Announcements: Initiative: Promoting Forum Roleplay » Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Train Poetry I » Joker » D&D Alignment Chart: How To Get A Theorem Named After You » Dungeon23 : Creative Challenge » Returning User - Is it dead? » Twelve Days of Christmas » Empty Skies » Does Mind Affect the World? » I have an announcement. » Iskjerne Ballad by dealing_with_it » Viking Music / Norse Songs - Germanic Paganism » Capitalism » Panspermia: a Case for Cordyceps » The Ethics on owning a Housepet » I just really had to share this plot idea. » Materialism » Satire & Comedy » Platonic numbers » No complaints (a little bit of rappin) » Any multi-player roleplay videogamers here? »

Players Wanted: OSR Armchair Warrior looking for Kin » Friday the 13th Fun, Anyone? » Writers Wanted! » Long term partner to play an older male wanted » DEAD! » Looking for new RP Buddy(s)! » Sands of Oblivion » Looking for Role Players to join an active universe » Looking for Empire of Cendalia Players » Seeking Roleplayers for The Isekai Wonderland Project » Hadean The Brave - Fresh Blood » Just a trophy of status - long term, story focus! » Kingdom come looking for roleplayers » The Last Dragon! » Roleplay Return for 1 x 1 » Players wanted for a science fiction adventure. » Players needed for Fantasy Romance reboot » One(1) male & Two(2) Female Roles OPEN <3 » Talmora: Kingdom of magic » Looking For A New Partner »

[IC] Even Gods Bleed

a topic in Fantasy Roleplay, a part of the RPG forum.

If you would like to make your own roleplay based in a fantasy realm (dragons, elves, magic), use this forum. You will be in charge of all things related to your roleplay, so you're on your own here.

[IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Crooked Thoughts on Tue Apr 05, 2011 3:02 pm


In Cam Lire, hope is something whispered in the ears of children to aid in sleep. The reign of the God King is spreading like a disease. And though it needs curing, rebellion is but a sweet dream. However, there are those who would see it reality. But, is this really a plague or a blessing in disguise?


  1. RP Tab
  2. IC Page
  3. OOC Page
  4. Announcement Page
  5. Player Directory
  6. Character Directory
  1. Races Page
  2. Classes & Specialization Page
  3. Magic System Page
  4. Location Page
  5. Information Page

  1. Place the location of your character, in the beginning of each and every post. See the announcement thread for a detailed explanation.

  2. If you use a custom font or color, make sure it is readable and not too bright.

  3. Quality over Quantity. Meaning don't write a 1000 words of nothing, about your character getting dressed. I would rather see a well written paragraph about your character blowing his/her nose.

  4. No text walls. Use proper spacing.

  5. Bookmark this thread NOW. Whether it is in your browser or this site, bookmark it.


  7. Only post here if you are part of this RP and if the character you are using has been accepted.
Self Proclaimed, Master Realm Weaver: need help creating a RP? PM me!

Vivid-Minds; a society of sophisticated RPers and Roleplays. Join us?

...LIVE in your world, ROLEPLAY in mine...

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Crooked Thoughts
Member for 14 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration World Builder Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Crooked Thoughts on Fri May 27, 2011 7:19 pm

Undisclosed Location
Unknown Place
Some Point in Time
The Story-Teller

Image"So you want to hear a story, eh?


How about one of treachery, lust, deceit, greed, and revenge?

Yes. I will tell you the story of the man that became a god...

...Our story takes place in a world covered in darkness, both figuratively and literally. A time where brave knights lived and died by a chivalrous code, powerful wizards bent magic to their will, and giant monsters roamed the earth as well as skies. The world was a perilous one, yet good still existed, but one mortal would see it destroyed.

Azrael, a man who was no stranger to hardship, was born into this world with nobody to love him. His mother died giving birth to him and his father was a nameless war casualty. With no family to take care of him or servants, he was sent to the orphanage. From there on, his life would be nothing, but struggle and worry. Azrael's only friend was Magic, which he soon learned he had a knack for. He would later take this ability and use it to elevate his status from bottom feeder to royalty.

He searched for years to enhance his powers, to ascend and become an Arch Mage. It was in this search he acquired The Collector's Grimoire: a book of arcane knowledge gathered by a powerful Arch Mage. It contained many secrets and forbidden knowledge, which Azrael hoped would teach him how to ascend or other ways to increase one's magical prowess. However, this is not what he found. Instead he stumbled across the legend of Abaddon The Destroyer, a demon of immense power.

The legend told how the demon was tricked into immortality and sealed away for his evil deeds. His essence had been trapped in the very pages of the book, bound by The Collector's powers, only to be released by reciting an incantation and performing a non-negotiable blood pact ritual. Azrael pondered over this thought for days. It was not exactly what he wanted, but it would still yield the same results and maybe even more; it was settled. Azrael summoned the demon, seeing this as the way to get what he so desperately desired.

Without fault, the demon was released. In thanks, Abaddon swore his undying allegiance and gave him 4 gifts: A Kingdom: his to rule and do with as he pleases; Immortality: a long life to enjoy all he will come to own; Grand Power: to become a formidable foe, feared by all; A Vast Army: To forever secure his position and kingdom.

The deed was done. Abaddon and Azrael had signed a soul binding contract, which guaranteed both parties everything they wanted. But, Abaddon was no Genie; he couldn't just snap his fingers and the warlock's wishes would come true. The kingdom, army, and even the power would still have to be earned and taken, thus began The Conquering.

The Conquering is the name of the shortest war in history, lasting only a month. There was no strategy, no tactics, it was more of senseless slaughter; anything in the army’s path was obliterated. The Old King, was dethroned and killed, Azrael's kingdom had been claimed. In the years following so would his other gifts: immortality, grand power, and of course his vast army. Strength now proven, this gave birth to a new being that the world would soon come to know as their eternal ruler: God King Azrael and The Holy Kingdom of Cam Lire.

However, not everyone saw Azrael as their god, some saw him as a plague that must be cured. So as his armies marched to new lands, they met opposition. Even rebellions started rising from within his kingdom. It would seem his dream would be differed just a moment longer. Despite all his might, people were still finding the will to stand and fight. Call it stupidity or courage, however small, hopes still existed. Because no matter how powerful or strong he became, everyone knew, even a god can bleed...

Our story resumes thirty years later. It is there, where things become interesting:

As The God King battles to keep his throne and extend his reign across the world. Meanwhile he cannot trust anyone, but a demon who wishes to take his soul. Not even his family or allies are to be trusted, for they have their own secret motives and goals they wish to see succeed. With rebellion always on the rise, untrustworthy partners watching his back and his goal well within reach - Will he obtain what he seeks or will he die trying?

...We shall soon see..."

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Crooked Thoughts
Member for 14 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration World Builder Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Crooked Thoughts on Fri May 27, 2011 7:23 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - Clock Tower Square - Execution Stage
Autumn, Saturday, 12:00:00 P.M.
Azrael, The God King

Image"Do you have any last words?"

A large, burly man was the intended recipient of the words. He was physically and mentally beaten, but after he heard those words, something changed... His eyes lifted from the wooden floor panels of the stage. They traveled from left to right, before looking out onto the large crowd. A weird smirk then spread across his face as his lips parted to let words spill out.

"You can kill me, but you will never kill the rebellion! You have only del-"

There was a swift rush of wind, followed by the meeting of steel to flesh as the executioner swung his giant axe. With a displeased wave of his hand, the God King had given the signal to kill the rebel leader. The crowd was obviously in agreement as they cheered loudly for the vibrant display of blood. That had been the fifth and final execution of the day, the stage was carnal sight to behold, limp bodies and severed heads lay scattered across the now blood soaked wooden stage.

All around the city and kingdom people were celebrating. Whether they were secretly burning the God King's flag or flying it high while they drank ale; everyone celebrated Holy Week. Which is a week long holiday, celebrating the God King's reign and defeat of the Old Tyrant King. And today was the final day, marking a ceremonious event: the sacrificial spilling of blood, which represents the killing of the old king and the beginning of Azrael's rule.

Raising another hand, the cheering turned to whispers as the God King gestured for silence.

"Just like so many years ago when I ended the life of The Tyrant King, by ending the lives of these traitors signifies another year of peace and tranquility under the blessed rule of your God King, Azrael." A large grin was now growing on the God King's face. "On this final day of The Holy Week, may we celebrate just that! So dance, drink, fuck and screw to your heart’s content on this joyous day -- Let the festivities begin!"

With that speech, the crowd erupted with laughter and praise. Azrael surveyed the picturesque scene before him. The grand, but bloody stage he was standing on, full of grotesque bodies and selected members of his council. The ocean of loyal subjects, all smiling up at him. And the beautiful and elegant city square, which filled the background -- A greater vision couldn't have been painted by an artist or weaved with magic.

However, there were other matters that needed attending, Azrael couldn't continue to daydream. He gave a final wave to his people and a bow, before he and his entourage disappeared in a flash of light.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Crooked Thoughts
Member for 14 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration World Builder Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Crooked Thoughts on Fri May 27, 2011 7:28 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - City Pub - Random Table
Fall, Saturday, 3:30:22 P.M.
Grief Sorrow

Image"Hmmm," Peering just above the rim of his cards, a toothy smile broke across a before serious face. "Read 'em and weep ladies!" Yelled the cheesing gentleman as he slammed his cards down. "Seven fucking hells..." exclaimed an angry dwarf.

The glum look on everyone's face, told the smiling man he had indeed won. In celebration, he began to rake in the gold coins. However just as he did, one of the more scary looking humans grabbed his hand.

"And just what do'ya think yer doin?"

"Who, me? I won. I'm taking what is mine." The smile had now faded from this man's face; a worried grimace was now in its place. Judging by the look on the other men's faces, he could tell where things were going... They just didn't know what they headed for.

"Did ya hear that? He's taking what's his... What d'ya think bout that Ronar?" Drawing a dagger the dwarf named Ronar replied, "I think he’s a thief who oughtta be taught a lesson." Hearing this, the third fellow chimed in. "I second that!" Nodding in agreement, the three men stood up from the table.

"Then it's settled. What say we-"

Out of nowhere, the unlucky gentlemen began cackling loudly. He was laughing hysterically, slapping his hand on the table and howling like a wild dog. The sudden outburst had shocked the others and caused them to exchange confused looks. Soon however, it all died down and in a sudden serious tone he spoke.

"You know, you three remind me of my mother. She was fat and ugly too!"

As the comment reached their ears, their eyes bulged and faces twisted into an angered mug. The scary looking human nearly leaped across the table to lay his hands on him. Just as the human was about to speak, another interruption impeded his actions. THUMP! Turning to the source of the noise, it was discovered that the third fellow had dropped dead to the floor. Upon further inspection, the pair noticed that not only their friend had fallen out, but the entire pub had as well. All around, patrons lay slumped over their tables and on the floor.

"Wha- What have you done...?" asked the human male as his grip loosened and he started to lose consciousness.

A devilish grin was now being worn prominently by this pale skinned individual. He stared back into the eyes of the human, watching the life leave before he gave his nonchalant reply. "Nothing really, just poisoned you. And to think, I was beginning to think I made a miscalculation." Scoffing, this pale skinned fellow leapt from his chair. Forsaking all the gold and possible loot from the dead men and women of the pub, he took his leave. Besides, wealth wasn't his reason for doing such things, fun was all the reason the Sadistic Jester needed to kill.

Pushing the pub doors open, the sun's many rays fell upon his form. Having just committed several crimes, he was in no mood to be noticed, so he pulled his cloak on, masking his being. He then began walking towards another individual.

"So. There's good news and bad. Bad news is I forgot who to kill. Good news is, everyone is dead."

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Crooked Thoughts
Member for 14 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration World Builder Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Crooked Thoughts on Fri May 27, 2011 7:35 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - God King's Castle - Feast Hall
Autumn, Saturday, 8:00:00 P.M.
Abaddon, The Destroyer

ImageThe servants have outdone themselves this year. The feast hall was looking very extravagant, every inch was decorated, from floor to ceiling; it was truly a feast for the senses. A band of bards had already began playing, filling the air with delightful music. There were beautiful dancers, leaping about in revealing fabrics that left little to imagination. Even a gentlemanly duel had been scheduled to take place, nothing too barbaric, just a simple exhibition match. Then there were a few fools pulling pranks, to ensure a smile on everyone's face. Lastly, there was the bountiful feast. Enough food to feed a small village or two for months had been disturbed amongst the many tables.

Guest had just begun showing up, most of them respected nobles from other nations and countries. Orcs, elves, dwarves, helborne; it was all so diverse; Abaddon was beginning to understand why so much had went into the event. They were all sitting just below the balcony, which was reserved for the God King and a selected few, which was his council, (Myself, Nathan, and Karthus) close family members, (His eldest son and daughter) and his date for the evening (Empress Shar).

It was all very fitting for the occasion, yet it shocked Abaddon at the same time. The host, Azrael, had been so gracious this evening, it was hard to believe. This was the same man, who had just ordered an entire village burned, for unknowingly harboring a rebel. Yet, here he was drinking ale and telling jokes; this mortal was more of a deceptive demon than himself.

Abaddon chuckled at the thought as he settled into his chair. Stretching out a hand, he meant to seize a goblet of wine. However, the sight seen nearly startled him, as a small, frail humans hand crept into vision. He had almost forgotten he had changed forms for today's event. The monstrous form of a demon would put a lot of guest on edge, so Azrael politely requested something more appeasing. And despite helborne and savage orcs and ogres being present, Abaddon agreed. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to mingle amongst the mortals later.

The body he had chosen was one of a male warlock; the man was a merchant of death. So his stature was short, lean, and agile. Abaddon had chosen to dress in fine silk robes, which masked his entire frame, only his mouth was visible. He also carried a small dagger; he felt naked without his weapons and needed some sort of steel by his side.

Resuming his former activity, his lips finally rested upon the metallic rim of the goblet. Its contents flowed into his mouth, he wasn't particularly parched, he had just acquired a taste for wine. Setting the goblet back down, he let his smoky green eyes wash over the surroundings once more. Being a professional spectator, simply watching was something he loved to do.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Crooked Thoughts
Member for 14 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration World Builder Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SpiritualOrb on Fri May 27, 2011 10:38 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages – Cam Lire – Ethona – The Desolate Plains
West Shores of Ethona
Autumn, Saturday, 08:00:00 P.M.
Cavaldi, the last Blood Priest

Blood Priests originated from an unnamed foreign land across the seas centuries ago, originally Holy Priests seeking an alternative way to hear the voices of there deity; Syn' by offering the blood of the newly deceased from those who died of old age or disease. But instead of hearing the voice of there beloved goddess a new power was bore before the offering priests. Affected by this new sensation and though it was a gift given by there faith towards Syn', although there unaffected brethren highly disagreed and viewed this new power as a evil magic granted by demons playing fowl tricky. Betrayed by there own, many affected priests were caught and placed alive in a cleansing fire to be burn alive, those that managed to flee with there lives resulted to murder to fuel there new found abilities to survive. Through this evil act of killing and collecting of blood expanded their powers into an incredible destructive force of immorality and abilities to kill.

By there holy brethren they were wanted and named as “Blood Priests”, the church demanded that all Blood Priests to be hunted down and exterminated on sight or to be brought alive to the church to be purified in a cleansing fire. For hundreds of years of fighting and merely surviving the Blood Priests were though to be ultimately all killed by the Holy Priests, doomed to be forever forgotten and hated as possessed blood lusting murders.

But a lone surviving Blood Priest managed to escape capture, and had managed to flee as a stole away on a ship, one of many deliver ships departing with a shipment of exotic weapons and goods to a land known as; Cam Lire.

o o o o o 0000 o o o o o

Discovered by a wandering patrol ship, an entire fleet of nine delivery ships laid destroyed upon murky waters of the horizon near the outskirts of Cam Lire shores, miles near west of Ethona. Corpses floated on top of its surface along with wooden debris as a longboat cleaved the waters searching for possible signs of life. “There is a survivor to starboard!” the captain pointed out towards a figure who clung to a piece of floating drift wood. “Quickly, row men!” Oars shafts lifted and swung raggedly into the sea waters as they battered against the winds, when finally drawing abreast of the survivor they were almost overtaken by the drift smoke. The captain squinted through burning eyes towards the unmoving man in the seawater with arrows lodged into his side. “Are you alive...?” the captain whispered.

Glassy eyes suddenly opened(revealing an eye affected by miosis), but the wounded man said nothing it was quite likely the cold waters dulled his wits. As an oarsman began to steadying the boat others lean over and began to lift the half-drown survivor aboard. While beginning to lift him aboard the longboat, the man's body began to radiate a strange foggy aura that eliminated an eerie red glow, before any of the sailors or captain could react to this strange anomaly – the half-drown man struck with surprising speed and doused his rescuers with seawater. Nearly blinded by stinging saltwater a nearby crewman lunged and clung onto the man's scrawny arm. The survivor half sitting in water twisted against restraint, desperate to free himself he suddenly bit down on the crewman's bare forearm. Recoiling from the survivor with a scream of pain and surprise his forearm lost a chuck of its flesh and began dripping with large amounts of blood. Everyone erupted into horror and confusion.

“Were trying to save you, you crazy bastard!” the captain shouted as he reach towards a nearby oar and raised it like a club. One struck from the wooden oar caused blood to spill from nose and mouth, the wounded man's grasp of restraint let go and the crewmen pulled the survivor's limb body like a rag doll into the longboat. There the man was rendered unconscious and the red aura dissipated. Someone jerked him onto his side, being carefully of the logged arrows. This man at least in his forties was scrawny and unbelievable pale as if he was ill with some sort of sickness. Dressed in soaked tattered robes of some sort of priest, the black fabric was decorated with bits of red thread, the silver necklace laced around his neck held a ruby decorated holy relic resembling a skull of a half angelic face. This symbol caused the sailors to fall back in fear, several men made signs against demons and someone even drew a dagger for there could be no mistaking it – it was one of the rumored unholy men from the foreign lands, the ones possessed by demons to be made blood lusted murders with an awful power.

“It's one of them a Blood Priest!” the wounded crewman shouted in horror. “Kill him before he murders us!”

“Hold it men!” the captain stood up and raised an arm in the air. “Remember his unconscious, his harmless. Or we'd be all dead by now. The God King will surely bring a bounty for turning in this monstrosity to him, these unholy murders have powers our God King will surely be interested in. This man might even have the answers to the sunken deliver ships and its fallen crew.”

The men made no response, uneasy they shifted away there feet from the captive and a second knife sang from its sheath. The captain still hold the oar in his other arm slammed it between the sailors and there newly captive. “Idiots, would you pass on favorable fortune! Kill him and our Holy Majesty won't give us a copper, he'll also be wanting answers to why his shipment was lost last night. If he finds out that we were the first to discover the fleet of deliver ships he'll post blame on us, let us post blame on this demon possessed Blood Priest for the cause of the lost crew, its ships and shipments and we will be rewarded for turning him in.”

Won over by greed, the sailors sheathed there knives and the captain sigh in relief. Too exhausted to even curse, the captain tossed a scarf to his wounded crew member before barking out orders to his men who jumped to obey. Before the Blood Priest regained his wits, his captors bound his wrists and legs with rope before he was rowed back to the wandering patrol ship, the mother ship of this little longboat. Haul aboard by the oarsmen, the priest was dumped like a piece of meat ready for slaughter onto the quarterdeck soaking wet in both seawater and blood.

“Get to your duties men, and have that longboat winched back aboard. Quickly now!” the captain shouted as he stepped in front of his unconscious captive and examined him closely. This man in robes carried with him a series of eight medium size beverage containers laced around a dark leather belt, what was held within this metal canisters was unknown at the moment. He also had a dagger decorated with a ruby at the handle being held by a leg strap, this prisoner was the most strangest of priests the captain had ever seen before. Hopefully holding this man imprisoned and delivered to the God King would be worth the devastating loses they've discovered. “I don't trust that rope will hold him, so replace that rope with a set of chains after you lock and secure him in the cells below...and get our prisoner a healer as well...”
Last edited by SpiritualOrb on Sun May 29, 2011 12:56 am, edited 3 times in total.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 12 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Conversationalist Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby CR22 on Sat May 28, 2011 12:30 am

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - God King's Castle - Feast Hall
Autumn, Saturday, 8:00:00 P.M.
Libash Datansarvesh

"--And then I said to the bastard, 'and my axe!'" the dwarf erupted in laughter, sending a billow of mead-laced breath over the small crowd of people gathered around him. Half let a nervous giggle slip over their lips in response when he was finished.

"Is he drunk?" whispered one of the crowd, a waifish elf woman wearing a small fortune in jewelry whispered to her equally-bedecked sister.

"I would imagine so--he's been drinking since he arrived. I had no idea they'd let such an alcoholic little man in."

"Well, he's quite fun, isn't he?"

"Of course, if the little brute wouldn't stop ogling our legs."

"So, ladies and some of y'gentlemen, how did you poor slobs get invited to this party?" Libash asked, a pleasant grin plastered on his face. "Have y'seen another bar--not that one over yonder, the bartender cut me off a while back sayin that there be other guests here and they be thirsty too--around here? My mug be half empty and the servants be avoiding me."

After a slight pause, one of the gentlemen, a rather sour looking man, raised his voice. "Poor slob...? Good sir, I am one of the wealthiest men in this city, and was invited by Azrael himself! I, sir, am no 'poor slob' and--"

"--Whoa there" interrupted one of the elven sisters, seeing the color rise in Libash's cheeks. "Easy now. The man meant no harm, he's merely a...a...rather forward person. I like that in a dwarf," she added with a wink.

The gentleman sniffed. His response was understandable--the dwarf looked entirely out of place at the party. He stank of alcohol, despite the rather early hour, and had spent nearly half of his current wealth on a rather extravagant garment for the night: a monstrosity of gold thread, orange and purple check, and silver tassels stitched into the rough form of a poorly-fitted robe. Though Libash thought he looked quite nice, and appreciated the fact that his chainmail surcoat was all but hidden beneath the decadent fabrics of the cloth. The fact that he stuck out like a small, brightly-colored sore thumb around the fashionable socialites was utterly lost on him.

"Oh, do y'now?" the dwarf asked, winking back at the elf. She giggled, and he took that as an excuse to throw one arm around her waist and lead her away from the offended nobles . "Come with me and let's talk a bit. Did ye know I'm a Mayor?"

"Ooh, a mayor? I know several, actually."

"Aye, but d'ye know any dwarven Mayors?" he responded without the slightest bit of disheartened tone. "They're very important people y'know--roughly equivalent to a duke or a baron or a prince in yer lands and such."

"But those are all very dif--"

"--Duren't matter. They're important, important enough to get invited and all to this ritzy party of yours and that's the thing of it. I got m'own personal suite and everything. Very nice. Got a gold statue of my great-great-uncle in my bedroom, and m'own training room, and everything's engraved with all sorts of pretty pictures in the stone." As he walked, he brushed aside the crowd without the slightest care, blissfully ignoring the murmurs of disapproval and evil glances that shot his way as he escorted the lady to the edge of the crowd. "Have y'ever seen a dwarven longsword, lass? They're quite well made, stronger'n anything, and thick as a man's arm as that."

The elf stared for a moment before bursting out in laughter. "How did you get invited to this party, good dwarf?" she asked, nearly crying with glee.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

Member for 15 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby echored on Sat May 28, 2011 3:32 am

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages- Cam Lire- Ethona
Iceloch Village - The Blue Boar Inn
Winter, Thursday before Execution Day, 10:00 PM
Emna, Angel of Peace, Guardian of Justice in Loka Ova
or just Emna, Bar Maiden at the Blue Boar Inn

”Mo’ ALE, fo’ all me comrades!” a brutish looking ogre demanded as he slammed his fists against a round oak table in the center of the Blue Boar Inn. To his left and right were scantly dressed women giggling and feeding this orge grapes and seeds of various plants by hand. What made up the rest of the table were various men of different races and sizes, all drinking and gorging themselves on meats and fruits out of large bowls. The smell of alcohol lingered in every corner of the Inn, not a single table empty. At this time of night it was even lucky to find an available chair, most standing around and drinking to their heart’s content.

Emna could hear the clanking of plates and cups from across the room, eyes and ears perking up as the orge made eye-contact with her from where she was standing. He was waving his cup in the air eagerly with a sick, perverted expression on his face that gave Emna the chills. She was clad in a rough cream dress slightly softer than burlap, with a blue apron over it, both garments cutting a few inches above her knee. The Blue Boar Inn was, after all, the best place in all Cam Lire for great ale and beautiful women servers who ‘dressed daring’. The owners of the Inn didn’t hesitate a second when they saw Emna approach them asking for a job, her angelic features quite stunning even in her human form. Ideally, this wasn’t the place she would pick to spend her evenings, but money was always a factor. In her Heaven realm of Loka Ova, money was non-existent, so the concept of needing such coins to buy food and drink had been foreign to her. She learned her lesson after nearly getting her hand chopped off after taking an apple from a merchant and not paying for it. Krophen, her Warlock that brought her to this realm, to this land of Cam Lire in Iceloch Village, had given her a place to stay and sleep, but beyond that he couldn’t offer her much money and so he helped her search for a place of work. One place that was never dead of business was the Blue Boar Inn, serving day and night. Emna was hesitant at taking the position of Bar Maiden, for she wasn’t quite sure what it required of her, but over the following weeks she managed to pick up on the routine and test the waters, and the pay was pretty nice. Not to mention it was a culture smorgasbord, and she was able to absorb the attitudes and mannerisms of the diverse races and creatures that stumbled in and out of the place quickly. If she was going to learn how to meet locals, she was in the right place.

The pounding of fists against wood sounded again, Emna flinching for a moment before walking back over to the crowded table of soldiers, so it appeared. Their auras were dark and hazy, a clear sign the men had just recently committed vicious deeds. She wouldn’t put it past them if they all ransacked a village and were coming here to celebrate. The smell of death tainted the air around them. All of these details that Emna could sense about the men she kept quiet, lips sealed with a forced smile across her face as she walked to the shoulder of the leader of this pack- the orge.

“More ale, on the way,” she chimed, her voice sweet and collected despite the frustration that lined her light hazel irises. Her long, wavy blond hair hung heavy against her back, a blue scarf tied in a knot around her head to hold back her bangs and loose strands of hair from falling forward. As she turned from the table with empty ale glasses, she could feel a pinch on her behind. Her head whipped around, eyes glaring at the orge who merely winked at her and went back to celebrating with his men.

”Oh, the nerve” She thought to herself, her hands gripping the glasses tighter as her nose crinkled in a tense expression. A slap in the face would show him right... yet Emna held back from confronting him seeing as how he was one of the highest paying costumers in the Inn and she was going to walk away with a lot of gold coins from this table. Her feet glided through the packed room soundlessly to where the barrels of ale were kept behind a wall, away from the hustle and bustle. The cool breeze behind the wall was refreshing and Emna found herself letting out a deep sigh as soon as her appearance from the Inn was now hidden by the wall’s shade. Before filling the glasses, she lent against the wall and wrestled with the idea of having to go back to the orge’s table eventually.

As the noise of the crowd and men grew stronger, she forced herself to fill the cups and trot ‘happily’ back over to the thirsty leader. Setting his glass down, she couldn’t help by overhear the conversation that the men were now having:

“Ya’ Ol’ fool, tis Holy Week in Illumine and ya’ isn’t gon find me in Iceloch tomorrow!” the orge laughed heartily, lips wet with booze, “I wan’ me coins now befo’ I leave!” A man across from the orge shook his head, a jestful glare in his eyes as he waves his own cup around.

“Yall get ye money soon ‘nough! ‘Sides, the Executions a free event and we all know ye gon just for tha’!” the old man chuckled as he took a swig of his ale and sat the cup back down on the table. The orge rolled its eyes, but the facts were true enough. The event was free for the public and it was indeed his most favorite event of Holy Week.

Emna’s curiosity and concern were too much to bare at this point and she found herself interjecting as she stood close to the table she was serving. When she spoke, she wasn’t easy to ignore- her voice had the certain something that caused you to want to listen.

“What is this Execution you all are referring to?” she asked casually, her accent clearly different from the rest, her words more precise. She kept a cheerful expression on her pale face as she urged for the orge to answer her question.

The orge obviously took offense to this, after all, who hadn’t heard of Execution Day during the Holy Week celebrations! Numerous beheadings in a row wasn’t easily forgotten. Two and two together, he doubted if she even knew of the important week.

“Ah, ha! Ye must be new to Cam Lire, Maiden, for all the kingdom know of Holy Week! The Executions, in Illumine on Saturday, the las’ day to witness it fo ye’self!” he proclaimed with power and joy in his slurred speech, obvious excitement pouring from his aura.

Emna nodded graciously and walked away from the table back to a relatively empty zone in the Inn where most of the servers relaxed. She took a seat down at a table, stretching out her legs and flexing her fingers as she rejoiced in her few moments of alone time. Saturday, a public execution day? How sickening that it is seen as a celebration, or given even a day of recognition.... she thought to herself, her soft features hardening as she glared across the room. Holy Week.... so far nothing sounds holy about it.. It didn’t take long for Emna to settle on a plan... travel to Illumine by Saturday in time to check out this so called execution, and see if there is something she can do about it. And she had to be quick, for it was the last day of the Holy Week events, according to the orge. Once her mind was made, she was sticking to it.

Emna’s shift ended at 1:00 AM, and let the owner know she was going to be gone for a few days to check out the events taking place in Illumine. She spent the rest of that night and the next day preparing for her journey. Normally it would take more than two days to get there if one didn’t have the proper resources and speed. Luckily for Emna, she could cut her time in half by flying there. Oh, the simple joys of having wings.

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages- Cam Lire- Ethona
Desolate Plains - Illumine - Clock Tower Square
Autumn, Saturday- Execution Day, 12:30 PM

After a quick flight with little interference to get to Illumine, Emna found herself reaching the outskirts of the city. Using her keen eyesight she managed to find a safe landing place where she wouldn’t cause much attention to herself. Immediately after landing, her bare feet welcomed the warm ground and she sat down a leather sack of clothes and goods that she would need while here in the city. She already went through the pain of wrapping her hair in a black cloth, masking the color of her hair as to better mask her identity as she had flown. She found a tree to hide behind that was off the well-traveled road, taking this time to transform back into her human body. With a quick, but very intense flash of light, Emna went from having large, white dove-like wings and a satin dress on to being a mere 'human', still dressed in the silky garment- the wings all but dissipated into thin air, a potent spell to protect her true identity whenever she felt pleased to. See as how she couldn’t go around in the city in such a garment, she hastily rummaged through her bag of goods, pulling out a pair of brown trousers and a white blouse to change into, as well as a pair of leather strapped sandals. Emna took off the black cloth around her hair, throwing it into the leather bag and tying it back up. With a yellow ribbon-type string she stuffed in her trouser pocket, she took it out and wrapped it around her hair, incasing her long, blond locks into a tight bun.

Once ready to set forward, she reemerged from behind the tree and took foot into the lush road surrounding her. The City was in all accounts beautiful, and SO much warmer than Iceloch. Why couldn’t Krophen live here? she thought to herself dejectedly, but her mood didn’t stay sour for long. The forest around was too green to frown around, and off in the distance was a sparkling lake that easily calmed her spirits. How could such a beautiful city harbor such awful events and people? It was a strange, strange world, this Cam Lire.

Emna made it into the heart of the city after a good thirty minutes of pushing through large crowds of people and creatures. The temperature doubled in the air just by the proximity of the celebrating crowd. She could barely hear own thoughts as trumpets and people cried out, both in joy and some in anger. Never in her entire time in this new realm had she ever seen so many people before, and so many different races. Seeing a group of human women standing and conversing amongst themselves, Emna politely cut in,

“Do you know where the execution is taking place?” she asked with the utmost politeness in her voice. Even her eyes seemed to smile as the sun above twinkled in the hazel green and blue of her irises. The women around were eager to answer.

“Right there, across the ways! The Execution stage is what all those folks are surrounding!” a woman took lead in instructing, pointing in the direction to give Emna a clue as to where to walk. Emna thanked the group and walked patiently over to where a large group had gathered. Under her breath she cursed at not having her wings, and not being able to see over the tall brutes that stood in front of her, blocking a clear view. Several minutes of worming her way through the crowd and she finally found a spot where she could see the stage....

She nearly wanted to gag when her eyes caught the sight before her. The stage was dark red, completely stained in the color of fresh blood. Five heads laid scattered across the stage on display, their bodies tossed aside. She had missed the fifth beheading by just moments, the man’s body sprawled out as a guard held a bloody giant axe in his arm.

And then there he was, the God King himself that Emna had heard so much since her time in Iceloch Village. Whether the stories came from Krophen, her Warlock, or random people in the Blue Boar Inn, she had a not-so-pretty picture in her mind of this King, and he assumptions weren’t even enough. The massive man on stage stood tall and built, and damn scary, his presence displaying his authority and power. Emna’s eyes narrowed as she studied his movement and harsh posture. His voice carried through the air like the tyrant he was as he spoke of the justification of ending the lives of the men and being the blessed God King... even hearing the word ‘God’ in his title irked her more than anything other. The King smiled a vicious grin for the crowd, for not even a true smile would look right on Azrael. Within seconds, the King and his entourage disappeared in a flash of light and left the crowd cheering as loud as ever. Emna crossed her arms and relaxed her shoulders. She was upset that she was too late to the executions, and that it seemed the five dead on stage were the last of it.

“What a shame,” she said aloud as she paced her way through people, walking in no particular direction as she studied the environment around her.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 13 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Lifegiver Completionist

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kurokiku on Sat May 28, 2011 1:11 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - The Slums - Unknown Avenue
Autumn - Saturday - 9:34:09 P.M.
Tanith Kelvaskur, Queen of the Dragonkin

ImageTonight, Tanith thought that perhaps the city was named from the root word illumination. The number of lights filtering from the buildings would certainly suggest it. Many people, it seemed, put aside their concerns for the eve and threw open their doors to the outside, and the fires and lamps indoors filtered out into the street where many of the homes’ occupants mingled. It seemed that everywhere she looked, there was something new and interesting to be seen.

She could only wonder wistfully what it must look like from the sky. Tilting her head back, the dragon-who-was-human took in the brilliant play of constellations still visible above them, and remembered a drastically-different place, one where those tiny pinpricks of light and the steady molten glow of lava streams were the only sources of visibility for more miles than any of its denizens cared to count. She had always thought that nothing could be more beautiful than that simplicity and peace, but now she was not so sure.

There was a vibrancy in these streets, an air of unadulterated celebration that she had never come in contact with before, and it buzzed in her limbs and lungs with a foreign headiness that made her want to dance. Or perhaps that was just the music filtering out of some of the taverns and houses she passed.

The scrape of her sandals on the cobblestone street was steady, as though purposeful, but in truth she could name no particular destination. She simply wandered, taking in everything about her with eyes that knew almost not what to do with the sights she encountered. It was a strange sensation, to know at once so many things and nothing at all. She was used to feeling like a child; she was among the youngest of her species, and yet around humans her age weighed upon her like some physical burden. To her, they fumbled around like clumsy hatchlings, and yet so often she could not for all her years divine their methods. It was most disconcerting.

All her contemplations were forgotten, though, when she came upon a group of people playing at dice. There was not much coin to be had; a low-stakes game for those who could afford little else, but then it wasn’t the money that enthralled her. These games of chance, too, were something she had not encountered before her journey beyond Cinder Island, and she found them most intriguing.

The fact that the men playing were of a rough sort was not something that she noticed- it was still difficult to use visual cues to pick up on what sort of humans she was dealing with, and if they didn’t smell quite as nice or wear fine fabrics, she thought little of it beyond the materiality of the facts as they were. Don’t breathe too deeply, and don’t ask after their tailors, that was all.

“Pardon me, sirs, but might I put in a wager as well?” Six heads turned simultaneously to size up the newcomer, but scrutiny was not something one endured if one was unaware of it, and she simply smiled slightly, awaiting an answer. Most of them shrugged and turned back to that they were doing. One informed her that as long as she had the coin, he did not care in the slightest what she did, and a couple of them continued to regard her oddly, something she either did not notice or paid no mind to.

She spent a couple of rounds figuring out the mechanics of the game before she fit herself in between two of the participants, who moved sideways to accommodate someone who was half the average girth of those assembled. Placing her coppers down, she called evens, and was delighted when the upright faces totaled eight.

Her luck, as it turned out, held for the next seven goes, and had she been more attuned to the idiosyncrasies of their facial expressions, she would have figured them frustrated. As it was, she thought nothing of it when one of the men drew a couple of different dice from his sleeve, and tossed those too. Much to his chagrin (and her blissful ignorance) it seemed that even the loaded ones cooperated with her for the most part.

Having had her fun, Tanith was about to excuse herself when a heavy hand came down on her shoulder, gripping just a tad too tightly to avoid causing pain, and she winced visibly. “Excuse me, sir, but I must ask that you please remove-” her entreaty was cut off when his fingernails dug with much purpose into the skin beneath her shirt, and she realized two things in quick succession: one, this body had far too many vulnerabilities for her comfort, and two, she must have done something very wrong indeed.

The question then became: how was she supposed to go about fixing it? She had little desire to fight these people, and even if she had the chances were fair that she would lose. One of them had a grip on her already, after all, and it was not as though this form had all that much strength to it. Running away would be difficult given the positioning here, which left spellsong. Her lute was snugly strapped to her back and inaccessible, but it was not as though she particularly needed it. Maybe she could just talk her way out? The options were there, she just didn’t know which to take, and her confusion made her hesitate. What sort of reasoning would work here, anyway? She may suggest that harming someone was not what they really wanted to do, but then it looked like it very much was. So why did they want that?

Humans… She’d been at this nearly a year, and still did not understand half the things she saw. Even as she thought it, she caught something out of the corner of her eye and turned towards it, only to find that nothing was there. How strange; she could have sworn that she glimpsed a flash of blond hair or something… no, she had. She trusted her senses that much. But why would someone be attempting to conceal themselves here? Her predicament might have looked a bit grave, but it wasn’t really, and surely there was no need to hide from these people.
Last edited by Kurokiku on Sat May 28, 2011 11:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 13 years
Beta Tester Contributor Author Promethean Conversation Starter Inspiration Conversationalist Novelist Millionaire Completionist Greeter Tipworthy Concierge Lifegiver Person of Interest

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby BleedingCrimson on Sat May 28, 2011 2:58 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Near the Border of South Ethona and The Desolate Plains - A Nameless Village
Far Away From Any Known City Though near to an Unimportant Village - A Forested Area - Up in a Tree
Autumn, Saturday, 4:00:00 P.M.
Liana Belladonna, Sunshade

Image "Hn, I might have to move on soon. What do you think 'Dnan?" Her low drawl carrying easily down to her faithful steed. He snorted and rubbed himself on the tree trying to scratch that itch that just wouldn't go away on his haunch, the tree shook just a bit from his exertions.

"Yeah, I thought so. We'll leave on the morrow, when dawn breaks I suppose, just like we always do." Her voice was oddly whimsical as she said this, lost in thoughts and memories, some not as nice as others. Sensing his elf's distress Adnan whuffled and stomped a front hoof on a rock, the echoing sounds bringing Liana out of her reverie.

Closing her eyes she jumped down from the branch she had been laying on, a shower of golden-red leaves followed and Liana let out a rare smile. Laughing, which was just as rare and no one but Adnan had heard it after her parents died, she leaped to step on the dead leaves, enjoying the satisfying crunch when she stepped on a particularly crisp one. This was one of her secret hobbies, and one of the reasons Autumn was her favorite.

Stopping when she ran out of whole leaves in the area around her, and being far too lazy to go any further, she sighed happily. "Ah, well I suppose we ought to go tell the villagers that we are leaving to-morrow, not like any will really care all that much. We haven't done much except provide some extra protection against whatever might attack those humans in the night. Perhaps they will give us supplies too, it is always a bother having to get one's own provisions. Always troublesome..." Her trademark laziness rearing its head once more. Adnan simply snorted and began leisurely walking off toward the village.

"Oi, 'Dnan, get your horse's-ass back here." Liana gruffly yelled, her eyes narrowing at the horse a bit more than usual. It was his job to carry the stuff after all, she protected them and got food.

"Hn," She seethed as Adnan just kept walking. Fine, she would carry his damn blanket and hackamore, Lousy horse she thought fondly. She would only carry them until she caught up, which might actually be a while seeing as she didn't feel any sort of need to actually go running after her horse. That would take too much effort, she was content to watch her horse look back at her every couple of steps as she carried their belongings.

"Horse!" The horse stopped but didn't turn around, "Get back here, this is your stuff I am carrying, and I don't want to. I'll drop them here! I swear I will!" Adnan abruptly turned and charged back to her, stopping only a meter or so in front of Liana's face, she didn't flinch having gotten used to the horse's antics over the eight years that she had known him, she was at his foaling even.

"That's what I thought, cannot stand the thought of your precious blanket on the ground huh, you big lug?" Liana teased him, moving out of the way when he made half-hearted attempts to nip at her hands and arms as they jerked the blanket further and further away from him.

"Aha!" Liana exclaimed as she vaulted herself over the massive horse's head and onto his back, still holding everything. maneuvering herself she set the blanket on Adnan's back where she was sitting and then leaned forward so that she could put on his hackamore.

"Come on, hold still!" She grumbled in a voice that was a bit more grating than her usual drawl. This damned horse is moving his head out of the way just to be a pain, She growled in her mind. Going limp and making sure every pound of her now-dead weight was on Adnan's neck and upper back she waited for the opportune moment. There, she sprung into action, and hooked the ornate, leather hackamore over Adnan's nose.

"Ha! I win." She said smugly, crossing her arms as she held onto the reigns, last time she let go after pulling a trick like that Adnan started running and she fell off. Not fun, he was too tall for that...

"Let's go Horse, we have a couple of hours before dark. Maybe we will leave today, find a cave or whatnot to sleep in tonight, can't be any more uncomfortable than those crappy beds in the village." Liana groaned, rubbing the small of her back as she remembered those beds- they were worse than sleeping on the ground! And nowhere as nice as a bed in the trees...

"Yes, I think that's what we will do. Perhaps we will come upon another band of rouges against the crown like us, huh? These people seem to have things figured out here well enough." She mused, swaying lightly with Adnan's gait as he plodded lazily through the trees that shone of golds and reds and everything in between as the sun steadily went lower and lower, soon to disappear into night.
Last edited by BleedingCrimson on Tue May 31, 2011 9:40 pm, edited 5 times in total.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 13 years
Conversation Starter Author Conversationalist Person of Interest Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby 7achary on Sat May 28, 2011 3:18 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - God King's Castle - Feast Hall
Autumn, Saturday, 8:15:43 P.M.
Nathan Thoreaux, The Burned Man

A young page, son of the most influential merchant in Illumine, hurried over to the table and topped off Nathan's goblet. He had barely touched the wine, it was unseemly for one seated at the God King's table to draw attention away from Azrael and his children. Nathan was seated next to Abbadon, the God King's most trusted ally and friend; a mighty demon with innumerable powers, but for now he appeared as just another notable in the God King's court.

Nathan's smile was warm as he looked down on the various nobles and dignitaries, their games of politik and hierarchy a subtle battle below. Nathan's eyes wandered to the God King's children. They should be watching, some were born into this life and politics are more dangerous the higher up the proverbial ladder you are. As he looked away from the children Nathan met Karthus eyes and he nodded. During all of this the warm, caring smile never left Nathan's face.

Today was a day for celebration. Nathan stood slowly and tapped his crystalline goblet with something resembling a tuning fork (a special fork for a dwarven dish made for Azrael's guests). While the silence was not sudden, the gathered socialites grew quiet. "I have had the pleasure and great privilege to be born during our benevolent king's much celebrated rule. In all of my very short years I have witnessed, and upon occasion assisted," Nathan paused for the polite laughter, "the rise a grand commonwealth. A society without racial distinction, where men and women are treated equally and given opportunities that are oft only afforded to a select few. I believe that with the unwavering determination of our king, nay... our god, Azrael has created a world with hope. Though I can only dream of his absolute rule, I pray to see it with my own eyes." Nathan raised his glass above his head and turned to Azrael. "To the man who taught me everything I know, and the god who will bring peace to the world; I offer a toast."

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 15 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Thepyromaker on Sat May 28, 2011 4:07 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - The God King's Castle - War Council Room
Autumn, Saturday, 12:00:00 P.M.
Azrael, The God King

Karthus Drivan, The God King's General, a man who was once known as "The Slaughterer," stood over a large table. The U-shaped structure of the table wrapped around a large chair reserved for the God King himself, when he decided to grace his underlings with is presence, which was often enough. Most non-decisive affairs where left in the capable hands of Karthus, especially during Holy Week.

"... and how did the mopping up operations go?" The question rang out in the wholly empty war chamber, only coming to a halt in the ears of a warforged who stood next to the General. Most warforged had a fairly imposing height of 6 feet, and Karthus was one of the few who dwarfed them. The burly man wore his massive black armor, The Armor of the God King it was dubbed, massive plates adorned and covered most of the man's body. An engraving of the God King's crest was stamped into the right breast-plate. It was well-known that Karthus was never seen without his famed armor, nor his massive sword that was now clutching on his back, waiting to draw blood.

"The town was razed, the villagers scattered, most were slain." Replied the dutiful warforged. Karthus' head swiveled a bit to have the fighting machine fully in his sight. "Most were slain? Was the order not to kill everyone in the village?" The creature in front of Kartus tensed a little, "If all were slain, none would hear the word of God King Azreal's Divine Punishment!"

"Very good." Replied Karthus, that singular idea had been hammered into the machine-men during everyday of their creation. They had proven to be much too efficient at killing, so efficient that the first batch of "recruits" had left none alive in during their first siege. After his praise the forged relaxed a bit as Karthus' gaze returned to the large parchment was spread out in front of him. The sheet provided the map of the area the now obliterated village once resided. "When you return to your post tell the map makers to strike this village from their future renditions. "Dismissed."

The metal being nodded and left in its characteristic quickened and dutiful pace; leaving the General alone in the large chamber. It always amazes me the amount of resistance the people give towards Azreal's reign. I suppose some people never see a good thing until it is too late. For one last time he read the name of the town, Dawnhill, he figured Azreal might want the name proclaimed in infamy at his next rally. The map was dutifully rolled and placed aside awaiting the castle aids to whisk it away.

A few moments late the War Council room became as empty as the charred remains of Dawnhill now lays. Karthus' heavy foot steps echoed down the hall, the dull clink of his armor answering each of his footfalls. He passed servants, warforged, and nobles and giving him a curt salute or bow as they passed him. That is an excellent thing about being the General, I don't have to acknowledge anyone but Azreal and Abaddon. He inwardly smiled at this, an outside observer would never know seeing only his typical stoic face.

During his stroll down the maze of corridors, Karthus caught the tell tale color of blood outside one of the windows. So the execution has already begun? I wonder if rebel fervor will decrease of inflame at Holy Week this year. His stomach echo a low rumble, something sounding a kin to a sleeping lion, as the banquet hall, his destination, had been reached.

The door to the great hall opened for him the instant he neared it. Two servants lowered their heads their arms pulling the doors forward so the General could enter. The royal crier was about to announce Karthus' presence, but he quickly silenced him with a quick upraised index finger placed vertically on his lips, the universal sign to keep quiet. If there was anything in the world Karthus truly hated, it was the scene of pomp and stupidity these banquets brought about in the nobles.

Taking his prescribed seat near Nathan, Abaddon, and eventually Azreal; Karthus gave a curt nod to the two men. Immediately, he started up conversation with Abaddon, "Has the God King enjoy his festivities so far? Have you enjoyed the spectacle below as well, ... your grace?" He paused for a moment. He knew the demon was above him in station, but Karthus was never sure what to call him. In all of his years of fighting and commanding, there was no one Karthus had little understanding of Abaddon. The little he did know made him shiver at the thought of what might else lurk in Abaddon's mind.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 16 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lovely VonSchultz on Sat May 28, 2011 10:29 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - God King's Castle - Feast Hall
Autumn - Saturday, 8:10:47 P.M.
Empress of the Helborne, Shar Moedma

The Empress had regretfully declined sitting in on the executions seeing as she didn’t care very much who lived or died that wasn’t one of her own. Humans, elves, dwarves, that lot of them were only worth what they could prove to her. Rebellion leaders who were caught were not really worth her time and effort. Azrael would always hold up his end of the bargain when it came to being God King. Taking on a title like that meant really meaning what you say. Gods are not merciful, not always. That’s why Shar would remain Empress and never Goddess. She wasn’t a friend of mercy at all and it was not a friend of hers.

Thinking for a only a moment she snickered sensually at her folly. Perhaps not a friend, was mercy, but he was certainly an irritant and a very, very powerful playing card in her game of royalty. In some cases, she was actually forced to kill things herself because Tristan was much too good to do it himself. Shar had to give the Eldritch credit, however. He was stubborn about his code, no matter how many times she tried to persuade him otherwise. It was a fact she could do nothing but respect. Her eyes, lustful and taunting, glanced over at the knight in shining armor. Behind the obvious intent of her gaze was the jest. The joke that she’d always kept up with him since the day she realized she had a body that could get her what she wanted.

Sitting beside the God King, Azrael, was a feat she was very proud of. They both had an equal amount of interest in the other, but lately his was becoming cumbersome. The Empress was not interested in bearing children, or even marrying for that matter. He had yet to come right out and ask her, and she was grateful for it, but the undertones in conversation weren’t exactly subtle. Azrael got what he wanted. Shar was very good at giving false promises.

The festivities were jovial and she couldn’t help but find herself getting sick from the joy. It was all bore and no fun at all. Then again, what did she find fun? Manipulating a helpless individual. Taunting those who claimed to be “good”. Yuck. All of them, just disgusting. What kind of tyrant held a week of parades and festivals? The Empress had to attend, though she’d have been just as happy sending Azrael a letter of congratulations on many years at the helm of this carnage. And too bad she couldn’t think of her Eldritch fondly or else she would have felt like someone could save her from complete blasé annihilation. He was only there because he really had to be. Shar would be damned if some peon tried to kill her in the process of assassinating the King.

This thought made her laugh and she took a sip of her wine. She was very good at appearing to have a good time. No one suspected. Laughing every now and then was a wonderful topping to the entire dessert. One Azrael’s left side, she sat comfortably, watching the other men at the table and listening to their conversations. Of course, Shar was keen on politics and managing a kingdom, but she would not speak with them. They were all just as conniving as she. The Empress was not stupid to their games and so speaking less made her less important.

Nathan, Azrael’s advisor, stood up to make a toast. Shar made a point to be the next to lift her glass, black hands emerging from their home within the wide sleeves of her kimono robe. She held the goblet delicately between the points of two fingers, a trick she’d had long to perfect.

“To Lord Azrael!” Her smile was contagious, sweet, generous, and everything a woman’s face should bestow upon the King she was allied with. Her golden eyes gleamed at the man at her side, politically and literally. The Empress of the Helborne appeared happy. Appearances are always deceiving.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Lovely VonSchultz
Member for 13 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Completionist Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kurokiku on Sat May 28, 2011 11:51 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine – God-King’s Castle – Feast Hall
Autumn - Saturday - 8:11:22 P.M.
Tristan Leif Zilocke, Eldritch Manifestation of Chivalry, a.k.a. “Chiv”

ImageIt was an intricate dance, that one that drove court politics. Perhaps predictably, Chivalry understood it better than most, but was forced to refrain from its dirtier machinations. Still, that did not mean he could not watch and learn. This was something he had become rather skilled at over his nearly thirty years in this world, and indeed it was a quality that served well enough. He was not the tactical manipulator that his contractor was, but he possessed something that she for the most part lacked: empathy. Often underestimated and always underappreciated, he had found. Well, if it was considered unimportant, one did not plan for it, so this in itself could be seen as a gift also.

A tray of drinks bypassed him, but Chiv declined the offer with a polite gesture. Though he could consume things as mortals did, he had no need of them, and alcohol affected him not in the slightest. Nothing about him ever changed, really, save perhaps skill or knowledge. There were always ways to increase those, or perhaps decrease them if one were injudicious.

He was not, as most others, taking a moment to enjoy some revelry and celebration. Rather, he stood as a sentry might, save that only a very small few knew exactly what he was looking after. For this reason, he scanned always the room as a whole, and did not linger on the area about his contractor. No, to do so would be a tactical ineptitude indeed. He did glance that way every so often, though. On this particular occasion, she chose to acknowledge him with one of those lurid gazes that she seemed to enjoy so much. Why she continued to affect this particular impression with him, he was not sure; it was not as though it ever changed anything, though it could be rather frustrating to be on the receiving end of such a jest when he was inclined to be more serious.

Chiv's response was no more or less than to blink once, slowly, then turn to another section of the room as wariness bade him. If her sense of timing was occasionally of affront to him, his cool indifference was much the same in the other direction. Shar was quite accustomed to getting what she wanted, even if her desire was naught more than a moment’s entertainment from a flustered male (or occasionally, he had observed, female), and he was by contrast rather used to denying her such things.

He was not disposed to hover. Rather, as long as he could see the entire room at once and maintain an adequate proximity so as to be able to do his job, he was quite content to make the rounds, occasionally even stopping to answer a summons from one or another of the guests who saw fit to take him aside, perhaps under the assumption that he was someone’s noble son. It was not in him to refuse such things unless necessary, and so he blended rather well when he was not busy playing statue, as he was now that the toasts had begun.

He did not sit at the table nor did he stand directly behind his contractor as those of similar persuasion were wont to do with their employers, but he was close enough to understand that she was not pleased at present. This was of course not how it seemed to others, but one did not watch a person grow up and see them as others did. Displeasure was not uncommon, however, and so he did not presently feel compelled to do anything about it. Instead, he watched the toaster, and how his message was received amongst the other guests. It was clear that here, the man who called himself a god was amongst friends and allies, or at least the closest people to friends and allies that tyrants could have. Friendship tended to rest upon equality, and well, there was little of that to be found here. Perhaps close associates was the best way to think of it. He did not, of course, count himself as among this man’s allies, but then that was not something asked of him. All that was required was serving his contractor as she had laid out so many years prior. His thoughts and inclinations remained ever his own, and he was left to ponder them for the moment in silence.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 13 years
Beta Tester Contributor Author Promethean Conversation Starter Inspiration Conversationalist Novelist Millionaire Completionist Greeter Tipworthy Concierge Lifegiver Person of Interest

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby PsychoNezumi on Sun May 29, 2011 4:06 am

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire – Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - Clock Tower Square – Execution Stage
Autumn - Saturday- 12:00:00 P.M.
Alana the Barbarian

Steady green eyes watched a monstrous ax cleave the head from the body of a condemned man, as hard feminine features curled into a look of disgust. Disgust not from the bloody sight the eyes had witnessed but from the lack of honor in the ritual that had been performed. Alana turned to wind her way out of the cheering crowd, thoughtlessly shoving people out of her way as she did.

“This is the mighty god king? Pathetic.” She spat as she walked with her arms crossed over her leather breastplate, not taking note of the angry glares she received from the people she had pushed her way through.

“Oy! What did you say there missy?” An angry voice came from behind as a large hand shot out grabbing her shoulder and roughly turning her around.

Slowly Alana turned he eyes towards the man who had touched her, a small amused smile crept to her lips as she looked at the large ugly, and very smelly man who addressed her.

“I said, your king is pathetic. Seeing his cowardice in killing a defenseless man has proved my suspicions about him.” Speaking calmly Alana looked at the man with a spark of glee in her eyes, she always loved the anticipation of battle. As she the man’s hand off her he began to speak, his face inches from hers alcohol stained breath stinging her eyes.

“How dare you! That there is a great man and a great ruler! A stupid little bitch like you doesn’t even deserve to set eyes on him!”

Chuckling loudly Alana spoke, not backing away an inch from the much larger man. “HA! I almost wish I hadn’t, honestly he was a lot less impressive then I thought he would be. I’ve seen wild hare fiercer looking than that man!”

Roaring angrily and thrusting his fist forward, the man attempted to grab the infuriating woman by the throat. Only to swipe at air as Alana shifted to the side, grabbing the man’s outstretched wrist and delivering a bone shattering punch to his jaw with her free hand.

By now an angry crowd had began gathering around the brawl, and Alana, far too caught up in the heat of battle, barely noticed the sticky situation she was getting herself into.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

Member for 13 years
Promethean Author Inspiration Conversationalist Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Arke on Sun May 29, 2011 12:55 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - City Square - Performer's Stage
Fall, Saturday, 3:55:59 P.M.
Cirrus Scarleuit

Image A twist, a twirl, a jump, a kick. All part of the performer's trick. He leads with one hand, deceives your eyes- all while hiding a nice surprise. The masses come, the masses see! Just how brilliant can the Fool be!?

The daggers flew through the air, whipping as they turned over each other and are subsequently caught by the trained hands of the masqueraded man. Letting one dagger drop, a foot shot out, catching the blade by the hilt and gently lowering it so it would not fall- but rather let itself be absorbed. Catching the other two, he threw them into the ground, letting the blades bury themselves in the wood of the stage. Tuttering could be heard backstage (Which consisted of a wooden framed room draped with heavy curtains)- something Cirrus didn't even remotely worry about. He smiled, rolling back and taking off the cloak that billowed with him. He waved it once, and a servant came up with a thick pedestal. A small cage holding a rabbit was placed on it. Throwing the cloak over the cage, he twitched it once, twice, then threw the cloak back, revealing the lone pedestal- the cage nowhere to be seen.

The masses sparked into murmurs of disbelief. The Fool bounded to stand on top of the pedestal, throwing himself into a single-handed handstand, holding the cloak out. Doing several one-handed push-ups, he proved that the pedestal was strong. Hopping off, he threw the cloak to an assistant who held it as a screen in front of the pedestal. The Fool walked to the side, and snapped once. The cloak quivered. Then the assistant threw it down, and not one- but two cages holding rabbits appeared. The Fool then opened the cage, and the rabbits darted out and into the crowd.

"Thank you! Thank you!" The Fool said to the stunned audience. He quickly bowed, before applause met him. Suddenly, a dark looking man walked up, a nice grin on his face. Bowing once more, he ushered the man backstage where the next performers walked up. They were alone while his assistance packed things up and left it on Natalya. They had gotten used to the gigantic spider by now, and she wasn't that hostile in the first place.

Grief Sorrow, his partner began recounting what happened. Cirrus started laughing hysterically, slapping the man on the shoulder. "Classic! You never cease to surprise me!" He cackled, throwing his legs up onto the table as he sat. "If this means we should be getting out of here, I'm all for it. The rabbits I released into the crowd have rabies." He divulged, before dissolving into another fit of hooting.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 14 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Completionist Contributor Person of Interest Lifegiver Greeter Concierge Visual Appeal Tipworthy

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby echored on Sun May 29, 2011 1:06 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - Clock Tower Square
Autumn, Saturday, 12:30:00 P.M.
Emna, Guardian Angel of Justice

Image Emna had continued to scan the crowd and observe the passerbys. Her expression was calm, features relaxed as if her mind was blank. But that was far from the truth, for her mind was compact with questions and statements that she wish she could let out but decided it was best to hold tongue as she was amongst a rallied crowd of loyal followers to the King. Speaking freely might end with her drawing unnecessary attention to herself, and this wasn't the time to be witty. She was wise from the seven centuries of living, older than all the ages of this crowd put together most likely, so she had the common sense to not test the waters at a time like this, for it seemed saying the wrong thing in this land would lead to her meeting the same fate as the dismembered men on stage. There were too many drunken men that could react sourly out of patriotism, and it wasn't worth the effort. Not to mention she felt rather vulnerable in her human body, the limitations of what she could do to defend herself slim. She wasn't about to blow her cover as an Eldritch either, not yet at least.

So she stayed silent, and continued to wander in no particular direction with no particular purpose. Looking at the bigger picture, it was comical for an angel to move through such a crowd as if she was one of them. She felt so foreign, mentally and physically. She didn't have a superiority complex about herself, but she did feel she knew so much more than the rest. "If only I had arrived sooner, maybe I could have saved them," she thought to herself, still upset about arriving after the executions were already completed. Timing in this realm was always hard to keep up with, for days and nights came and passed too quickly. The image of the heads spewed across the stage was heavy on her mind. Blood and limbs didn't particularly bother her, but it was the act behind it that grossed her out... the killing of innocent people that held opinions different than what the 'God' King prescribed. Those around in the crowd looked so smug but didn't they see their lives were just chance, a roll of the die? That the next day, if one so slipped up, that they could be meeting a death just as harsh? The population was too full of youth steadfast in their ways that they were oblivious to the truth. All were just puppets under the control of an evil dictator, giving his followers public executions for their entertainment. Fools, is what they were, but they were fools she would protect at the end of the day. It was all in the cycle of justice.

As she moved further from the stage, Emna couldn't help but overhear something...

"I said, your king is pathetic. Seeing his cowardice in killing a defenseless man has proved my suspicions about him.”

It was a woman's voice, and Emna moved closer to the sound to see what she might find. It was the first voice of honestly she had heard all day, and Emna was comforted by the fact she wasn't alone in being disgusted by the King. Of course, she had to get to this woman quickly because - though what she said was true - it was a sure invitation for trouble. And indeed it was, Emna pushing herself to the front of the angry crowd that was beginning to form around this woman and another man. She sighed as she laid eyes on the woman who stood by herself up against a group of large, drunken men. Emna heard the sound of bones snapping and was pleasantly surprised at the strength the woman held, but that didn't make up for the fact that she was surrounded and digging herself into a hole.

Emna didn't have to debate with herself to know she should interfere. Laying low while a woman stood up against the God King's rein wasn't in Emna's nature, and she wasn't going to stand idle twirling her thumbs and listening- no matter how vulnerable she felt currently. No, it was no time to be aloof.

She emerged from the crowd, walking forward to where it was now Emna, the other woman, and the man with the broken jaw in the center of a circled group of angry patriots. "If you don't mind me," Emna began, crossing her arms across her chest and tilting her head to the side, "but before this situation gets any messier, maybe we should depart?" The question was directed towards Alana, and Emna continued to speak as her eyes locked on the woman. Her voice was soft and yet it carried louder, a soothing aura about it. "After all, harming these drunk men here won't change the fact that the King still rules this land." Emna was quiet afterwards, and she wondered if that would be enough to appease the situation. Her guts were telling her it wouldn't be so easy though, for the woman seemed too confident by the looks of her smirk. Sure, she appeared strong enough to take down all these men, but she could find herself in a dungeon if any loyal guards caught sight of the fight. So there Emna stood as what appeared to be an unarmed, average woman. It was amusing to say the least.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 13 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Lifegiver Completionist

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Irish Wolf on Sun May 29, 2011 3:36 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - South Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Rebbanburg - The Screaming Dragon - common room
Autumn, Tuesday, 9:42:27 P.M.
William Campborn

The Screaming Dragon was one of the largest inns in the...slum called Rebbanburg but tonight, as it had been for the past few days, it was packed sp dull that it overflowed to several nearby buildings. In the center of the common room was a standard pole jammed into the floor. Stirring by with either the passing of a woman carrying drink or by the many fights, was a black banner, mounted by a rampant red lion, the bottom torn and ragged from many a battle. It had been carried here by a band of well armed and veteran mercenaries, a free company, well over six hundred strong, under the command of a Captain William. Most were humans, although there was a scattering of half-breeds and one of the company officers was a red furred minotaur. They had been having fun the passed few days, drinking, wenching and beating up groups of locals, who kept trying to throw them out.

"What are we doin here Sir" whined a scrawny man, who called himself Tom Shot and who was ranked as a Lieutenant of the company's arquebusiers.

"Other then spending our gold" added one of the other lieutenants sitting at the table, named Bull for obvious reasons.

"I'm waiting for someone" said William, who was leaning back in his chair, boots up on the table and a bottle of brandy in his left hand. His Bilder was hanging off the back of his chair, the great naked blade glinting in the light of the candles and lanterns. The scabbardless katzbalger remained on his hip, stuck into the black leather belt around his waist. His armor remained in the room he had claimed in the inn, most of the scraps and scratches polished out by the lad he had taken as a squire of sorts.

"I'd had a lot of good jobs from him in the past" continued the mercenary leader, "And the letter said to be in this town by today. He'll show up and until he does, we keep having some fun my lads."

Suddenly there was a crash, as one of the many pimps that infested the slums, was thrown out a small window, by one of the company's half-orcs. A bellow followed, as the three large bruisers, who were suppose to have been the pimp's bodyguards, jumped the mercenary. Before they could pin the half-orc, several men, who fought in the same line as the halfbreed, piled on top of them, turning the fight into a writhing mass of arms, legs and sometimes a head out pop out. Mercenaries all around them cheers, placing bets. Then there was a flash of steel and a shriek. One of the bruisers staggered away from the fight, his hands trying to hold his guts in.

"Thats the way my boys" hollered William, raising his bottle, as the inn keeper fled to the kitchen.
Last edited by Irish Wolf on Thu Jun 16, 2011 11:22 am, edited 1 time in total.
Its easy to be brave behind a castle wall
Twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion
A king's son is no nobler then the food he eats

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

Irish Wolf
Member for 15 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Donated! Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby wakeangel on Sun May 29, 2011 4:36 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine – Merchant's District – City Streets
Autumn, Saturday, Early Afternoon
-Amara a'Jin-

Image"May Heidon burn you to the ground!” Amara shook her fist at the burly innkeeper and his sobbing little boy. “Kraux barely left a mark on the little sissy! If he'd a meant business it would've looked more like this!” Turning she dropped her pants to moon the upset pair, in the process showing them the livid purple bruises from the last time she'd been stupid enough to turn her back on her rebellious mount.

“Hell, I might burn the place down down myself,” she grumped as she hastily saddled Kraux, kicking him hard in the belly to make him release the air pent up in his billowed out lungs. He had succeeded once in the past in dumping her on her head when he let the air out and loosened the saddle, and she prided herself on never having to learn a lesson twice. Giving the strap an angry jerk, she tightened the girth before he could suck in more air and stuffed her now dusty belongings back in their saddlebags, grimacing as she picked bits of street rubbish off her favorite pair of gloves. She felt the tensing of the stallion's haunches as he prepared to step on her foot, and shoved her shoulder into his thigh, knocking him off balance as she turned to lead him away.

“And you! Don't even get me started! Do you have any idea how much coin you just lost us?? I was about to walk out of there with enough gold to keep you in as much alfalfa as you could sink your butthead teeth into for a month– and don't you even look at me like that, 'cuz I will so punch you right on your stuck up nose right now.”

Kraux tossed his head, lips slipping back down over his half-bared teeth as he rethought his planned course of action. With a grumbling wicker he finally subsided and started behaving himself... for the time being. Ire jolted Amara back to the matter at hand.

“But that's beside the point! That's eleven inns you've gotten us kicked out of since we got here, three this week alone! You're getting a reputation and we're running out of places we can afford to stay in! Where are we gonna go now, you inbred, overblown, sway-backed, spavin-kneed sonnofa braying ass?!?” She yelled, ignoring Kraux's snort of outrage, the stares of those who thought odd the sight of a girl berating a hulking brute of a horse, and the fact that two of those ejections had been her fault when she got caught cheating at games of chance.

Had she not been so angry, she might have noticed the complicated twists and turns she made down the maze of city streets, or the sense of momentousness that slowly built in the air around her. The same feeling she'd felt when she woke from her first nightmare on the night Master Krato died; the same feeling as when she'd kicked her heels into Kraux's flanks for the first time (but not when he'd thrown her ten feet later), and the same feeling she suddenly realized she felt now, as her feet stopped and she found herself standing in front of a rough-looking tavern.

Amara's itch to travel after Darq went up in flames had died here. No reason why or further course of action presented itself, but it seemed a promising city, so she'd stayed, plying her trade with modest success until a late night visit from several hulking men, a mass of bruises and a pregnancy scare a week later had convinced her that flouting the local thieves' guild might not have been such a good idea. After that, she'd limited herself to sleight-of-hand gambling in the local taverns and ale houses until Illumine's self-proclaimed Thief King had finally allowed her license to work within the city.

But now, standing in front of this seedy looking cesspool, she felt it again, stronger than ever, pulling her, drawing her inside. “Okay,” she finally muttered when she couldn't find the will to want to go anywhere else. “So it seems we have a place to go. That still doesn't get you off the hook.”

Even Kraux seemed to sense something, though. Unusually subdued, he didn't even try to kick her as she led him as far away from the door as possible for the safety the tavern's customers, and tied the intricate tangle of knots it took to keep him from freeing himself from the hitching post and wandering away. She had no worry for her belongings. Kraux would make short work of anyone stupid enough to get in his range. Irritated at suddenly feeling something now, after weeks of nothing, she stalked up the steps. What that reason was, why she, specifically, had been drawn here, and why she should involve herself, when her survival instincts warned her to stay far far away from anything having to do with the horror of her dreams, remained to be seen.

+ + + + + + + + + +

Four hours later, as night fell and the last night's festivities were really kicking into gear, Amara was leaving them behind. She'd taken a room at the tavern and stabled Kraux with strict instructions to keep him isolated, especially from stupid little boys wanting to 'pet the horsie'. Within a few minutes of entering, she'd found the reason she'd been drawn to this place in the form of an overworked, bitter bar maid with six-months' worth of pregnancy bulging at her mid-section and a laundry list of grievances left over from her employment in the God King's castle. Chief among them was her abrupt termination when the mage who'd taken her to his bed tired of her.

For the price of a sympathetic ear and a little help in the kitchen, Amara had scored free dinner and a treasure trove of information on the inner workings of the castle and its staff. Even better, was when the tavern girl grew suspicious of Amara's questioning. The little thief told her new friend outright that she planned to rob the mage's wing blind, and suddenly the information couldn't come fast enough, schedules, layouts, valuable items seen or known about.

Skirting the building, she entered the alley and shimmied up the drain pipe. She loved roof running in this city. All the beautiful architecture gave lots of handholds and interesting places to explore, but tonight she was focused on one goal. The castle. Why wait she'd decided, when she'd be hard pressed to find a better night than one in which ninety percent of the people in her way would be drunk, distracted or away partying in the city? She'd spent many nights since her arrival relaxing on a rooftop somewhere planning her entry into some juicy target or another, the palace chief among them. Now as she skirted the square, and turned left to skim across buildings next to the thronging God King's Way she didn't have to think about getting in or where to go, she knew exactly what to do.
Last edited by wakeangel on Sun Jun 05, 2011 12:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 12 years
Conversation Starter Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver

Re: [IC] Even Gods Bleed

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Yonbibuns on Sun May 29, 2011 5:34 pm

Fantasy Earth: Dark Ages - Cam Lire - Ethona - The Desolate Plains
Illumine - The Slums - Unknown Avenue
Autumn - Saturday - 9:45:00 P.M.
Caspian Sterling, Silver-Tongue

ImageThe smelly, smoke-filled rooms of the Fine Flagon wasn't the best place to hold secretive, alluring conversations, especially since it was so difficult to find a table distant enough from the drunken roars—but if you were Silver-Tongue, whom owned a quaint little hovel in the back, it was the best place. Flattening the creases of the weathered map between his thumb and forefingers, the rogue couldn't suppress the pleased grin from stretching across his sharp features. Like a feline who'd just chanced upon saucer of fresh milk, Caspian slouched back against the comfortable pillows and cradled a busty woman on his knee. The woman purred nonsensical things into his ear—things that would've lit flames in his stomach, but now they only seemed to annoy him. When he'd had enough, his deft fingers caught her chin, and he planted a soft kiss on her cheek before dismissing her. She scooted away, giggling into her dainty palm, and disappeared behind the bar. No doubts seeking more desperate men who'd be willing to part from their purses. Bar wenches always sought him out; though, Sevia, the barman's frivolous daughter, seemed particularly interested in him. Whether or not he should be flattered or offended, he wasn't sure.

Sweat, laughter, scantily-clad barmaids, and the musky smell of alcohol assaulted the senses as soon as one entered the renowned tavern. Bold drunkards swung tankards of ale—piss, more like—and sang songs of the God King's victory against the previous King; how he slaughtered him in cold blood, and proceeded to bend Cam Lire to his will. Illumine really was a wondrous place, if you knew where to look. However, if anyone wanted anything done properly, they sought out certain shady individuals in the slums. Every slum, in his opinion, was the same. Swollen-bellied children scampered down the streets, swinging wooden swords and played at war, pretending to be knights instead of poverty-ridden urchins. The God Kings' personal councillors all played political games with each other; while their spiders and rats hissed secrets far more dangerous than the wars they continuously waged. Who could trust whom? Thankfully, Silver-Tongue had never been properly interested in such games. His fingers were dipped into everyone's' pie, he knew things a simple serf should not know. A man needed to know where opportunities lurked, and he made sure he knew everything he could.

The rogue rose from his seat, and strode across the tavern, barely missing clumsy fists and splashes of ale as tankards sloshed above heads. He merely clicked his tongue in mere disappointment. How could so many blindly follow such a cruel man? And one who contended to be a God. Disappointing, indeed. He slapped three coppers on the sticky table and eyed the barman, nodding his head in quick succession. “Yaren, I shall be back before nightfall,” He purred, a rhythmic melody that betrayed his exotic origin. “Do make sure this place is still standing by the time I come back.” The barman snorted, retrieving the coins and resolved to shrug his broad shoulders. Hectic times were sure to come; it was the week of celebration in honour of the God King. Whoever wasn't whoring in brothels was piss drunk in respectable taverns, laughing as gaudily as the bar wenches. He smirked, step jaunty as he fanned happier thoughts into fuller flame. Perhaps, he'd manage to see something interesting. He never had a taste for executions, so thought it best to avoid attending the God King's annual speech; not to mention those horrific bird-whispers he'd heard about Empress Shar sitting at the God King's right hand. Such things would have to be avoided. He swore that hellish woman could smell him out like a hungry bloodhound. The thought was disconcerting. Stepping out of the Fine Flagon's steamy clutches, fresh air whipped through his blonde hair and he welcomed the cool seasons' breath. Illumine seemed to erupt with noise; drunken couples pressed tightly in the shadows, children whipping by wearing tattered masks, and families hunched over silly games—everything seemed magical, and rightly named, illuminated.

Such celebrations were wasted on Elves. Caspian had little love for the God King, and all of his followers. If they rotted beneath his feet, he could care less. His mouth tightened as he passed hungry beggars, tucked tightly in doorways and alleyways—they did not celebrate, they did nothing but stare with empty eyes. With hare-footed reflexes, the weary man flipped a single coin at an old man's feet and hurriedly swept by to avoid awkward, obligated gratitude. His conscious was a fickle enemy, and friend; often leaving him bewildered and confused, since he regarded himself as a diplomatic wayfarer. Sometimes, he didn't need a reason for helping people. Music caught his twitching knife-ears, and roused jovial merriment in his heart. Constant fretfulness kept him on his toes, so he would not celebrate in the slums, neither would be celebrate anywhere. His breath stunk of strong liquors, though he still kept his wits about him; a drunk man was more likely to have steel buried in his belly. Just enough to warm his belly; not enough to make him drunk, but just enough to make him tired. Not enough to make him awful towards the ones he sought company with, just enough to enjoy companionship whereas he wouldn't. Humans repulsed him, and noble elves held their noses so far up their arses that he couldn't bother with them. Dwarves were a completely different story. If ever the nonplussed rogue got along with anyone, it was with a clever dwarf. Hence why he frequented taverns.

His long ears flattened against his skull, indicating discontent. The smell of tattered leathers and cloth reached his nostrils—rightly named, reek of the slums. Several ample-faced men with twisted expressions squatted around each other, holding dice in their sweaty, meaty hands. Likely, the expressions clearly indicated who was winning. Some wore their losses like angry welts, scowling like kicked dogs. Honestly, it was the slender-figured woman huddled between two slavishly-dressed men who caught his attention, standing out sorely; a dwarf amidst elves, one might've compared. For the time being, the opportunistic serf leaned heavily against one of the buildings, watching with wry amusement as the mystery woman's hands swayed against all odds and clutched chance's fortunate fingers. A pock-faced man seemed particularly affronted, his ugly face churning an unseemly red, he suddenly lurched forward, and grabbed the woman's shoulder with his sausage fingers. Caspian's mirthful expression eased into a tight frown, and he waited—wondering what she might do, and how she might deal with the situation at hand. Anyone who lived in the slums knew that woman weren't treated equally; those who preyed on the weak were ignored, and forgotten. The God King's knights did not care about anything they didn't see; out of mind, out of sight.

The hideous man's fingers tightened against the woman's shoulder, causing her to wince. Whatever she'd been trying to say had been rudely discounted. Caspian weighed his options, seemingly ignoring the annoying buzz that implored him to intervene and stay the repugnant man's hand. What was even more puzzling, was the fact that the woman seemed deep in thought; weighing her own options, instead of attempting to flee. Had he just imagined her glancing towards the lute nestled at her side? Perhaps not. Without another moment to decide whether or not it was truly a good idea, the rogue elbowed his way through the gathered crowd, earning more than a few incoherent hisses and unfathomable swears, and unsheathed his glimmering scimitar. It caught the torch light's glow and blossomed with it's own radiance; powerful, beautiful and dangerous. It would've been surprising to know that someone had seen his sprightly actions; his weapons were extensions of his arms, used as cleverly as he wagged his silver tongue.

“Ser,” His accent rolled heavily, without refinement, and with no kindness it's word meant. “I think it would be best, if you gave this lady her leave.” The scimitar's point rested just below the man's Adam's apple, which was bobbing in terrified jolts. Several watchers wandered away, or stepped back a safe distance from the strange man who dared interfere.

“Don't you think?”
Last edited by Yonbibuns on Mon May 30, 2011 2:04 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Ambar: Snow & Ash
"For these words, he won't come around here,
and his eyes won't see."

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Member for 13 years
Author Conversation Starter Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Completionist Visual Appeal Promethean Inspiration Lifegiver


Post a reply

Make a Donation


RPG relies exclusively on user donations to support the platform.

Donors earn the "Contributor" achievement and are permanently recognized in the credits. Consider donating today!


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests