeing as there wasn't much to be done with the current situation, she decided to push her helpless thoughts to the dark corners of her mind.
Kazri picked up a small piece of debris and began making rudimentary designs in the crunchy dirt floor. She listened to the idle chatter of those around her. Everyone seemed so… ordinary. As disconcerting as this fact was, it made her more comfortable. Her eyes danced around the conglomeration of captives; the flame’s flickering reflection sparking in most of their eyes. A smile graced her lips as a small-framed girl offered tea to the group.
“I, for one, would love some tea.” She answered, with a rustic roll in her dialect; offering a gentle smile.
OOC Notes
Nahdib was seated quietly, nursing a cup of tea offered by the innocent Anaur, watching the two figures proposing assistance for his wounds the sly, loquacious Shara and the composed, but ferocious Neru’Abar that seemed ready to pounce if the wrong answer was proposed, slighting what seemed to be knowledge as a healer. However gracious the man was for the assistance, it was still necessary to acquiesce to the person having a greater knowledge of the healing arts, and since the wounds inflicted upon the wings were out of eye sight, it would be near impossible to detail the necessary steps for such a delicate area.
Looking solemnly from one figure to the other, the former Guard extended a hand towards the fire-eyed woman, palm facing upwards, and fingers pointing outwards as a sign of acceptance. He did not wish to spurn the other comrade so brusquely however, and set to thinking of an acceptable solution to the dilemma. Turning violet eyes towards the one called Risu, locking the figure within the gaze of violet-eyes, a quiet response ushered forth from serene lips.
“Friend, I appreciate the offer, but must accept the Lady Endyne’s care. The wings are delicate, and must be tended by gentle hands; I would suggest watching however, so that you may learn the art.”
Nahdib looked at the healer for a short moment, measuring the ielevel of blood-lust that lay behind the fiery eyes staring back, in complete contrast with his own which were cold and sorrowful. The exchange ended quickly, however, as the battered body turned towards the healer, detailing the damaged appendages, but also revealing a design tattooed upon the muscled-neck, a design grafted onto the entire Tashael clan upon induction into the Royal Guard.
“I fear milady that you may have to bind them for some time.”
Looking solemnly from one figure to the other, the former Guard extended a hand towards the fire-eyed woman, palm facing upwards, and fingers pointing outwards as a sign of acceptance. He did not wish to spurn the other comrade so brusquely however, and set to thinking of an acceptable solution to the dilemma. Turning violet eyes towards the one called Risu, locking the figure within the gaze of violet-eyes, a quiet response ushered forth from serene lips.
“Friend, I appreciate the offer, but must accept the Lady Endyne’s care. The wings are delicate, and must be tended by gentle hands; I would suggest watching however, so that you may learn the art.”
Nahdib looked at the healer for a short moment, measuring the ielevel of blood-lust that lay behind the fiery eyes staring back, in complete contrast with his own which were cold and sorrowful. The exchange ended quickly, however, as the battered body turned towards the healer, detailing the damaged appendages, but also revealing a design tattooed upon the muscled-neck, a design grafted onto the entire Tashael clan upon induction into the Royal Guard.
“I fear milady that you may have to bind them for some time.”
OOC Notes
Endyne's eyes, still filled with the anger of battle yet glazed over with serenity, traveled over the wings upon the back of the man before her. "It is a pity, for such a set of wings to be doomed to be scarred for the rest of a young man's life." She plucked feathers gently, only around the areas that Nahdib seemed to be treating tenderly, and took a vial from her satchel. She put a few drops of the liquid in the vial onto a cloth before carefully and methodically cleaning out the wounds, using the soft, leather square to scrape fibers that had caught in the cuts. "I apologize if any of this is painful," she muttered, capping the vial and folding up the cloth in order to put them away and withdraw a tube of a pasty substance. She spread this on the wounds, and after a few minutes of waiting it began to congeal. "That should be ready to peel off in a day or so. It's a salve--helps to keep your wounds from getting infected, and keeps them cold."
She nodded to him, respectful of his battle wounds, and turned to go back to Rivael. She was reluctant to leave him for longer than a few minutes--it was not in her orders to make sure others healed completely--just to patch them up. But him, she was to be stuck to like a tick. Where he went, she did, and when he was injured, she was required to reverse it. Which meant she would need food in her stomach at all times, as sustenance was what gave her the energy to Skip to and from different times. Anything could happen at any time, on a mission like this.
Endyne was a puppet. A sorry little slave for the Conclave--or, at least, that was how they saw her. She had been so much more of a real person before she'd been discovered; so much better at everything. Back then, she could Skip as often as she wanted. As far forward and back. But they'd collared her...quite literally collared her, as evident by the silver metal collar around her neck. It was adorned with a red stone, which was neither for fashion nor comfort--it, essentially, watered down her abilities so that she could only muster the energy to go a certain amount of time forward or backward. Along with this, she was on food rationing, which further limited her range of Skipping, and also weakened her physically.
Essentially, in order to keep her with Rivael, the Conclave had risked killing her.
She nodded to him, respectful of his battle wounds, and turned to go back to Rivael. She was reluctant to leave him for longer than a few minutes--it was not in her orders to make sure others healed completely--just to patch them up. But him, she was to be stuck to like a tick. Where he went, she did, and when he was injured, she was required to reverse it. Which meant she would need food in her stomach at all times, as sustenance was what gave her the energy to Skip to and from different times. Anything could happen at any time, on a mission like this.
Endyne was a puppet. A sorry little slave for the Conclave--or, at least, that was how they saw her. She had been so much more of a real person before she'd been discovered; so much better at everything. Back then, she could Skip as often as she wanted. As far forward and back. But they'd collared her...quite literally collared her, as evident by the silver metal collar around her neck. It was adorned with a red stone, which was neither for fashion nor comfort--it, essentially, watered down her abilities so that she could only muster the energy to go a certain amount of time forward or backward. Along with this, she was on food rationing, which further limited her range of Skipping, and also weakened her physically.
Essentially, in order to keep her with Rivael, the Conclave had risked killing her.
OOC Notes
Risu watched with muted interest as the woman approached him. He wasn't sure what the reason was- most likely the after effects of the recent battle- but something about her unnerved him. He almost stepped back as she approached but he held his ground. He had offered his help and it would be rude, both to Nahdib and the woman, if he just left without a word. So he offered her a warm smile instead, doing his best to hide any fear behind a smiling mask.
"I can help, if you wish, though it seems you already have assistance. I may, however, volunteer myself as better than this man in the field of wounds, as I am the appointed medical officer of the caravan."
His faltered as he listened. 'Well, she certainly gets straight to the point. "I'm sorry but I did not realize we had a medical officer already," he murmured, taking a step back. He eyed the placement of her hands and a shudder ran down his spine. 'She looks ready to attack me. Or Nahdib, if he turns her down.' His smile widened and a chuckle escaped his lips. Either she loved her job to the point that she was willing to inflict wounds upon others or she was simply...persuasive.
“Friend, I appreciate the offer, but must accept the Lady Endyne’s care. The wings are delicate, and must be tended by gentle hands; I would suggest watching however, so that you may learn the art.”
"I understand. While gentle myself, I fear I only have a basic knowledge of medicine. I'm sorry I couldn't have been of more help," he murmured, bowing slightly. With a quick nod, Risu moved so that he wasn't in anyone's way but was still able to watch as Endyne cared for the wounds. He studied her hands carefully, making mental notes so that he could be of more help in the future. As she left, he stepped closer to get a better look at the salve that had been applied. He did not touch the wings, he didn't have permission and he knew better than to try, but he did look closely.
"Amazing! Such care and speed. And she knew exactly what to do!" Looking back at her retreating form, Risu's thoughts raced. She claimed to be a medical officer and she had certainly proved her knowledge to him. He did not wish to fight but knew that, more than likely, there were going to be more fights and he would be needed for them. But, even if he had to kill, he could learn to help and save lives. And, certainly one more doctor couldn't hurt. "Good luck and may you heal quickly," he said hurriedly to Nahdib before running after Endyne's retreating form. "Miss! Wait!" he called, catching up with her quickly. "Please, I request two things of you. First, I must know your name. And secondly, I wish to learn the art of medicine. It's obvious you have talent and knowledge so please share them with me. Please teach me."
He watched her calmly, suddenly having second thoughts about asking her to teach him. What if she rejected him? What if she didn't think he was good enough to learn the art of medicine? But he wanted to learn and she was the only one he knew of that could help him towards his goal. Then, perhaps, people wouldn't just think of him as an annoyance. He could be a useful annoyance!
"I can help, if you wish, though it seems you already have assistance. I may, however, volunteer myself as better than this man in the field of wounds, as I am the appointed medical officer of the caravan."
His faltered as he listened. 'Well, she certainly gets straight to the point. "I'm sorry but I did not realize we had a medical officer already," he murmured, taking a step back. He eyed the placement of her hands and a shudder ran down his spine. 'She looks ready to attack me. Or Nahdib, if he turns her down.' His smile widened and a chuckle escaped his lips. Either she loved her job to the point that she was willing to inflict wounds upon others or she was simply...persuasive.
“Friend, I appreciate the offer, but must accept the Lady Endyne’s care. The wings are delicate, and must be tended by gentle hands; I would suggest watching however, so that you may learn the art.”
"I understand. While gentle myself, I fear I only have a basic knowledge of medicine. I'm sorry I couldn't have been of more help," he murmured, bowing slightly. With a quick nod, Risu moved so that he wasn't in anyone's way but was still able to watch as Endyne cared for the wounds. He studied her hands carefully, making mental notes so that he could be of more help in the future. As she left, he stepped closer to get a better look at the salve that had been applied. He did not touch the wings, he didn't have permission and he knew better than to try, but he did look closely.
"Amazing! Such care and speed. And she knew exactly what to do!" Looking back at her retreating form, Risu's thoughts raced. She claimed to be a medical officer and she had certainly proved her knowledge to him. He did not wish to fight but knew that, more than likely, there were going to be more fights and he would be needed for them. But, even if he had to kill, he could learn to help and save lives. And, certainly one more doctor couldn't hurt. "Good luck and may you heal quickly," he said hurriedly to Nahdib before running after Endyne's retreating form. "Miss! Wait!" he called, catching up with her quickly. "Please, I request two things of you. First, I must know your name. And secondly, I wish to learn the art of medicine. It's obvious you have talent and knowledge so please share them with me. Please teach me."
He watched her calmly, suddenly having second thoughts about asking her to teach him. What if she rejected him? What if she didn't think he was good enough to learn the art of medicine? But he wanted to learn and she was the only one he knew of that could help him towards his goal. Then, perhaps, people wouldn't just think of him as an annoyance. He could be a useful annoyance!
OOC Notes
Nahdib had born the discomfort as well as possible, but despite the fact the Endyne was knowledgeable of healing, and worked gently upon this tender area, the man was forced to wince more than once from how tender the wounds were, especially when it concerned plucking a feather, whether lost or not. It had not taken much time for her to scrape grizzled flesh away, and place a soothing salve over afflicted areas, calming the burning sensation that had been steadily accumulating during the cleansing process. He inclined his head towards her in response to the respectful gesture as she slipped away, once again running to the side of Rivael, almost like a dog to its master.
Looking around slowly, Nahdib began to measure the new companions seated around the campfire. Several seemed of a more despicable nature, and would rather watch the world burn than save it, and the cautious Guard could not refrain from making a mental note of a Baldor and Shara male, or the Orii’m female that had been observed maintaining a distance from the party, and in the company of a rather large bear.
This was certainly a rag-tag assembly if one could be imagined, but the other members seemed quite in contrast to their partners. While several seemed much more balanced in concerns to their status, two had seemed to attract much attention to themselves, merely by appearing so out-of-place in their current predicament. The loquacious Risu had seemed rather rattled after their battle, and despite his efforts during the confrontation, Nahdib had noticed the fight more from necessity, and little joy had been invoked within the cunning man’s demeanor.
His eyes strayed again to the slight Anaur female that had brought her tea pot along for the voyage, of all things a person could bring, and had graciously offered everyone the drink, while making conversation with a Baldor female. The Baldor had composed herself well on the battlefield, but he had seen little of the timid Anaur, and only glimpsed her at the end emerging from the forest, probably hiding from the fierce creatures they fought. A spark of curiosity stirred suddenly, and the ex-soldier found he was seated beside the two women, attempting to acquaint himself further with the other members of the party. As any veterans of campaigning within the military would know, unity must be had within the ranks to improve overall morale, and that this would signal the making, or breaking, of a unit.
“Greetings miladies, I am Nahdib. How fare you after our plight earlier?”
A soothing smile spread upon the battered face of Nahdib, and somehow a sense of comfort surged over his being, he had not been capable of smiling for some time, but it was merely a gesture to comfort the two women, and belied the pain behind calculating eyes.
Looking around slowly, Nahdib began to measure the new companions seated around the campfire. Several seemed of a more despicable nature, and would rather watch the world burn than save it, and the cautious Guard could not refrain from making a mental note of a Baldor and Shara male, or the Orii’m female that had been observed maintaining a distance from the party, and in the company of a rather large bear.
This was certainly a rag-tag assembly if one could be imagined, but the other members seemed quite in contrast to their partners. While several seemed much more balanced in concerns to their status, two had seemed to attract much attention to themselves, merely by appearing so out-of-place in their current predicament. The loquacious Risu had seemed rather rattled after their battle, and despite his efforts during the confrontation, Nahdib had noticed the fight more from necessity, and little joy had been invoked within the cunning man’s demeanor.
His eyes strayed again to the slight Anaur female that had brought her tea pot along for the voyage, of all things a person could bring, and had graciously offered everyone the drink, while making conversation with a Baldor female. The Baldor had composed herself well on the battlefield, but he had seen little of the timid Anaur, and only glimpsed her at the end emerging from the forest, probably hiding from the fierce creatures they fought. A spark of curiosity stirred suddenly, and the ex-soldier found he was seated beside the two women, attempting to acquaint himself further with the other members of the party. As any veterans of campaigning within the military would know, unity must be had within the ranks to improve overall morale, and that this would signal the making, or breaking, of a unit.
“Greetings miladies, I am Nahdib. How fare you after our plight earlier?”
A soothing smile spread upon the battered face of Nahdib, and somehow a sense of comfort surged over his being, he had not been capable of smiling for some time, but it was merely a gesture to comfort the two women, and belied the pain behind calculating eyes.
OOC Notes
Just on the verge of sleep, Chisheema was pulled back to reality with the word "Tea". She perked up, looking around for the speaker. Her gaze settled on the Anaur woman.
"If it's not a burden, I could use a cup," chimed Chisheema sheepishly. The water rations she'd been limited to in the caravan were of poor quality, usually containing dirt or silt. A refreshing cup of hot tea would do much for her weary spirit. She slid off the mountainous haunch of her partner and picked her way through the camp, sitting next to the pair of women. She graciously accepted a teacup and inhaled quietly. The rich, herbal smell of tea brought back a piece of her former self, prompting a wide grin and exposing her teeth.
The first sip did even more work on her caked and stained personality. By the time she'd finished the cup she felt herself again. She gazed into the fire with a subdued smile, reminiscing about her village. The matron brewed tea very similar to this whenever Chisheema came to visit her. It was filled with nostalgia; those gentle reminders of times long past.
Having been restored, Chisheema looked at the other members of the party, examining each one in depth. They'd all been captured for a reason, though what that reason was was beyond the Orri'm warrior's grasp. She really couldn't discern any similar traits between those assembled. Shrugging slightly, she handed the teacup back to Hana with a thanks.
"If it's not a burden, I could use a cup," chimed Chisheema sheepishly. The water rations she'd been limited to in the caravan were of poor quality, usually containing dirt or silt. A refreshing cup of hot tea would do much for her weary spirit. She slid off the mountainous haunch of her partner and picked her way through the camp, sitting next to the pair of women. She graciously accepted a teacup and inhaled quietly. The rich, herbal smell of tea brought back a piece of her former self, prompting a wide grin and exposing her teeth.
The first sip did even more work on her caked and stained personality. By the time she'd finished the cup she felt herself again. She gazed into the fire with a subdued smile, reminiscing about her village. The matron brewed tea very similar to this whenever Chisheema came to visit her. It was filled with nostalgia; those gentle reminders of times long past.
Having been restored, Chisheema looked at the other members of the party, examining each one in depth. They'd all been captured for a reason, though what that reason was was beyond the Orri'm warrior's grasp. She really couldn't discern any similar traits between those assembled. Shrugging slightly, she handed the teacup back to Hana with a thanks.
OOC Notes
Hana winced in sympathy at the Balder’s bloody and blistered feet.
“Well, the tea is camomile. Whilst it will do you no good for infections it will help sooth your feet and bring down the swelling. Once the pot is emptied and the leftovers have cooled i can apply them to your poor feet.” She smiled sweetly wishing she could do more for the pain. “If there is garlic in the food supplies that will help ward off infection and helps with circulation.”
She poured a cup of the tea and took it over to Nahdib was waiting for Risu to start tending his wounds.
“I wish i could be more help to you, but alas i only know the properties of plants. Please take this tea.” She said offering the cup to him. “It will do nothing for your pain, but is soothing for your nerves.”
Nahdib took the cup gracefully before turning attention back to Risu.
“I, for one, would love some tea.” Said a tiny Balder girl with a pleasant accent Hana wasn’t familiar with. The girl smiled and held out her cup. Hana noticed her for the first time the Balder was small, smaller than Hana and had two different coloured eyes. She happily filled the girl’s cup.
“Hi, i’m Hana. This is great! It’s not every day i meet someone shorter than me, but truth be told you certainly seem more capable than me.” She said taking a cup of tea for herself and settling down next to the smaller girl.
“If it’s not a burden, i could use a cup.” A wild looking Orii’m woman stated quietly.
“Of course.” Hana replied pouring out the last of the tea. She set her teapot aside mentally reminding herself to remember not to throw the soaked stems and flowers away. The Orii’m woman sat peacefully with her tea near Hana and the little Balder seeming happy with her own thoughts. Hana chatted merrily to the Balder girl she now knew to be called Kazri.
“Greetings miladies, i am Nahdib. How fare you after our plight earlier?” Nahdib interrupted seating himself beside Kazri, Hana and the silent Orii’m.
“I’m Hana.” Hana answered holding out her dainty hand in greeting. “Oh the fight... it was my first. Scary stuff. I’m afraid i wasn’t much help to anyone. I sought cover and only took out one guy! Maybe they have made a mistake in bringing me here. Maybe i could just make the tea and do the cooking?” She laughed easily, making light of all the things weighing on her mind.
“Well, the tea is camomile. Whilst it will do you no good for infections it will help sooth your feet and bring down the swelling. Once the pot is emptied and the leftovers have cooled i can apply them to your poor feet.” She smiled sweetly wishing she could do more for the pain. “If there is garlic in the food supplies that will help ward off infection and helps with circulation.”
She poured a cup of the tea and took it over to Nahdib was waiting for Risu to start tending his wounds.
“I wish i could be more help to you, but alas i only know the properties of plants. Please take this tea.” She said offering the cup to him. “It will do nothing for your pain, but is soothing for your nerves.”
Nahdib took the cup gracefully before turning attention back to Risu.
“I, for one, would love some tea.” Said a tiny Balder girl with a pleasant accent Hana wasn’t familiar with. The girl smiled and held out her cup. Hana noticed her for the first time the Balder was small, smaller than Hana and had two different coloured eyes. She happily filled the girl’s cup.
“Hi, i’m Hana. This is great! It’s not every day i meet someone shorter than me, but truth be told you certainly seem more capable than me.” She said taking a cup of tea for herself and settling down next to the smaller girl.
“If it’s not a burden, i could use a cup.” A wild looking Orii’m woman stated quietly.
“Of course.” Hana replied pouring out the last of the tea. She set her teapot aside mentally reminding herself to remember not to throw the soaked stems and flowers away. The Orii’m woman sat peacefully with her tea near Hana and the little Balder seeming happy with her own thoughts. Hana chatted merrily to the Balder girl she now knew to be called Kazri.
“Greetings miladies, i am Nahdib. How fare you after our plight earlier?” Nahdib interrupted seating himself beside Kazri, Hana and the silent Orii’m.
“I’m Hana.” Hana answered holding out her dainty hand in greeting. “Oh the fight... it was my first. Scary stuff. I’m afraid i wasn’t much help to anyone. I sought cover and only took out one guy! Maybe they have made a mistake in bringing me here. Maybe i could just make the tea and do the cooking?” She laughed easily, making light of all the things weighing on her mind.
- 81 posts here • Page 1 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
The Seven Thrones: Out Of Character (OOC)
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The Seven Thrones: Sub-plots and relations!
by Frozen Soul on Thu Mar 31, 2011 6:13 pm
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on Fri Nov 25, 2011 1:04 am
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The Seven Thrones: Sub-plots and relations!
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The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
1 ... 11, 12, 13by Frozen Soul on Fri Feb 25, 2011 7:36 am
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on Mon Jun 20, 2011 10:18 am
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The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Most recent OOC posts in The Seven Thrones
Re: [OOC] The Seven Thrones: Sub-plots and relations!
Shame to see this never got started again - I would have loved to have jumped in again after my absence.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
THIS SHIT HAS TO GO ON. OR THERE WONT BE ANY FKING COLLOSSUS IN THIS BITCH.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Hey you damn Romanian!! Eastern europeans... what a shame. Come on buddy need ta jump start some life in here!!!
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
*Sighs* I just hope that Frozen is okay. He may have gotten kidnapped by the Collosus or something.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
I unfortunately won't be ready to finish the post tonight everybody :(. Did all the catching up and saw all the new posts, my post will be up by tomorrow evening and it shall be epic-sauce! Hold on to your horses!
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
YAY! You're back! *glomps* I'm still here! :D
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Raize is present and pleasant. (And proud. Baha.)
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
I'm still kicking around, but its been so long I almost forget what the current plot even is >.<
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
I hate beautiful men... you're my competition! Nah just kidding with ya. Present and accounted for!
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Now! I'm Here!
Apologies for my announced and prolonged absence everybody. I was gone with business for over a month out of my country and have finally returned, tired as never before. This is just a role-call to see who's still here and who's good to go. I should do all the catching up I need to do and post by Friday hopefully.
My apologies, don't hate my guts. I'm beautiful after all.
Apologies for my announced and prolonged absence everybody. I was gone with business for over a month out of my country and have finally returned, tired as never before. This is just a role-call to see who's still here and who's good to go. I should do all the catching up I need to do and post by Friday hopefully.
My apologies, don't hate my guts. I'm beautiful after all.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
I just got back from two weeks of RPG abstinence. Awesome, I'm not behind.
Also, frozen should get back, or I'm going to close my post and fry that fucking thing.
Also, frozen should get back, or I'm going to close my post and fry that fucking thing.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
He did mention business in England earlier on before he vanished. I think it best to stay patient and wait to see what happens.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Idk, he disappeared the last time too, but I think we should wait. I don't think he'd remake this and then disappear if he didn't have a good reason.
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Frozen hasn't been on since the 8th (at least, that's what their profile says). Do you think we should wait a bit longer or what?
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
I am still here and waiting on Frozen's post... i've been checking all the time to no avail. Maybe we should move on without him?
Re: The Seven Thrones (Accepting 2 more literate writers)
Ah, sorry it's kind of short, my computer is having issues and I don't want to risk losing my post.
