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The rebirth

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The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mid on Sat Sep 25, 2010 6:50 pm


“Come all! Come all! Put down your tools! Away with your swords, men! Today is a day of celebration!” Bellowed a round short man who had long golden curls on his head. He was standing on the back of a wagon. “I say you! Where are you going?” Quickly he pointed to a young man who blushed as darkly as his hair. “I know you wouldn’t wish to miss the festival, eh…?”
“N-no sir! I-I came all the way from Seles to be here, sir.” The boy stumbled over his words as the crowd’s attention turned on him. A quick grin crossed the egg man’s face, well that was the best way to describe him. He was around 4 feet and wore clothes so tight, their poor buttons were about to pop. Many rings rested on his chubby fingers, one in particular shown the brightest, almost as if it were… alive.

The aura he gave off was alive and people could not help but stay and watch him, almost as if they were lost in a trance. With a light chuckle, the man spoke to the crowd. “Today is a good day my friends, for that it what we are today. We lay down arms, even against our foes, to celebrate the unity of our country. We give thanks to the late and shall I say great King Albert as well as the lovely Queen Theresa. If it were not for their undying love, surely we would not be where we are today.”

He waited a moment, allowing his words to settle into the minds of his audience, before continuing in a low voice. “He was a true hero. A Dragoon, they say.” A few gasps escaped the crowd but his eyes were on something else. “Ah, yes… but that is for another time, my friends.” He chuckled as disappointment came from the people below him. “Do not fret, the great Mosli does not disappoint! Please, enjoy the festivities we have set up! And remember, don’t drink too much.” He wagged his finger at the crowd with a wicked grin and they cheered and laughed at his jest.

Soon they wandered off, keen to wine and dine on someone else’s pocket for once. Mosli’s face darkened as the figure walked closer to him. Quickly, he looked both ways before beckoning the person inside the wagon. As the stranger entered, Mosli checked again to see if anyone was watching and with one quick tug he pulled the dark curtain down. “So glad you could join us, my lady.” He bowed as the woman took off her hood to reveal long light blue hair.

Her quick eyes took a quick scan of the place. It was messy, there were potions scattered along the floor, some empty and some half empty. A bed filled with straw that was almost brown under a yellow pillow and a brown blanket; which might have been white at one point. Books had been carelessly tossed about the place, all worn to their pages. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of unwashed clothes which smelled like rotten milk. Nervously he chuckled, “Uh yes. Apologies for the mess, my lady, had I known earlier of your arrival I would have prepared properly.”

“This will, unfortunately, have to do.” She said sternly and placed her hands underneath her cloak. “Is it ready?”

“Wh—oh yes, yes! It’s ready. Everything is set up as you wished it, Lady Hilda.” As Mosli bowed to her, his fingers began to rub one of his rings on instinct. Grey eyes watched him as his greed appeared on his face, “I suspect you are waiting for your reward?” she asked lightly. “Oh yes, my lady, if it’s not too much to ask for that is…” He nodded his head to her multiple times.

A chuckle escaped her lips, “Very well then.”And as she drew her face closer to him, lips pursed, his face changed from pure joy to true horror. No one heard the scream erupting from his wagon.

Mile Seaseau

“I don’t understand why we had to return home so early…” A young girl with bright green hair complained with her eyes closed well her grey mare followed the duo up front faithfully. “We were so close to taking them! Gah!”

A man with raven hair looked back at her, “Well while it may be a day of celebration for them we must remember it is a day of mourning for us, Rydra.”

“Yeah, yeah… Namel. You don’t need to lecture me.” Like a child, the girl stuck her tongue at him and rode past them. Namel shook his head and sighed, “She’ll never learn, will she?” He looked over to his companion; the woman was sitting straight in her seat and had a stern look on her face. “Is everything alright, Meredith?”

She jumped at the sound of her name, “W-what?”

“I said is everything alright? You seem distant today.” His face was full of concern. Blue eyes traced her face for signs of confirmation. She smiled, “Everything is fine. Perfect even.” Looking away, she whispered, “I’m just thankful to be home…”

“You sure look it.” A smirk crossed his face as his hands drew his cloak closer to him. “I’m missing the weather already.”

“Of course you are.”
Bai Bai bby

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Vyral on Sun Sep 26, 2010 5:48 pm

Arefun, Serdio, 5 years earlier...

Flames licked at the wood, crackling fiercely as they began devour the Chapel. Thick, black smoke billowed into the air, obscuring the half-moon that shimmered through the globules of rain tumbling from the heavens. Terrified screams tore through the stillness of the night, petrified fists beating on the Chapel doors even as the flames engulfed them. The chains fastening the Chapel doors shut shook violently, and the wooden props slid further into the deep, muddy sludge that covered the ground all around them. More touches were thrown through the shattered windows, tiny remnants of the stained glass sending rays of multicoloured lights spiraling across the ground. Fire exploded through the open windows as a gust of wind circled within the building, heat pushing back the soldiers whom encircled the building. Their spears poked through the windows. A young man pulled himself onto the ledge and stared wide-eyed straight towards him. His eyes were a dull blue, and his face was painted black with charcoal. He was coughing even as a soldier drove a spear into his chest, propelling him back into the Chapel.

A swath of cloth was thrown from through the window, maroon cloth smoldering until it splashed in the mud. He approached the bundle, chainmail clinking loudly with every squelching step. He looked down, and could not mistake the grubby face of a baby. A red-faced young soldier ran up to him, breathless and with sweat dripping down his forehead. He straightened his helmet as he looked at the baby.

"What should we do with it, Captain?"
"We have our orders. It goes back in."
"But Captain... it's just a baby, it can't have been a pa-" he was cut off mid-sentence.
"That's an order, Ensign," he said sternly, voice full of bitterness.
"Yes, sir.."

The Ensign stooped down and gathered up the bundle, and the child began to cry. The Ensign gave him a searching look, but he remained hollow-faced. Resigned, the young man trudged towards the window. He gave a final glance over his shoulder, and hurled the child into the flames. The screams continued for three agonizing minutes. When it finally stopped, only a few weak shouts could be heard from within the Chapel. The flames still roared, thunderous crashes resounding through the air as heavy timber logs crashed to the ground.

It was eerily silent. The screams had stopped minutes ago, and even with the continuous shuddering of the chapel and the fires continuous crackling it seemed... empty. Men were scattered around him, faces haggard and eyes searching. They all knew what they had done. Orders or not, they had rounded up man, woman and child alike and hoarded them into the Chapel. And then they had burnt them all alive.

Taern, the Ensign had staggered off into the underbrush. Their eyes had met as he passed, and he had read the accusation there as clearly as he could see the fire swallowing the Chapel. Murderer, it had accused. He was right, too. Even if the Commander-in-Chief had ordered the attack, he had not argued, and he had given the order to his men. He could hear Taern vomiting behind him, and others had scurried off shortly after. None of the other men met each others eyes, their heads hung low, shoulders sagging. Captain Nieves turned away from the Chapel, face stoic.

Unknown Location, Sandora 2 years later...

Sweat had plastered his hair across his forehead, and he awoke with tiny drops rolling across the bridge of his nose and dripping to the damp earth below. Fire crackled all around him, the dream seeming to linger within his memories with stunning clarity. It was then that he realised it was the campfire smoldering, its final embers still glowing brightly. It was pitch black save for the orange glow; clouds had obscured the moon most of the night. He sat up slowly, sleep still making his mind work in slow, groggy lurches.

Growling alerted him to what had pulled him from his dream. He knew he hadn't woken naturally; there was more to that dream.

He stood slowly, now aware of the trio of wolves that circled him. Their eyes glowed the same colour as the fire, and their mouths hung open to reveal jagged rows of teeth, saliva dripping from their lolling tongues. As carefully as possible he reached from the short-sword sheathed on his hip. The grating metal propelled the predators into action. They attacked at once, a unified force.

He slashed the first across the snout as it leaped, and with a yelp the animal scuttled back from him. Another crashed into his back, teeth snapping viciously at the back of his neck. He stumbled forwards and tried to turn to face it, tossing his body around to dislodge the creature. The second wolf charged him, pouncing through the air to tear at his face with its claws. He plunged the sword into the wolfs exposed abdomen, feeling warm blood slick over his hand, and smell of copper filling his nostrils with its acrid tang. He forced the creature from the blade with his booted foot, and it hit the ground with a dead weight thud. He managed to throw the other from his back, and now he faced the animals. One had blood coating its gray snout, and it was wary, eyes fixated on the blood-coated sword. This time the other attacked alone. He side-stepped the wolves lunge, and drove the point of his sword into its back, pinning it to the ground. It squirmed, unable to free itself. The wounded wolf ran off into the depths of the forest. He pulled the blade free, and looked down at the whimpering creature. Still it snarled when he approached it, but it could no longer drag itself along the ground. The former Captain slit the creatures throat, ending its misery.

Half an hour later the fire was roaring once again, smoke billowing up into the canopy above. Fortunately the twilight haze was light this morning, and the darkness of the dawn would hide the smoke until he was ready to put it out. The smell of cooking meat filled his nostrils, replacing the smell of death that he had awoken with. He picked up the skewer from the fire and bit into a hunk of the meat. It was bland, and without flavour. He looked across the clearing at the pile of skinned wolves, and was thankful for the meal regardless.

When he did leave the clearing, he had buried the three animals beside still smoldering fire. He made his way through the forest while light began to filter through the trees, a cloak created from wolf-hide tugged tightly around his shoulders to hold off the early morning chill.

It was the same dream he had had that night that awoke him now.

Darin opened his eyes and was awake almost instantly. Bright light now illuminated the room through the small window beside the bed, and a small bird sat on the ledge outside, tweeting happily. Darin scowled at the tiny animal, and banged on the window. It's tune was cut short as it launched itself off the ledge and off down the street. Nightmare still strong within his mind, Darin swung his legs out of his bed and slid his feet into the heavy boots he had worn for years. They seemed molded to his feet, now. He stood up,and went to the basin on the other side of the room. It was filled with water, and he quickly washed himself down before tugging his tunic on. Finally, he fastened his cloak and slung his bow over his shoulder.

He stepped out off the inn and into the bustle of the city streets. Deningrad had always been filled with peasants whom roamed the streets like rats, pushing their way along with dirty hands and even dirtier faces. Hood pulled up to conceal his identity, Darin made his way cautiously past a group of guards at the end of the street. There was no way they would recognise him anyway - they were far too young - but he hid himself within the crowd out of instinct. It had become a reaction whenever he saw the polished armour of the guard, these days. It took him ten minutes to get to the market. Dozens of stalls had been crammed into the square, and four times that many people flooded every available space. The market sold everything from buttons and dented washing basins, too fine fur cloaks and battle-worthy swords. Here and there hired thugs stood beside the wealthier merchants, chain-mail dirty but serviceable, and heavy clubs held threateningly in meaty hands.

He walked towards two now, and he could tell from the sneers on their faces that they were unhappy to see him. Even so, they let him past without removing their eyes from his hands. One had a scar across his cheek, and he refused to met Darin's eyes. The merchant - Salathar, from Tiberoa - gave him an emotionless smile.

"Darin. I hadn't expected you to come back so soon."
"I need a horse and a satchel of supplies. I have payment," he replied thickly. He was not willing to joke with the merchant today. He dropped the bag onto the ground before Salathar, and the bug-eyed merchant all but salivated at the sound of clinking metal. He dove into the bag without a word, and tugged out a polished sword and a chain-mail that looked almost unused, save for a large puncture around the breast. A dark stain still marred the edges of the hole.
"Good quality. I don't suppose I have to ask how you acquired this?" His sneer said it all. "I'll have what you asked for ready in an hour. Meanwhile, Cery asked to see you. He has some word from Gorin, apparently."

That was how he found himself sitting in the cellar beneath the 'Rusty Mace', a poky little Inn that was situated in one of the poorer quarters of the city. It was run by a man named Rothen, but Gorin ran the streets in this area of town. Darin sat on the rickety wooden chair, able to hear the chatter of voices in the bar above. Every now and then great clouts of dust would drop down onto the table, soiling his mead. He pushed it aside as Cery came down the stairs. Three other men sat across the room, talking in hushed voices. Occassionally they would look over at Darin in unison.

"Darin!" Cery was perhaps twenty, now, and with a boyish face that made him popular with the young girls. Darin loathed his youthful ignorance, but he had no wish to piss of Gorin by insulting the boy. "I hear you visited Salathar today?"
"Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?" He hated the way that the boy tried to act knowledgeable. It was pitiful. Cery might be a good pickpocket, and loyal as a dog - but he wasn't much else besides. "What does Gorin want, Cery?"
"Want's to remind you to keep looking for that stone, don't he?"
"I'm aware of what he wants."
"Well, it's just a reminder. Otherwise, he gunna kill your baby. Alright?"

Darin would have loved nothing more than to slit the boys throat then and there. He would have no difficulty in dealing with the three thugs in the corner; they were nothing but show. He knew to do so would be a death sentence for his daughter, though. She was ten now, and he had not seen her in since she was five. Even so, he would not let these mean be her death.

"Is that all, Cery?"
"No. It's not, as it happens." He smiled, a sly look on his face. "We need you to deliver a letter for us."
"Who to?"
"Omar. He is in a village a few miles out of town. Neandu, I believe."

Darin nodded and took the letter from Cery without another word. He slipped it into his cloak and left the Inn without another glance back. He pushed open the stable door, wrinkling his nose at the smell of damp straw. A chestnut mare was tied up, already saddled and bagged. He walked over and stroked the horses nose softly, and she remained still. He had always had luck with horses. He pondered what Omar might be doing in Neandu as he mounted his steed, but he cared too little to put much thought into it.

Darin ushered the mare onto the busy streets, following behind a small wagon with lopsided wheels that screeched nosily on their hinges. A toothless young boy smiled at him, bony body squished between two sacks of salt. That was where Darin's journey began...

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Dashmiel on Sun Sep 26, 2010 9:46 pm

The Royal Wingly Capital, Kadessa, 11,325 years ago. Residual Dragoon Memory of Zieg Feld.

The very skies wept blood stained tears as we descended upon our enemies. Victory was all but assured for us. Countless Dragoons rode upon the backs of their trusted Dragon steeds, thousands of pounds of fury hurtling through the air. All around us did the Winglies battle us. Fire, tooth, claw, nail, sword, axe, and magic; Every single instrument of war available to use rang and clashed.

The Winglies however, were ready for us. Somehow, Melbu Frahma knew of our coming. Whether by his own cunning or by a traitor among our midst is unclear to me. The Dragoons are falling prey to the Virage, those massive machinations of twisted magic and hatred that the Winglies somehow forced into their servitude. Nevertheless, we valiantly fight on. For Humanity. For Freedom. For our very existence do we fight to free ourselves of our oppressors. The Moon that Never Sets WILL set today, and the age of Humanity will be ushered, this I bow, as Leader of The Dragoons!

The Royal Wingly Capital Kadessa, 11,325 years ago. Residual Dragoon Memory of Rose.

This is Madness. Zieg races on with mindless rage, all while all around us we fall to the Virage. Of the Dragoon Generals only three remain. There is nothing we can do against this, Melbu Frahma is far too powerful. We overestimated the power of the Archangel, they are far too superior. But alas, we must fight on, for this is our final stand. If we fall today, Humanity is doomed, and from the very branch of Divine Tree will we be cast off.

Shelly and the White-Silver Dragon have fallen prey to the Mega Virage. How can such a thing exist? It laughs at the very face of existence. We though the Super Virages were the culmination of Melbu Frahma's forces, but we were wrong. Even now it battles the Divine Dragon, our final trump card. Should that fail, Humanity is doomed, I must reach Zieg! If we do not destroy Melbu Frahma now, we will all perish!

The Royal Wingly Capital, Kadessa, 11,325 years ago. Residual Dragoon Memory of Zieg Feld.

Death. So much death surrounds me. I have made a grave mistake. We were not ready for this. Half of the Kadessa lays in shambles. The Divine Dragon has fallen, and yet, the King of Dragons did not fail us. The Mega Virage is no more, and under both of their corpses now untold hundreds of thousands lay. I must end this, My dear Rose is with me. Together we will defeat Melbu Frahma. We will create a better world for you Amadeus, a world where you will grow without fear, a world where you will free and not a slave to the Winglies. For you my son, I GIVE THIS, MY FINAL STRIKE!...

Light, blinding light. Kadessa is no more. I have destroyed the Moon Sphere, but at what price? Rose is nowhere to be seen. NOTHING is there to be seen. Such destruction. None remain from either side. Except Melbu Frahma and I. I must end this now, even at the cost of my very life. This I do for you, my son. Grow strong Amadeus, become the man I never could...

The Death City, Mayfil, 11,325 years ago. Residual Dragoon Memory of the possessed Zieg Feld.

Lost. Utterly lost. I have been conquered. I can feel him within me, scrabbling at the last bits of my sanity. I KILLED YOU! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!...

The world. I must destroy the world. The Divine Tree must be destroyed, and all need to be purged. I AM MELBU FRAHMA, AND I CAN NOT BE KILLED!

Unknown Cavern, The outskirts of Gloriano. Present Day.

Amadeus awoke from his trance, unperturbed by the tempestuous memories he had forced himself to review once again. For the past three and a quarter centuries they had been his only consistent companion. From the moment he had awakened, a mere infant with no teat to feed from they had been his only companions. To him, the residual love, even among all the bloodshed and fear were the only traces of his parents he had ever known.

Amadeus rose from his sitting position, and set about the task of collecting and equipping his gear. The air in the cavern was suffused with the chill of night, it being a few hours from dawn yet. Carefully doing all of the buckles on his armor, Amadeus's thoughts slowly drifted to his own past deeds, and how he now roamed the world aimlessly, unsure as to what his purpose could be.

Just as Amadeus was about to grab his Dragoon Soul from the small indent in the rock where he had placed something strange happened. Out of nowhere, a veritable swarm of Pyre Flies streamed from the depths of the cavern, and encircled him in their otherworldly light. Never once in three centuries had Amadeus seen a swarm so large. It easily numbered in the millions, and fluttered around him like a tornado made of light. Then a harsh violet light out shone the Pyre Flies. Aghast, Amadeus started at his Dragoon Soul. It was sending out powerful pulses of energy and light. Amadeus made the move to reach for it, and as he did, his amazement turned to sheer and absolute confusion.

The Dragoon Soul floated in the air by it's own volition, and slowly moved from where it rested until it was in the center of the room. As it moved, so did the Pyre Flies, surrounding the Dragoon Soul entirely. As Amadeus watched, the Pyre Flies condensed around the Dragoon Soul, and a voice filled the room.

"I am Yillvashira, Dragon of Darkness. For three centuries I have served you unquestioningly Amadeus, for the power of the Dragoons flows in your veins as your very birthright. As I lent my power for your mother, so I have done to you. But now, the time has come again. Evil stirs in the horizon, and you are the last of the Dragoons left to honor the sacred pact your kind made with mine long ago. As it was with all of the Dragoon Generals, so it shall be with you. I shall test you and judge you accordingly!"

Amadeus barely had enough time to heft his sword before it happened. Suddenly the already cold temperature plummeted to near freezing levels, and the Pyre Flies exploded outwards in a burst of light. Before Amadeus now stood a massive Dragon. Or rather, the Avatar of a Dragon, formed by the Pyre Flies. Where the heart would be, Amadeus could see his Dragoon Soul shining brightly. They stared at each other for a few seconds before the melee began.

The Avatar of Yillvashira lunged at Amadeus with a large and clawed leg, which despite not being entire real, still had plenty of substance behind it. Amadeus was forced to leap sideways out of the way as it collided with the cavern wall and made the very earth tremble. This was not going to be a test where he could fail. His very life was at stake. Just as he was regaining his balance, the Dragon followed up her initial attack with a swept of her spiked tail. Amadeus just barely had time to attempt to jump over it, and was grazed by one of the spikes on his armored spaulders. He then took the opening and rushed the Dragon from begin, launching himself into the air to land upon her back. For a second he was afraid he would phase right through her, but he landed solidly enough. Immediately the Dragon began to buckle wildly, and beat her wings, sending a shower of rocks as they scraped the cavern ceiling. Amadeus managed to get his word to bear, and began to repeatedly stab the Dragon's spine. Ephemeral splashes of phantom blood flew past him, leaving no stain but retaining the hotness and sickly smell of blood.

Roaring in pain, the Dragon reared up on two legs, and smashed her back against the wall. Amadeus barely had enough time to jump off and avoid being a bloody smear on the wall for the rest of eternity. He landed with a well practiced roll and resumed his battle stance. The Dragon, now rid of the sting of his blade, simply stared at him, and opened it's mouth, as if to speak calmly. Or so it seemed to Amadeus before he realized his mistake almost too late. Sucking in a heavy lungful of air, the Dragon release a long steam of phantom fire from it's gullet towards Amadeus, who had no choice but to quickly gather his cloak protectively around him. Luckily for him, the ancient armament, once standard issue to all Dragoons was indeed battle worthy, and the Dragonskin of his cloak was able to absorb the searing flames, for despite not being real fire, they burned just as hot.

This had to end, and it had to end quickly. Amadeus knew that he was a great fighter, but he was still human, and his stamina could not match that of a Dragon. Should this become a drawn out bout, he would surely lose his life. As soon as the flames abated, he rushed headlong towards the Dragon, with a battle roar that would have made his father proud, and left no question as to his birthname as a Feld. Holding his sword with both hands, he leaped forwards directly towards the Dragon, gaining nearly fifteen feet of air in the process, and plunged his ancient blade directly into the 'heart' of the Dragon.

An explosion of energy filled the cavern, and the light of it nearly blinded Amadeus, despite his looking away. Just as suddenly as they had came, the Pyre Flies departed en masse, with only a handful still floating around the Dragoon Soul.

"Amadeus Feld, I, Yillvashira have judged you according to the ancient pact of the Dragoon and have found you worthy. By besting me, you have earned not just the right to ascend and use my powers to call yourself a Dragoon, but to also command all of my Brood you might encounter as a true Dragoon General. You are now ready to face the coming evil. Go forth Amadeus Feld, and reunite our brethren together. The power to usher in a new era, one greater than the one your father sought for, lies in your hands!" spoke the Dragon, the powerful boom of her voice reverberating across the cavern.

Slowly, the still shining Dragoon Soul made it's way towards Amadeus, who took it into his hand. As he did, a final whisper from Yillvashira filled his mind: "I sense my opposing sister, the White-Silver Dragon nearby, In a city filled with Crystals."

Amadeus made his way outside of the cavern, just as the sky sported that pale gray known as the darkest hour. The Dragoon soul now hung around his neck, in it's usual platinum chain beneath his armor. Tapping into the power within him, Amadeus transformed into the Dark Dragoon. Normally he would fear to be seen, but in the darkness he doubted even an eagle could see him. With a spread of his wings, Amadeus ascended to the skies higher than any bird could soar, in that altitude rightfully belonging to Dragons and Dragoons of old, and with hope in his heart after three centuries, sped towards The Crystal Capital, Deningrad.

The Crystal Capital Deningrad, present day.

Amadeus had completed his flight with a speed with frightened him. Never before had he held the power to sustain his transformation for so long, nor move so fast, but it seemed that Yillvashira was indeed right, and he was no longer a mere Dragoon, but a Dragoon General of old, as was his rightful heritage. Having landed in a small forested area outside Deningrad, he made his way through the main city gates just as they were opening and the enterprising ( and thieving) outside merchants began to roll their carts headed for the market place. The sun had only just peeked it's face over the horizon but a mere half an hour previously, and already the city was teeming with activity. Beggars left and right, orphans, tiny pickpockets pretending to be harmless orphans, and bigger kids heading little gangs of pickpockets, merchants, workers, and clergy men. Everywhere one looked, there was activity going on. Sadly, it was obvious by the lack of luster of the buildings, and the fact that the looming Crystal Palace no longer shone as bright as the sun, that the once noble city of Deningrad was but a mere shadow of it's formal self.

Not really knowing where to begin his search, Amadeus made his ways towards the market place, whacking several would be pickpockets on the head with his fist as he went.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tiko on Mon Sep 27, 2010 4:01 pm

Basil, Golden Age Festival.

Deep within the festival grounds a spattering of cheers and applauding went up from a small crowd that had gathered about a shoddy tent as a young girl that couldn't have been more than sixteen was whirling a sling in one hand while she lined up a shot. With a sudden deft movement she sent the stone whizzing through the air to strike a stack of dented cans she had lined up on a table.

As the stack came crashing down more cheers went up and more coins were tossed into a bowl on the ground in front of the table. It was a game really, as passing observers were challenging her to make harder and harder shots. The spunky kid had more than turned a profit already but the day was far from over and she was sure she could make a hefty haul off from the festival.

Having gotten the small crowd riled up and excited, it was time to up the stakes a bit. After all, knocking cans over was child's play. "Is that all you have for me? I could pelt cans until the sun goes down." she said with a laugh as she got up on a small overturned box next to the table so she wasn't looking up at everyone.

People were always willing to part with more money if the shots were their idea rather than hers and with that in mind she made her challenge. "Who wants to see a real challenge?" she asked loudly as she pointed at the bowl.

"I'll wager everything I have that no one here can give me a shot I can't make." she challenged boldly, one hand coming to rest on her hip, the other hanging at her side with her sling in hand.

Clarissa was a spunky little thing, only standing about 5'2 and with her lithe build she couldn't have been more than a hundred and ten pounds, but she held herself with an air of confidence and cockiness. Her small stature and platinum white hair hinted at her wingly bloodlines.
I've moved on. If anyone stumbles on any of my old roleplays or wants to hit me up for nostalgia sake, feel free to shoot me an e-mail me at or hit me up on Good luck RolePlaygateway.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mid on Tue Sep 28, 2010 9:50 pm

Mile Seaseau

(Audience chamber)

“You wished to see us, Regent?” Namel asked as he kneeled before the woman. She was seated in the in the late Queen’s throne with a smug look on her beautiful face. It almost made her frightening to look at. He kept his raven head bowed, aware of the insult to the late Queen’s name but was unable to acknowledge it due to his rank. Gritting his teeth together, Namel waited as the silence passed. The woman liked to take her time with things, almost like a cat toying with its food.

They were in the audience room. A room that was made of crystal from the walls to the windows and even the door handles however the crystals were no longer pure and bright. Over the years a dark tint has overshadowed its purity; making it near black. In order to see, the use of electricity and torches are to be used in unison. The woman before them sat with her legs nearly bare, waiting for a response.

Golden eyes flashed from face to face, lingering on Namel’s as she leaned against her left hand with a glass of red wine in her right hand. As a smile played on her lips she spoke in what one would consider a seductive tone. “Why yes, I was curious to hear the report from Tiberoa?” Tabitha took a sip from her glass, savoring the taste but really watching Namel’s movements.

He looked up and turned his attention to Rydra, which caused Tabitha to frown slightly, who stood up and bowed, “We have managed to make them retreat to the city and have held our position there. So far we have eliminated General Lars which has diminished half of their troops. We have also been able to cut short some of their supply routes. There is also the possibility of reinforcements arriving from Basil however we can also attempt to block them before they reach us, Ma’am.” Quickly the girl dropped to the ground and kept her head down, waiting for further orders.

“I see.” Tabitha spoke, her voice ringing around the room sounding quite bored, “Well, if that shall be all I would suggest you take your leave and freshen up a bit before the celebrations.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed them.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” The trio rose in unison, stopping as Tabitha spoke again. “Not you, Namel. I wish to have… a word with you.” Namel opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it as Meredith looked from one to the other. “I will see you?” she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, Meredith felt worried.

“Yes, of course.” Namel smiled at her and placed his own hand on top of hers. “I will see you tonight, my love.” Taking her hand into his, he kissed it lightly. “Promise.”

Taking one last glance at the regent, Meredith thought she saw something in the woman’s eyes. Was it jealousy? Or anger?

The door clicked as she left, and Namel turned his attention back to Tabitha, nearly jumping, as she breathed against his neck. “I told you to stop doing that!” He whispered, taking a glance at the door.

A chuckle escaped her as she tossed her golden hair to one side, little waves falling over her shoulder. “You’re mad at me? Don’t be. It was only a game…”

“People get tired of games, Tabitha. Not everything is a toy for you to play with…” He was beginning to get angry with her as her left hand traced his collar bone lightly. “T-this is the last time…”

“Of course it is.” Tabitha smirked and kissed his neck lately.

“I mean it!” He grabbed her hand roughly and looked at her, “I mean it. I’ve had enough of this!”

“Let go of me.” Tabitha spoke calmly to him. As her hand was released, Tabitha buried her face against his chest. “If this is to be the last time… then so be it.”

(Meredith’s room)

Opening the door to her room, Meredith stepped inside to see a very plain and yet clean room. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a dresser with a mirror and a chest filled with useless belongings. Meredith threw her cloak over the chest and walked over to her dresser to sit on the small bench, she placed her head against the cool surface with a great shudder. She could no longer suppress the need and gave in to its call.

A man in black…. His face is hidden but his blade is covered in blood. He was walking towards her with his hand out… Speaking to her, but what he was saying was beyond her. Something about him scared her, and someone was screaming. Who was screaming?

It was her. She was screaming. Jumping up, Meredith looked at her reflection. She was drenched with sweat as tired eyes stared back at her. “Another dream…” She whispered placing a hand against her throat and flinching. It had been rubbed raw, as if a rope had been placed there in an attempt to strangle her. This has never happened before… she thought, fear crossing her looks. It has never been this real.

She sat down again with her hands trembling, eyes straying to her neck, when a knock sounded. “O-one moment please!” She shouted, looking around the room, she reached for her dark green cloak which was still sprawled around the chest and wrapped it around her shoulders. Holding it close to her neck, Meredith opened the door, “Rydra… I think I may be a little late.”

“You mean you’re not dressed yet?” Rydra titled her head which contained a crown of green curls, curiously. “Well, don’t be late. Namel has something he wants to ask you.” The girl was already down the hallway, totting off like a child in a light blue dress. Meredith watched her go, amused by the girl trapped in a woman’s body.

“Make up…”

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Script on Wed Sep 29, 2010 12:05 pm

"Curse that girl, a thousand times over..."

Kael scowled from atop his mare, Serah, and cast a searching gaze over the pulsating crowd in Basil's city centre. It was festival time, and the people were out in force. The very air was a mess of spices, cooking food and sweat, almost intoxicating in its strength. The blonde knight sighed and shook his head. The heaving throng of people of all shapes and sizes was no place to be searching for a short girl who made it her profession to not be seen. There was nothing to be done but what he usually resorted to when Lyra was off making a nuisance of herself when he needed her.

Sit and wait.

Some part of Kael thought that this was very much not how things should work. After all, he was the knight. He had authority, and everything. But alas, it was not so. There should be plenty to do to entertain himself in the meantime, regardless. This was a festival, after all!

Dismissing Lyra from his thoughts, Kael surveyed the scene around him with a broader perspective - there were fire eaters, jugglers, display-swordfighters -- any number of street performers dotting the square. Gently guiding Serah forwards, the knight began to work his way through the crowd. The going was slow, but the crowd steadily parted around the mare - and indeed he himself, for as a knight (and a particularly noble one at that) Kael did command a degree of respect amongst the people - and movement was achieved. Passing by stalls, merchants and more performers, he eventually caught sight of something far more interesting, at least for the moment.

Huzzah for taverns!

Kael directed Serah towards the building, and dismounted outside. He hailed a stable boy to take her around to the building's stables for the duration of his stay - she was a valuable, trained destrier, and it would not do for her to be stolen - before entering. Approaching the barkeep, Kael flashed the man a smile and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Though surprised to see the esteemed knight in his tavern, the man reacted admirably, only stumbling over his words a few times before managing to ask Kael what he wanted to drink. A friendly pat on the arm put the fellow at ease, and Kael tossed him a coin for a flagon of ale.

Settling back, the knight nodded in satisfaction. He would relax here for a time, and if Lyra had not shown her accursed self before then, afterwards he would go out and appreciate the festivities fully.

Speaking of festivities...

"I'll wager everything I have that no one here can give me a shot I can't make."

The audience was silent for a few moments after Clarissa spoke, before it burst into a buzz of hushed discussion, as various parties discussed what they could come up with. One particularly savvy blonde girl, however, took only a moment to make herself known. Pushing her way through the crowd, Lyra stepped out into Clarissa's view with a confident smirk. The rogue carried herself with an air of arrogance, but not to the degree of obnoxiousness. She was short, and her hair was cut short at the base of her neck.

"I'll take you up on that!" she exclaimed, folding her arms and leaning back on one foot. Lyra gave the audience time to register her statement, until she was sure that attention was focused on her. Slowly and theatrically, she drew out a well balanced and elegant dagger from her belt. "I'll wager that you can't hit my dagger out of the air before I hit dead centre on that bullseye." The girl smiled and spun the weapon in her hand, taking a few more swaggering strides into the centre of the area.

"Well? You up for that, or are you chick-chick-chick-chickenn?"
Image Image Image

(03:04:15) Lialore says: I wanted to be the poo.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Vyral on Wed Sep 29, 2010 7:22 pm

Rain had begun to fall from the skies with the full fury of the God's. Bright forks of lightning split apart deep, rolling clouds with jagged spikes so large that he thought they could stretch all the way from Tiberoa to Gloriano. Even without the sleet pounding him relentlessly, a thick mist had grown all around him in the bleakness of the evening. He could see little more than ten meters ahead, his field of vision was limited to a dusty track that wound away from Deningrad, bordered by thick forests. His mare trotted on resolutely, but he knew that she was exhausted; he was, too. They had been on the road for about four hours, and it had been raining for at least two of them. What had started out as a pleasantly warm drizzle had soon turned into a storm.

By the time he reached the next town, he was sodden. He slid from his horse, and grimaced as he slid up to his ankles in thick, soggy mud. Every step he took was a laborious process in which the gloop sucked maliciously at his book, trying to pry it from his foot. More than once he slipped and had to rely on the rains of his mare too hold himself upright. The town was only twenty houses or so, but it was large enough to have a small inn, and he made for it immediately. He had used it often, although he never stayed more than a night. He knocked on the heavy oak door - it was full dark now, and he thought that the Innkeeper would be asleep despite the rain slamming against his window, and the howl of rain.

A fat, balding man opened the door with red-cheeks and blood-shot eyes. He was wearing a nightgown made of brown cotton, along with slippers that could be nothing else except rabbit fur. Kristof Bluim was anything but happy to be awoken at this hour. He opened his mouth to yell, but hesitated as the man pulled the hood from his face. It had been perhaps a year since they had last met.

"Nieves.." he said it with a resigned sigh.
"I need the usual - a room for the night and a stable for my horse. I'll be gone early in the morning." Kristof nodded with a resigned look on his face. He knew that Nieves paid well, but the man was troublesome to say the least. He had some businesses with some bad people, not to mention handing him over to the Palace in Deningrad could fetch a hefty reward.
"Simon, I need a horse stabled! And fetch some fresh bread and water too!"

Sunlight was yet to break the oppressive gloominess of the twilight hour. He stifled a yawn as he trotted his mare along the track, her hooves splashing in the occasional puddle. It had stopped raining some time during the night - he had awoken briefly to the welcome silence - but still the ground was waterlogged, and the air humid. He glanced back over his shoulder, but he could no longer see the town in the distance; all he could see now was a copse of trees spanning perhaps two hundred meters through which the track ran. It would take him until the afternoon to reach his destination, and he would only need to pass through one more town to get there. That was good, he was of no mood to talk to strangers today.

Eventually, his mind drifted back to Caitlyn. It was not the first night they had shared together, and he suspected it would not be the last, either. It was a risky relationship they had, though; neither of them wanted, or could deal with, a relationship really. But they enjoyed each others company, and could gratify each other without embarrassment or care. The only issue was that she was Bluim's daughter, and she was soon to become a servant for the Palace. Although she would be unseen by her peers, and would only spend her working hours within its halls, it presented a problem. If someone found out about the two of them, her life could be put in danger, as well as that of her Mother and Father. He didn't much like Kristof Bluim, but the man had been kind to him, and did not deserve to die for Darin's mistakes.

That train of thought led him on too another woman, although this one had died many years ago. He had never known the woman's name, nor who she really was. She had supposedly died in labour with his daughter, Cecilia. Sometimes he wondered if the woman had merely deserted them. He had met her when he was nineteen, in the city of Deningrad. She was a pretty brunette girl, with a slight frame and pale, porcelain skin. They had spent the day together, deliriously drunk and had spent the night, too. After that she had dissapeared; he was upset at the time, he had thought he could grow to like - love, if he was capable of such an emotion - that girl. She had shown up eight months later with a stomach the size of Deningrad itself, and he told him the child was his. He believed her; he had no reason not to. She had had the child that day, a month before her time. Unable to see the birth, Darin was handed his child and told that the mother had died. They had no name for her, but the did have a hefty bill. Now in debt, and with a seriously underweight child to care for, Darin was in a hopeless state of affairs.

For a while - a year, in fact - he had managed to keep ahead of his payments by working as a courier for a man named Vernar. Vernar was at the time a well known diplomat for Mile Seaseau, and Darin had fallen into his services as a courier quite by accident. Even his years work was not enough to pay the costs of Cecilia's birth though, and Vernar encouraged him to enlist in the military. He did, and he soon found himself thrust into a war from which he could see no return. When he finally deserted, Cecilia had been living for most of her life with a woman named Renne Souza, the son of a rather diligent gangster. Renne was a woman whom Darin trusted, and he had often worked for the Souza family between his work with Vernar and even during his military service. He knew well perhaps three large families, and many smaller ones. Unfortunately, while he had been away the men he knew had grown old and young blood had muddied the streets of Deningrad. Originally Cecilia had been kidnapped to spite Drago Souza, it had only been a plesant surprise too Gorin that Cecilia was the daughter of the deserter known as 'Captain Nieves'.

That was how Darin found himself working for Gorin now, albeit it would be his last. For the past three years he had been re-establishing his contacts, and making new ones. Soon enough, Gorin and he few allies would find themselves dead, or worse. Darin tightened his grip of the reigns of his horse, already eager to be the one who slit Gorin's throat. He had not needed to persuade Souza to help him, but it had taken years of work and debt to get some of the other families to agree. Souza was still a persuasive force, it seemed, however old he was. In exactly two weeks, Gorin's family and his acquaintances would be murdered. No-one from the Guard would care; thugs killed thugs every day. Two weeks from now would be no different, save that men would have to splash through the rivers of red that streamed from every house Gorin had ever visited. The man had made too many enemies in his life, and Darin was not by a long stretch the worst...

Leading his horse by the reigns, he entered the camp and allowed a stocky guard to take the horse from him. Darin watched silently as the main led his mare into a small shelter and tied her to a wooden stump. he did not bother to remove her saddle - he knew that Darin would not remain for long. Without a word, he motioned for Darin to follow him. They made their way along a muddy pathway, up a hill and then he stopped outside a large, dark blue tent. He jerked a thumb at the entrance, and then headed off back towards the gate. Darin went inside.

"You are Tibor?"
Darin nodded.
"You have my letter?"
Darin handed him the letter.

Omar said nothing else, and laid the letter on a table beside him. It was one of many in the tent, which was adorned with expensive, gold-inlaid furniture and thick, wool rugs. No-one else was inside the tent, and Darin expected that the fat, blonde-haired man had the entire tent to himself. Without a word, Darin turned and left the tent. That was how all exchanges went; in with a false name, deliver the package and then leave without speaking. Quick and easy. Only twice had it ever gone wrong.

It would take him a a day and a half to get back to Deningrad. When he got there he had some serious planning to do; murdering the whole of Gorin's family and rescuing his daughter was not an easy task. Especially since identifying him would bring down the Guard. His contacts may be powerful men, but they could not defeat the City Guard. They had to read carefully, and to keep their actions a secret until the time came. He would go to see Drago Souza when he got to Deningrad; they had matters to discuss.

While the sun began to set over the horizon, scarring the skies above with a red hue, Darin's mind returned again to his daughter, and the bastards who had kidnapped her.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Avey on Thu Sep 30, 2010 3:44 am

A few years earlier

Lilliana stared blankly at her ceiling, as she lay on her bead in a frozen like state. She was terribly bored and it was nagging at her. She hated being home; she’d rather be out drinking and rolling around in the mud then be somewhere she generally disliked. Lilliana finally decided to move and roll over to her side, glancing at her two swords that were especially made and given to her, by some of her teachers. She stared at them long and hard before finally deciding that this would be the last time that she would come home, for anything, it was time that she left home and wander the world on her own.

Sitting up on her bed, she moved to the edge, putting her bare feet on the cold wooden floor, running her hands through her dark red hair and stared at her swords. “Well if you think that is what I should do,” she smiled to herself grabbing her leather bag from off the floor. Quietly she made her way around her room, grabbing everything she needed. “It was nice knowing you”, Lilliana said quietly looking around her room, throwing on her long black cloak and strapping her two swords across her back.

“Where do you think you are going?” a low soft voice said. Lilliana just opened the door to find that her older sister was sitting behind her. “Leavin.” Lilliana replied simply without looking back her blond sibling. “Well if you do leave, just know that you aren’t welcomed back next time.” Lilliana looked at her and smiled. “Oh I know.”


NOW Basil Festival.

Lilliana found her way back to her home city Basil just in time for the annual festival. She always enjoyed the festival which is the only reason why she came back. The loud noises from within the city could be heard from the forests and that excited her. “Home sweet home,” she thought to herself, making her way down closer to the city.

Lilliana put down her hood as she walked through the crowd, looking at everyone and their smiling faces. It was good to be back in her home city, no matter how much she despised it sometimes. She inhaled and exhaled deeply as she looked up at a short round man yelling at the crowd. A smile cracked on her face, not because of what the man was saying, but because of his round features, and enthusiasm for the day.

Lilliana moved on praying to the gods that she didn’t run into any of her family. With that thought she put on her hood once more to veil her face and continued throughout the festival. Her amber eyes caught onto a small crowd that huddled around to watch a woman take shots at cans. Lilliana stopped to watch the girl and indeed she was quiet talented, none of the less she was kind of loud and seemingly arrogant at her abilities. Lilliana narrowed her eyes at the girl as she shouted “"I'll wager everything I have that no one here can give me a shot I can't make.” The girl was quite bold and a little annoying at this point. The crowd got silent and Lilliana grew bored before another woman decided to take the white haired girl on.

"Well? You up for that, or are you chick-chick-chick-chickenn?" the other woman said teasingly. Lilliana couldn’t help but laugh she officially declared them both as annoying in her head. “Just get on with it,” Lilli thought to herself rolling her eyes. Growing bored once more, the red head decided to look for a place where she can sit and have a drink and relax.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mid on Mon Oct 04, 2010 10:23 pm

Tonight the stars shined bright than normal. Playing thin their best their game of twinkling lights, with the North Star glowing brightest. Everyone was dressed, everyone who was invited that is. From eagles to mice, clowns to mysterious women, the ball was a masquerade to entertain their Regent who was not here at the moment. The room was decorated in reds, blues and gold from the floors to the open ceiling. There were many smells coming from the side tables; which was quickly becoming full as people took samples and plates to dine on.

With a deep breath, Meredith fidgeted in her grown. Always aware of how uncomfortable they made her feel. Taking a glance at the mirror, Meredith barely recognized herself in the dark red dress and sighed deeply. This is stupid…she thought before putting her mask on. A red robin.

With one final glance Meredith took a few steps into the room, becoming increasingly aware of the sudden looks or gestures coming her way. “Meredith!” a small voice screamed and an even smaller form crashed into her. “Isabella! Or should I say Swan Princess?” She teased.

The young princess lifted her swan mask to reveal bright green eyes, “Oh har har!” Placing her hands on her hips, the girl looked far older than ten and much paler then last seen. “I have a gift for you.” She proceeded to dig in her small hand bag.

Tilting her head a bit, Meredith smiled, “A gift? For me? You shouldn’t have!” There was no point in telling the girl no since it would only end up in tears and hurt feelings. “Of course!” and she pulled out a box, handing it to Meredith. “Open it.” The blonde child looked at Meredith expectantly. With a smile, Meredith opened it and lifted a necklace with a beautiful white stone. The stone seemed to have a life f its own, images swirled within it. “I-Isabella, this is lovely. Why would you give me such a thing?”

“I knew you’d love it! I found it in my momma’s trunk today…” The girl looked down with both hands clasped together, “I-I figured you should have it as…a good luck charm for when you go back into battle.” And she looked up again, nearly in tears with lips trembling, “Y-you will come back…wont you?”

With a small smile, Meredith closed the box and kneeled down as low as she could in order to hug the girl, “Of course I will. I promise.” Over the years she had developed a kind of friendship with the Princess, never treating her as a child nor princess but as a person.

“Isabella!” A sharp voice roared through the room stopping the music and much of the talk, “Isn’t it time for your medicines?” Tabitha inquired, her mask hid most of her face but her eyes were on the necklace in Meredith’s hands. The light almost died from her eyes, as she whispered a small “Yes ma’am.”

“I will see you tomorrow, alright?” Meredith whispered to the swan who smiled softly, “Alright.” And ran off. The dragon’s eyes remained on Meredith but she spoke to the crowd, “Why has the music stopped? Continue!” In moments people stopped looking and proceeded as if nothing happened, while the Regent took her seat at the furthers part of the room to speak to a woman with blue hair and a hawk’s mask.

“There you are!” A wolf grabbed her from the waist and turned her to face him, blue eyes staring into hazel ones. “You kept me waiting, Starlit.”

“You know I hate these things…” She mumbled with her hands against his chest. “What’s this?” He asked, taking the necklace from her hand. “It was a gift from the Princess.” Taking it from her, he turned it underneath the light, watching it sparkle. “How thoughtful of her…Would you like me to put it on?” With a smile, she nodded “Please.” For a moment, she felt eyes watching her but it was impossible to tell. “There.”

“Rydra said you had something to ask me?” She inquired.

“Yes, I do actually.” He took something out of his pocket and grabbed Meredith’s hands. As he kneeled, Meredith felt her face flushed, “I wanted to know if you would be my star forever?”

“I-I…” She was at a loss for words, feeling the silence around the room as some people watched, others cheered. With a simple nod, his mouth was against hers and clapping followed. Glass broke and a few people turned in Tabitha’s direction. Her hand was clenched, and she was watching the duo with glass shards buried beneath her flesh.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Dashmiel on Thu Oct 07, 2010 5:53 pm

Mile Seaseau, The Crystal Capital Deningrad.

The oppressiveness of city was getting to Amadeus's psyche. He was simply not used to the writhing mass of thousands of people, and the pungent odor they all created. Pushed away in the middle of the market place was driving him to near insanity. Pushes and shoves were coming at him from all sides, with tiny hands searching for anything loose of value to steal. Twice some dirty urchin had tried to make away with his sword, before a swift boot to the backside sent them going. This was going to be more difficult that Amadeus first expected.

He had no clue at all, as to where to begin his search for the Silver-White Dragoon Spirit. All he knew was that it could be found somewhere within the city, but that left him with a massive area to sift thorough. At first he though the obvious place would be the market place, as such a thing was likely to be a shiny bauble to the untrained eye, probably being peddled for a few silver. After hours of going through stalls and receiving no resonation, he was becoming dispirited. It was unlikely for it to be in the market place after all. If it were to be confused for a bit of jewelry, then it was likely to be in a more cultured venue, or perhaps in the hands of some noble lady already. All of the Dragoon Soul's resembled perfect gemstones, set in the purest metal which more closely resembled their affinity. This of course, meant he had to search for a flawless diamond look alike in a setting of platinum in a city made of crystal where the nobility pranced around shining brighter than the sun. With an inward sigh, Amadeus moved away from the Market place, making his way to the more refined shopping district.

After the third shop, countless stares from the guard, dirty looks from the nobles, and being harassed to buy stuff, Amadeus was ready to burn down the whole city. One thing was clear however, the Dragoon Spirit was not to be found in there either. Frustrated, Amadeus walked about aimlessly.

As if the very fates led his hand, enlightenment almost literally shone upon him. It was all so obvious, so simple, that he nearly kicked himself for not seeing it immediately. At the precise moment that he had stopped to sigh, the sun came from behind the clouds on the opposite side of the crystal palace. Despite the corruption of the ages, the pinnacle of the crystal palace still remained pure, and through it a great shaft of prismatic light shone upon Amadeus. It was then that he made the connection. The last White-Silver Dragoon had been the late Princess Miranda of Deningrad, three hundred years previously. If the Dragoon Spirit was to be found, it was to be in the form of a heirloom in the hands of the Royal Family. Now all Amadeus had to work out was a way to enter the palace. Still not certain as to how to achieve this, he made his way towards the Palace District.

Amadeus never made it into the Palace District. The entire District was closed down and had basically the entire Palace Guard patrolling it. Apparently there was to be some sort of Masquerade for the nobility. Amadeus barely managed to glean this much info before being rudely pushed with the blunt side of a halberd and told to scram. Unfortunate, but not wholly so. A masquerade would give him the cover he needed. Now all he had to do was find a way to gate-crash the party. First on the list was the acquisition of a costume, and to this end, Amadeus went back to the Shopping District.

Once in the Shopping District, he went to a Theater shop he had visited earlier in hopes of finding the Dragoon Soul as a prop, and began the extensive haggling process with the shop owner.

An hour later, and a good chunk of gold lighter, Amadeus was dressed in an elegant ensemble indeed. His normal armor was deviously made part of his costume, and now sported bejeweled faux feathers upon strategic places around it. These were mostly in either black zirconium meant to mimic jet, or something that was supposed to be rubies. Either way, they seemed real enough. He had folded the hood of his cloak, and tucked it in on the inside, and tapered the sides of his Cloak to make it seem like a cape. The craftsmanship of the cloak went well with the ensemble. To finish it all off, he wore a terrifying mask in the visage of a great bird of prey, whether a condor, fire-bird, or falcon was hard to discern. It was all made of a black glossy metal, with actual jet and rubies embedded within it, and a long beak going over the nose leaving his mouth exposed. All in all, elegant indeed, and Amadeus was ready to crash the party.

It was ridiculously easy to make his way into the Palace District this time. A regal pose in conjunction with his new clothes gave him free entry. The guards did not even bother to search him, and believe his exquisite Dragoonian Sword to be a mere prop. Thus within, Amadeus made his way into the palace, as the moon rose and north star shone brightly.

Mile Seaseau, Deningrad, Crystal Palace Ballroom.

Reds, golds, and blues decorated the room from floors to the magnificent open ceiling, showcasing the starry night in a thin veil-like sheet of crystal. Banquet tables were full to bursting, the band played merrily, and everywhere the nobility flirted and favors were redeemed and paid. Fun and politics, all in one. Amadeus was lazily scanning the room when he saw the reagent in place. Dressed in the likeness of a Dragon, she exhuded an aura of pure malice. Amadeus was not sure why, but he could feel his Dragoon Spirit turn icily cold as he stared at here, talking to a dark figure. Putting her out of his mind, he continued to search the crowd for what he was seeking.

It was then that he saw them. The current young princess, dressed as a swan, conversing with a stunning woman in a bright red gown and a robin mask. More importantly, he saw the princess handing the woman a small item. Almost like a tiny gem, White-Silver stone...Immediately, Amadeus's Dragoon Spirit resonated, becoming almost hot against his skin. There was no mistaking it, after three centuries, he was in the presence of another Dragoon Spirit. Now the next question was thus; was this woman to be recognized as the next Dragoon Knight? Slowly Amadeus made his way closer to her, pretending to be another noble circling the banquet tables. The Dragoon Spirit was within a box, and Amadeus eyes followed it with a ferocity to match the creature his mask mimicked.

After a few minutes of his watching, a man approached the woman. Amadeus guessed him to be a lover, and had this confirm in his mannerisms in the placing of the Spirit upon the woman's neck. Then rather funnily he witnessed as the man openly proposed to her. A smile was forming in his lips as he felt a blast of evil surge within the room. The sound of breaking glass filled the room, and all of the on-lookers turned towards it's source. The Dragon-costumed reagent was clutching a shattered wine glass within her hands, and a look of malice filled her eyes as she looked towards the couple. The fact that only wine and not blood flowed to the ground was not lost to Amadeus. Instinctively, he placed his right hand on the pummel of his sword and prepared for whatever was about to unfold. No matter what happened, his duty to the world was to safeguard the Dragoon Spirit until it recognized a new Dragoon Knight.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tiko on Thu Oct 07, 2010 11:50 pm

Claressa turned to Lyra as the roguish woman stole away the crowds attention momentarily. The challenge itself gave her pause, usually people didn't get that creative. However, she was up for the challenge and she smirked as she hopped down off her box.

Lyra's taunting only provoked Claressa's blustering behavior all the more as she snorted at the implication that she was a coward.

"That's all you have? Piece of cake." she said with a laugh as she crossed her arms over her chest to measure up the older woman.

The deft hand movements as Lyra spun the dagger hinted that she at least knew how to handle the weapon, but Claressa was a cocky young thing. Unfolding her arms she retrieved a stone from the pouch that hung at her belt and fitted the round object into the sling.

Normally it wasn't in her interest to downgrade peoples challenges. After all, if she played up the act of doubting her ability to succeed then they were always willing to part with more money. The belief that they had a chance of beating her always kept them coming back. It was a game she played often and played well but at this point it was really more a matter of pride than winning. Lyra had not only called her out, but had managed to steal the spotlight from the crowd as well.

"Easy money. You sure you don't want to just move along before you get whooped?" she asked as she gave the sling a few twirls to get it moving.

She had downed birds before, this shouldn't be anymore difficult than that. She should have this won easy she thought with a lopsided smirk.

Though truthfully it wouldn't be an easy shot, given that she would have to judge the speed of the dagger against the speed of her own projectile. Though she knew what the target was at least and if Lyra missed then the woman lost the bet anyways. That meant Claressa had only to get the timing right, since Lyra's dagger would have to follow a specific route to strike the target on mark.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Script on Fri Oct 08, 2010 7:02 pm

"That's big talk for a gal living in the stone ages," Lyra smirked, giving the crowd a glance. "I'm pretty sure we knew how to lob rocks at each other pretty early on in existence, huh? Seems sorta intuitive to me." The blonde girl chuckled, putting a hand on her hip.

"I hope you weren't planning on cutting a profit today, 'cause I don't plan on losing."

Oh yeah, the trash talk was out now. Out and kicking.

"Shall we get your thorough trouncing over with then?" Lyra suggested with a wink, taking a step forwards to line up with the target. Gripping the knife delicately by the blade, she raised her arm and narrowed her eyes at the target. The heckling and cheering crowd quieted. The tension in the air was palpable. You could cut it with a knife - a throwing knife, to be specific.

"Ready? Let's go."

With that, Lyra swung back, and flicked her arm and wrist forwards. The rogue released the dagger mid swing, and it spun out of her grip and towards the target. Lyra smiled as the weapon followed a graceful curve around towards the side of the target, before arcing back around to make a beeline for the bullseye. She was confident that Claressa wouldn't be expecting a curve...

In the meantime, Kael sat with his drink. The knight had an odd feeling that someone was wagering his money away nearby...

Shrugging it off, the blonde man relaxed at the counter. He'd have to be off again soon, or he'd miss the best of the festival today. There wasn't an infinite number of hours in a day, after all.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Vyral on Fri Oct 08, 2010 7:42 pm

Cadir, Serdio, six years ago...

Striding into the room, the soldier saw the cause of the screams almost immediately. Two men had pinned a frail looking woman against a bed, and were proceeding to loosen their trousers, loud grunts revealing their intentions. He stood there for a long moment in the little hut, eyes staring emptily at the scene before him. He had no power to prevent the assault; he had been ordered not to, in fact. Even so, the girl could not be more than a few months out of her teens. Barely a women. Both of the soldiers holding her down he knew to be in their forties, and both married and with child. He turned to leave, a frown creasing his face. The girls eyes caught his, and her face was unmistakable.

That day two men had died, and even though he had saved her, they had not spoken since.

Darkness had begun to descend over the horizon by the time the city came into view. What little light there still was glinted off the peaks of the Crystal Palace, which stood above the sprawling streets of the city proper. A road twisted down the hill and across a large, grassy plain towards the city. The road would end up at the East Gate. He wanted to arrive before full dark - getting in afterwards would be a difficult task, and he had no patience this evening. A raven wheeled through the air above him with a loud squawk, and he followed its flight until it dissipated into the distance.

That was the reason he didn't notice the stocky, bald-headed man until he had swung the club with surprising ferocity at his shoulder. A sharp yell escaped his lips, and he slid from the horse and landed on his back. Dazed from the sudden attack, he barely had time to clear his vision before a heavy boot met the side of his face. Light exploded across his vision and he felt the cool mud envelop his face, the force of the kick hard enough to twist his body around completely. He groaned, a groggy sound that bubbled through the pool of mud he was laying in. He could hear boots approaching him, squelching with every step. Slowly, mindful of the pain in his shoulder, Darin slipped a knife from his belt.

When the a meaty hand clasped his shoulder, Darin spun around and slammed the blade into his attackers throat. The blade sunk three inches deep, until his fingers were pressing against the skin, warm blood coating them. He pushed against the mans dead weight, letting him fall into the mud beside him. For a long time he lay there beside the man was he died, short gurgles and desperate whines the only noises he could make. When the night was finally silent, he sat up slowly and walked towards his horse. His loyal mare was laying in the grass just down the road, eying him calmly. His shoulder was throbbing and blood now drenched his forearm, sticking the cloth of his cloak against his flesh.

For once he had passed through the city gates without a problem. The young guards had barely even glanced at him before waving him through, oblivious to the blood still lacquered all over his hand, and the mud that coated his cloak. The streets were still busy despite the hour, and it still took him a laboriously long time to get out of the East quadrant of the town, milling his way slowly through the throngs of people. By the time he made it to The Gilded Lily the streets had begun to clear considerably - it was ill advised to be out late in this area. Darin had paid for room and stable, and now sat in a small room downstairs.

A fire crackled behind him, bathing him in a warmth that d away the deep chill the morning had set into his bones. The Inn was busier than the last time he had used it. Three other men and two women were eating meals, and two more people sat at a quaint little bar, chatting idly to the innkeeper. Renee sat across the table from him, wearing a cloak almost as muddy as his own. Spills of night black hair poked out from the shade of her hood, complimenting the soft brown of her cheeks. Although petite, she was throwing back mugs of ale faster than he could follow, and the table was now filled with empty glasses.

"I'll get father to see you tomorrow afternoon, if you stop by."
"Thank you." He felt as though someone had wrapped his head in wool.
"But.. there is a catch," she said with a sly grin. His eyes narrowed instantly.
"What catch?"
"Well, I have half an hour until I meet my friend, and it's been ever so lonely without you..." She gave him a playful wink, and without waiting from him to speak grabbed his wrist and hauled him upstairs.

He was still tightening his breaches when he made his way down the stairs just over half an hour later. His hair was still damp, and smelt faintly of soap and perfume. He tousled a hand through the thick, dark strands and gave the Innkeeper a curt nod. as he took a seat at the end of the bar. The other patrons paid him no heed - they were busy discussing a ball taking place in the Palace. Darin had been to one of those balls once when he was promoted to Captain; it had been a dire event full of political intrigue and shitty food. He fixed his gaze on the Innkeeper when he returned with a mug of ale. He no longer felt so drunk; a splash in the tub seemed to have cured his ailments, including his shoulder.

"I might 'ave 'eard somethin', Tibor." The Innkeeper spoke quietly while he washed a series of glasses with a less-than-clean rag. "Friend o' mine said he'd 'eard tha' name before, 'pparantly she's some fancy lady, y'know. Up 'er in the company o' minor royals o' somethin'," he said. The Innkeeper's name was Jaaldan; a name that Darin could never attach to anyone else he had ever met, and a man in whom Darin had great faith. He was, after all, a former Ensign whom had served with Darin and now run a successful, if shady, group of smugglers-come-vigilantes.
"What did you hear?"
"Well, this friend o' mine - I gotta keep 'is name a secret, y'know - said tha' he had seen her hangin' ''round some minor royal, or somethin'. any rate, they were both well dressed, y'know, and oen of them 'ad been seen slinkin' 'bout the Palace before."
"What's the womans name?"
"Well, 'pparantly Gwenyth - your sis' - has changed her name to somethin' else, but we couldn't ge' tha' details. Her companion in the Palace is called Mary, o' somethin'."
"Alright. Thanks, Jaal. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Careful. Guard's ou' in force cause o' tha' ball."

Darin left the Inn and stood in the streets for a long time, allowing the chill of the air to sink into his skin. The streets were much quieter now, and most of the people using them were drunks stumbling home after a evening spent in some Inn or another. A pair of guards were standing at the end of the street, armour glinting slightly against the flame of the lamp hanging on the wall beside another Inn. Purposefully, he turned and walked the other way. Jaal had said his sister was somehow slotted in with the Palace, which meant that she might well be at the ball tonight. It was a long shot; she might only be a servant or just a tailor for one of the minor ladies, but it was a shot nonetheless.

He hadn't planned on trying to find his sister; the search had simply been an experiment. Now that he had something to go on though, he had a gnawing urge to check. He hadn't seen his sister since he was twenty-three, and that meeting hadn't gone well. The images of that night haunted him regularly. Idly, he found himself fingering the scar running across his abdomen through his cloak. Before he realised it, he was standing in one of the streets adjacent to the Palace gates. Guards were everywhere, but they were paying little attention to him. A lot of other people seemed to have gathered to stare at the Palace in morose fascination. Realising that he had almost nothing to go on besides the name 'Mary' - if that was even right - Darin sat down on the edge of a large, stone fountain. The sound of the water splashing behind him was somewhat comforting. Now he would wait; if his sister was in that ball, she would leave by these gates. Hopefully.

Patiently, Darin lit a smoke and placed the thin roll of paper between his lips. He rarely smoked, but for some reason he felt unduly stressed tonight. Irrational worry was rare for him, and that only made his anxiety worse. Taking a deep drag, the former Captain tried to reassure himself that nothing was going to go wrong.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Discipline on Fri Oct 08, 2010 11:14 pm

Jeroc Eskerd was never a man of many words.

He hadn't said much when he'd been dragged from the camp in the wilderness, blindfolded, gagged, bound with ropes by invisible hands. Ropes so tight they drew blood every time the rickety wagon that carried him and his meagre possessions bounced up and down on the roads. Ropes so tight that he felt his bones were on the verge of breaking.

He hadn't said much when they sneered at him in a language he knew, but in thick tongues he couldn't understand. They didn't speak like him, like the people he knew. People who laughed at situations, not people they'd disabled and dragged around.

He hadn't said much when the caravan had gotten stuck in a pothole, and while the men who had kidnapped him were distracted, he had chewed the gag and swallowed the hairy thing, keeping down the nausea he felt. He gnawed through the ropes while they stood out of the caravan like complete idiots, wondering how to get the wheel out of the hole, and completely forgetting about the beast of burden they kept attached to the vehicle.

And he'd kept completely silent as he grabbed his rucksack and left, trusty hammer in hand, with them none the wiser.

Now, here he was, in an alien town.

Jeroc had long given up even entertaining the idea that he'd ever get back to his town. It seemed such a funny thought that he had ever wanted to leave the backwater village he called home when he was confronted with this possibility; if he could still feel his dry mouth, he'd have laughed.

As it was, Jeroc was left to wandering the streets of the town, rationing the scraps of food he had prudently packed in his knapsack. The twins had questioned him over and over why he always brought food around. One of them -- he couldn't tell them apart -- suggested it was his fatness. Jeroc suggested that they shut the freak up before he beat their brains out. It wasn't as though it would change their intelligence any, seeing as how they didn't seem to be using their grey matter most of the time in the first place, but he digressed.

His sagacious musings were soon interrupted by the sound of flowing water, getting louder. He stopped moving his legs for a moment, wondering why the sound was getting louder, then noticed an elegant stone fountain about fifteen metres away from him, and realised that it wasn't getting louder. He was just getting closer.

He noticed, too, a man sitting on the rim of the fountain. Jeroc was tempted to yell at him out of nowhere to try to startle him into falling into the fountain, but thought better of it after giving the matter some serious thought. More important to him, really, was the object he was putting to his mouth.

Was that... a cigarette?

Cigarettes meant wealth, at least in his little town. And wealth meant gold.

And gold meant someone could help him find his way home.

Completely uncautious of his surroundings, including the several guards giving him odd looks and murmuring softly to themselves ("Seriously, worn-out clothes were so last season..."), Jeroc speedwalked over to the man, and cleared his throat, trying to get his attention and ignore the cigarette smoke at the same time. "Hello there, sir! Would you happen to know the nearest person with some sort of gold ornament? Preferably one that says 'Est' on it somewhere? It's mine, you see." He postfaced this with a big grin stretched from ear to ear, as though he had just been told he had won the lottery.

After all, to him, gold was forever.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tiko on Sat Oct 09, 2010 6:29 pm

Clarissa tightened her grip on her sling as it whistled through the air around and around, gaining speed as it went. She was determined to show this other girl up and her eyes narrowed on the target as Lyra let the knife loose through the air.

Not a moment later she let fly with the sling, the stone pelting through the air on route to the dagger.

The curve, though unexpected, was nothing new to the young wingly who was more than accustomed to striking moving targets and the stone flew true. However, the distance and timing was but a hairs-width off and rather than knocking the dagger from the air, the stone hurtled past with the slightest grazing of the dagger as it instead pelted against a nearby building.

"What?!" she exclaimed as the stone missed its mark and the dagger struck true, the graze having not been enough friction to throw it off target.

"Well damn." she said as she kicked a foot at the ground huffing loudly while she crossed her arms. She looked rather indignant in that moment, but arrogant and cocky or not, she wasn't a poor sport and she quickly relented to loss as she offered her hand to Lyra in greeting.

A spattering of clapping went up around the crowd that was beginning to disperse and move along. Now that she had been 'beat', she would no doubt have to start gathering a completely new crowd in.

"Not a bad shot." she admitted reluctantly.

"Names Clarissa." she offered.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Avey on Sat Oct 09, 2010 8:53 pm


Lilliana slowly made her way through the crowd, careful not to rub shoulders or bump into anyone. Of course, there were always the casual people who simply would not move when asked to or was just rude to want to bump shoulders with someone. Lilliana watched herself and clung onto her pouch of coins with a tight fist, she didn’t want to be pocketed, it took her quiet awhile to gain this much coin. Stray strands of her hair fell back into her face and took a dirty hand to remove them. She felt disgusting, in need of a long bath and maybe a nap. She would come back down to the festival when she was feeling less crabby about the world; maybe she would feel much better then.

The Inn slowly appeared into her view, but her thoughts were occupied on something else, her family. Something in her wanted to visit them, but then again her sister’s words a few years back told her otherwise. A scowl appeared on her lightly tanned face as she entered the Inn. Strange stares watched Lilli for a moment as she entered the Inn, and took a seat at the bar. As she sat, she let out a heavy sigh of relief and pulled off her swords, setting them on the counter, then her cloak setting it on top of the swords. Lilliana wasn’t too fond of wearing too much armor, she felt it always weighed her down and her cloak, swords and bag were enough to do that.

She wore a short white blouse with a black under bust corset that buckled in the front of it. Her leather pants were slightly tight but not so much were she couldn’t move around in it. Lilliana straightened her blouse and looked up at the Innkeeper. "“May I have a room for the night and a bottle of wine,”" Lilliana spoke softly to the woman. The Inn looked oddly different from what she remembered last time, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. The female innkeeper returned with a bottle of wine and a key to her room on the second floor."“Thanks hun,”" Lilliana said, a small smile spreading on her face, setting enough coins on the table to stay for the night and then some if she had to. The inn was booming with business from people who had came to visit the city during the festival as well as people who have came to simply sit and relax before rejoining the festivities.

“You are quite the lucky one, you got the last available room,” the Innkeeper said to Lilliana. Lilliana looked up at the woman and nodded her head opening the bottle. "“I would suppose so,”" she shrugged taking a sip from her wine. She glanced at the bottle and twirled her index finger over the rim of the small bottle. The inn was quite loud, full of drunken men betting on who could drink the most and young women gossiping silently amongst themselves. The eyes of the Innkeeper stared at the red head like she knew or remembered her from somewhere. “You from around here? You look awfully familiar.” Lilliana’s body slightly tensed . . .her luck just ran out. "“No. . ."" she paused ""I don’t think you do.”" Lilliana eyed the old woman before grabbing her swords and throwing them over her shoulder. "“Anyway thanks for the wine and the room.”" She continued, grabbing the rest of her things rushing up towards her room.

Her room was quite dark and there was a slight aroma of musk that made her nose flare. Her hand rubbed the back of her neck as she let out a sigh, walking into the room taking in the place. It was dimly lit with candles, enough to light up the room, but not enough to dissipate the darkness. “Cozy.” She placed her things on the floor by the table desk, and placed her swords next to her on the bed. Emptying out her bag she laid out fresh clothing to put on once she was done with her bathing.

Running warm water, Lilliana began to slowly peel off her clothing, appreciative and glad that she will have a chance to relax for an hour or so. Walking into the other room, she grabbed her vanilla scented perfume and her bottle of wine. Taking a sip from her wine she slowly slipped her way into the water closing her eyes.

After an hour later, Lilliana sat on her bed, inhaling the vanilla scented aroma that she had brought with her from the bathing room. Tying up her long wet hair, she braided it to make sure that it did not poof up when it dried. Getting dress into a dark green short dress she decided that she was in a better mood than she was before and slipped on her knee high black boots. “Alright, here we go again,” she said with a smile standing to her feet, strapping her dagger back onto upper thigh under her dress. She decided to only take one sword and her coins just enough that would last her through the day and returned to the festivities while she still could.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jehanne on Thu Oct 14, 2010 3:58 pm

Mile Seaseau -- Approx. 15 Years Ago During Reign of Cheslai
A sparrow lay on the ground; a broken wing laying it defenseless before any of its predators that may come along. It preened its feathers, raised its head, and tasted Jasmine, downwind, just a little ways. It had no fear of what was to come; it simply rested dumb and wild and free.

~Ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home~” The singing, and the girl it originated from stopped. She picked it up in the palms of her hands. “Little bird: are you hurt?”

“Young Miss! Come back here this instant!”

“Hush, little bird:” The girl whispered as she hid the bird under her dressing. “I shall take you to my brother; he should know what to do with you.”

13 Years Later -- the Mile Seaseau Border with Serdio
“O’er there! Yer too loud!” A middle-aged inebriate yelled to the adjacent cell. The noise in question was a series of raking coughs coming from its occupant. The complaint was ignored as this continued until the wheezing man spat out a mixture of blood and saliva. He felt around in the dark and picked up a small pin that had been lodged in his throat. Mumbling something about not swallowing the pin next time, he went up to his cell door and unlocked it rather painlessly. He checked for a clear coast and went on towards his goal.

Upon the clink of the lock the lush perked up and walked up to the bars. “Ey~ buddy, you-you gonna help a poor ol’ man from a turn of bad luck?”
The escapee coughed “Eh? What’s that, you old souse? I can’t hear over my coughing.”
The drunkard sobered up a little, “Listen, sonny. Let me out of here, or I yell for the guard.”
“Okay, okay...” he raised his hands up in surrender, he began his motion to rig the lock but instead took the alcoholic by surprise [a very easy feat to accomplish] grabbing his collar and pulling so as to knock his head against the bars. It worked splendidly: he was out cold. “God, you’re drunk.”

Finding his way around the building, the fugitive found the location of the evidence room. He sloppily broke the handle off and got through the door. He needed to be quick: he simply needed something from there to bring back as proof that the shipment could be recovered. He’d be a fool to try to get it all on his own. As expected, contraband filled the room: munitions, firearms and artillery. He kneeled down to check for a quality weapon that would convince the buyers the shipment was worth it; he needn’t lose any more money than he already would in this transaction. Just then, he had the worst shiver go down his spine.

He did a heel turn just in time to be buttstroked in the face by a guard, falling back into a crate of minor explosives. Before he got any more of a disadvantage, the criminal threw a bag of black powder. He could tell that the guard was inexperienced and thus hoped that he could just slip out while he was blind. There was a problem: as he wiped his nose of blood [yeah... it was broken] he heard a metallic click. Surely no one was that daft; the air was practically saturated with powder. A slender barrel flashed before his face.

The idiot...

Acting solely on instinct, the fugitive ran up and tackled the guard out of the evidence storage. Spinning around so the guard landed on top of him, he broke some ribs upon impact. However, the body was used to shield against the shrapnel, leaving only the flames to be dealt with by rolling and discarding a couple items of clothing. It was easy enough to escape now -- considering they were concerned with the whole place burning down.

And thus, conspicuously through the night, tail between his legs, our heroic deserter staggered back to his hiding place.

“The hell were you, Whippoorwill!” A young associate asked his newly escaped partner as he walked into the hideaway. “And why are you naked, burnt and bloody?”
“Not Whippoorwill; It’s... Magpie.” he paused to consider a new alias off the top of his head.
“Ah, hells, It went that badly? Please tell me we can at least recover the Goods.”
Magpie avoided the question as he stripped down to the nude and tossed the clothes to his accomplice. “Burn the evidence: can’t very well get out of here smelling like a smokehouse.”
“Burn the evidence says he! You’ve really messed up this time haven’t you?” The complaints made their way to the other room as new clothes were fetched.
“The shipment has been... compromised.” He admitted as he splashed water over himself, ridding himself of the soot before running his hand through his blonde beard. “I’ll need some henna while you’re over there. I’m also have to shave… perhaps grow out my hair and lose some of this excess weight I’ve put on. I’m taking the remainder of our stock; I’ll have to get by on that.”
The clothes were tossed over. “
“The atmospheric pressure’s callin’ for a shitstorm and I’m not about to stay in town to watch the show.”
Damn, Magpie.” The associate was obviously not used to the name change. “You sure you’ll be okay? We barely have any inventory after this seizure.”
“It’ll be fine.” The fugitive smiled. “Magpies can be migratory, right?”

Present Day -- Basil Festival
Amidst the crowd and cheers -- amidst the drunks and delinquents -- amidst the gambler’s gaffes and groins -- stood a Magpie making himself busy as the working bookie. There were many bets being placed on the two girls, and people often had trouble keeping track of debts. In fact, sometimes money might just “disappear” and with a slight of hand nobody would be the wiser. One had to be very careful on how greedy one chose to be while doing so however.

In the end, the Magpie had only taken a small percentage of the money that had exchanged hands. However, he didn’t care, for he only needed it to fund the next part of the trick. Magpie walked up to the small girl -- the Winglie with the sling -- and introduced himself with a bow. “Hello, miss. Quite the show you put on there. I am one known as Magpie.” He let out a surprisingly sincere-looking smile as a faint Tiberoan accent danced along his tongue [one he had spent months to make natural sounding].

A headscarf lied lightly upon his head and his dress shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel. With every breath one drew in one might catch the smell of watery milk and fresh soft wood emanating from this strange bird. As a merchant [he has many occupations], he found that once they caught a whiff, the market people would then notice his slight figure and the single finger that was missing for each hand. They became curious as to how such a seemingly successful merchant would be so down on his luck. Then, perhaps they would ask out of mere formality; and he would respond, in kind, by dancing around the subject through some pixie magic and make them genuinely curious. He would then spin a sad yarn so as if to make himself out to be a poor brave soul in some romantic tragedy. Sometimes he would be an escaped prisoner of war; others, a young widower who had lost his one true love. He found that people who heard such stories were much less likely to haggle or call him out on his highball prices. Sometimes, even, when he was lucky enough to find women of the fair to be naïve, they would fill his pockets with nuts or dried pears for he seemed to them so hungry and helpless.

“You are good but I don’t imagine street performance to pay all too handsomely. Thus, I have a proposition -- provided, of course, you are of interest. I am need of immediate assistance in a matter that’s very crucial to me, you see, but won’t take but half an hour of your time. I am willing to pay an advance fee.” He jingled a small purse containing the ‘borrowed’ gold “We could talk about even more payment afterword, be it your fancy.” He awaited her response, but looked eager to go, as if he had not much time to attend to said matter.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mid on Fri Oct 15, 2010 1:39 am


Tall and elegant as always, Tabitha stood before the hearth, alone in her bedroom, eyes fixed on the dying flames. It was already near one in the morning. Delicate fingers tapped against her lips impatiently, stopping at the sound of a knock. Dropping her hand she took a moment to compose herself before uttering the words, "Come in."

Within moments Hilda stood before her only to drop to her knees in one graceful sweep. With her head bowed, Hilda waited for a command. "Your report?"

"Everything is going as scheduled." Hilda was always eager to please her mistress, no matter the costs.

"Wonderful." A smile graced her features which made her look less threatening, softer even. "I want you to take care something for me." She made her way to Hilda and placed a hand beneath the woman's chin, lifting her up. They were nose to nose, inhaling each other's scent like animals. "Do you think you can handle this?"

There was a tremble as Hilda opened her lips to speak, "A-anything for you, Mistress..."



Placing her hands against his chest, Meredith pushed Namel away as a fit of giggles overcame her. A smile crossed his lips as a hand caressed her cheek, "Why Ms. Meredith, I don't think I've ever seen you like this..."

"Sh...shh...!" She whispered as her hand fumbled behind her for the doorknob; a flush made her cheeks rosier then normal. "You'll wake everyone up!"

"Maybe that was my intention all along?" He replied wickedly as one hand found hers on the knob and the other followed her jawline. He leaned in for a kiss only to meet the sting of a hand against his cheek. "Absolutely not!" Pushing him away for the final time, Meredith opened the door and gave him a final glance, "I am a lady not a shallow whore."

As the door slammed in his face, Namel laughed. "Of course you aren't..."

With her back against the door, Meredith trembled a bit and placed a hand over her heart, feeling it jump. Her eyes glanced at the ring, it was a beautiful ring made of white gold where two birds met in the middle. She smiled and proceeded to undress, stumbling over the rug from time to time. Left in a cotton blouse, she fell under the sheets and closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Get up..." A woman's voice called to her from within.

As her eyes fluttered open, Meredith caught the glint of a blade and rolled to her left as it came crashing down into her pillow. Falling off the side of her bed, Meredith took a quick sweep around the room and saw a total of four men, all dressed in black from head to toe. The man with the knife ripped the pillow off and tossed it to the side to join the other men who began circling her, like prey.

With a baited breath, Meredith saw her sword across the room. She sighed and shook her head, "In the middle of the night? Honestly, have you no manners?" She asked before beckoning the guy with the knife forward. He came charging at her, with his right arm raised to strike. She moved to the side, leaving her foot out for him to fall. There was no time to see her results as another came swinging at her, Meredith blocked a punch with her arm and kneed him in the groin.

Her smirk disappeared as a punch came crashing into her head. Falling to her knees, Meredith groaned as a piece of rope was placed around her neck. She attempted to fight it but soon her vision began to blur.


"Bwahahaahaa! And then..." A rowdy young man with regalia hair slammed his jug on the counter. "And then the lass had the nerve to ask me for a rump in the hay." A few jeers where heard and someone spoke out, "Well, did you oblige?"

"Did I? Did I you say?" A grin crept on the man's graceful features, "But of course I did! What man wouldn't?" Applause broke out along with shouts of laughter, "Now now, as promised. Next rounds on me." With a wink and some disappointed sighs, Veles got up and headed over to the counter with a smile, "Ah, Barman! A round for the house on me."

Quickly the barman busied himself while Veles tapped his fingers along the counter what sounded like a tune. His eyes caught sight of the Knight who seemed a bit troubled. "Well I'll be..." He said before taking a seat next to Kael. "Names Veles." He said, holding out his hand to the Knight. "Are you waiting for someone or looking for someone?" Veles tilted his head to the side, his purple locks flowing off his shoulders.

"You know, I'm actually glad I came upon you. You see... I was wondering if you could deliver a gift for me." Tracing the rim of his cup, Veles dropped his eyes a little dramatically. "I mean, I am not implying you are some kind of errand boy. No, no no." He chuckled lightly, "I'm well aware of your... Knightly duties however, it would save me a lot of trouble since I have to get out of town and all to do more important things, you see..."

He sighed rather dramatically, "I was just on my way to see the King to drop off a package he requested, however it would seem that I have more ambassador things to attend too that is far more urgent. So if you could just deliver this package for him, please?" He took out something wrapped in brown paper, "And make sure it is only him who opens it? This is very top secret stuff, ya know? Don't want it to get into the wrong hands and all that." Veles smiled and winked at Kael, "The name is Ambassador Veles Lyn Da'Baar. They should know me."

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jersh on Sat Oct 16, 2010 12:57 pm

-Current Location, Basil-

Ralf had never seen so many people gathered in once place before!

He had followed the trail from his village onto a much wider road that had shown signs of decades of travel. Hooves, wagons and countless feet had trampled the ground into a smooth path. It was going along this road that he had run across several other travelers and merchants that told him of this grand city, and the festival they were currently holding.

"A festival?" Ralf had questioned the merchants and they had told him many tales of open marketplaces, exotic foods the likes of which has never been seen and even men that breathed fire!. As soon as Ralf crested the hill overlooking the mass of buildings, he knew that this was beyond the scope the mere words in his books could describe to him. He waded his way through the crowd, trying his best not to crash into the throngs of people milling about the area. Despite his agility, he managed to bump into a few people along the way... but he could have sworn they had almost wanted to brush against him!

Ralf saw a large group of people gathered around a pair of girls shaking hands, but whatever action had occurred there he had missed. The crowd broke apart and they wandered off to find more entertainment. Ralf sighed as his rotten luck and noted a large building in the distance with some type of writing along a wooden sign hanging above the door. Ralf reasoned it must be one of those Inns that he had been told about my the merchants. A place where a man could purchase a good meal and a room for the night. As he creaked open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room, he did not expect the inn to be this.... dirty. Drunken men stumbled around moving from table to table carrying large flagons of ale that spilled bit of amber liquor with every movement. The whole room seemed to be competing to be heard as loud as each man seemed to be shouting boasts of wenches being bedded or besting someone on the field of battle. There was a slight haze in the air from exotic weeds being smoked by a fair potion of the crowd who was not drowning themselves in drink. Comely women were carrying around trays lined with more tankards of ale but more importantly to Ralf they had some decent looking food.

Seeing an empty seat along a long counter where a man with a well groomed beard was wiping dirty glasses with a rag, Ralf sat down gently on the stool. The man gave him an odd look sort of look and shrugged, motioning to a sign behind him with some description of what was available in the kitchen of from the store of spirits they kept behind this counter. As Ralf perused the menu he also spotted a few heavy-set men standing along the sides of establishment. Every now and then when someone was being a little too rowdy, one of them would intercept the troublemakers and smack the ruffian up a little bit before tossing them out the door. Ralf gulped nervously every time he heard a man yell as he was tossed out the door like the contents of a chamber pot.

"Um.... I would like a bowl of your stew please... with some bread and a bit of water" Ralf said to the bartender, who have him a scowl. It seemed this man did not like anyone who didn't have the stomach for some of his fine stock. Nonetheless in no more than a couple minutes, a mildly warm bowl of stew and a hunk of barely fresh bread lay in front of him. With the fervor of a man who had only been scavenging what berries and game he could find in the forests, Ralf dug into his meal with relish. The stew was surprisingly good, Ralf had never tasted whatever spices had been added to enhance the flavor. In what must have been a record time, Ralf finished the last chunk of bread and washed it down by draining his glass of water.

"That will be a gold piece for the meal buddy" The bartender said and held out his hand for payment.

"Yes, certainly. It was well worth the price" Ralf said and slipped his hand down his side to retrieve his pouch of money. It was only as his hand brushed against empty air he realized that it had been missing for quite some time. His mind flashed back to the first person who had bumped into him, a young man who had apologized with a superior look in his face. And every other person who had bumped into him afterwards had a disappointed look on their faces. That thief! had had stolen the money his family had sacrificed so that he could go out and explore the world! Ralf came out of his contemplations to find the bartender staring hard at him and Ralf felt the presence of more than one of those burly thugs he had seen early against the walls, only now they were standing on either side of him.

"I am sorry sir... it seems a thief has stolen my money, I am sure we can come to an agreeme-" Ralf began to explain how he would work off the debt. It seemed the bartender had heard this story before because with a simple nod to the two men on either side, one of them lifted a meaty first and launched it into Ralf's belly. The end of his sentence came on in a wheeze as the other man wound up his arm for his own turn to take a little revenge on someone trying to skip the bill. The second punch never landed close as Ralf thrust one of his hands along the inside of the man's hand and pushed the attack down to miss the mark completely and throw the man off balance. Ralf put himself into a backwards roll, barely missing upending a table as he came back to his feet.

"Please, I don't want any trouble!" Ralf tried to reason with them again, but realized his attempts were futile as a chair soared at him. Ralf ducked and turned to the side and the stool crashed into the chest of a sitting man, sending him sprawling over backwards. There was a moment of silence as everyone in the room stopped and stared. Ralf realized this must be the proverbial calm before the storm. Then the air was filled with thrown chairs, tankards of ale, makeshift clubs and punches. The flurry of movement let Ralf make it to the door before he felt and hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting out. A spinning reverse elbow caught his would-be-captor right along the side of his head, sending him sprawling back into the melee, to be jumped on by two of the serving girls, their fingernails drawing lines of blood across his dazed face. Three more of the guards still face him though and one of them was wielding a broken table leg as a club.

"Umm... please stop?" Ralf asked though he knew the point was moot. The first one to charge at Ralf was the first to feel his nose shatter as he collided with Ralf's foot as he thrust it straight forward to use the bigger man's momentum to add to the impact. A flicked of movement caught Ralf's attention and he lifted his forearm to block the impact of the table leg. His arm went numb from the blow but he managed to avoid any seriously damage. The more pressing problem was the fact that he now had the club-wielder in front of him and the other unarmed guard moving to flank him. Ralf fell into a state of calm he had always seemed to enter whenever the adrenaline began flowing through his body and the fist thrusting at his face seemed to move in slow motion. A shortened uppercut from Ralf intercepted the man's wild punch right along the bottom of his wrist, the resulting crack of bone precluded the howl of pain as his wrist broke. Knowing the man was not out of the fight, Ralf jumped up and wrapped his hands around the injured man's head and pulled it down the same time he was driving his knee upwards to smash right into the fools head.

The wounded guard wondered why all of a sudden he saw two Ralf's rather than one, the answer was clear as his eyes cross and he fell backwards onto the ground with a heavy thump. Ralf spun around as he landed and swept his leg at the last guard, the one wielding the table leg. The guard stepped back from the attack and looked rather proud of himself to avoiding the attack, only to see Ralf continue his spin with little loss to his moment and leaping up in a spinning kick that just barely missed the dodging guard's head. With a final and third spin, Ralf launched a roundhouse kick straight into the off-balance man's belly. The club fell to the wooden floor as the man doubled over in pain, though Ralf's double handed chop to the back of his neck freed him from his pain and into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.

Ralf darted out of the tavern as soon as he launched that last attack and tried to blend in with the curious onlookers as he quickly moved away from the building just as the town guard started to show up to break up the riot. Ralf was thoroughly shaken from this encounter and as he looked at the massive bruise forming on his left arm he knew he had been far too careless. Cities like this may be wondrous on the surface, but now Ralf knew there was danger to be found as well. Ralf winced as another wave of pain rolled out from his arm and figured he should wander to he marketplace and try to find a way to pay for some medicinal herbs.

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Re: The rebirth

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Vyral on Sun Oct 17, 2010 3:29 am

What little light there had been when Darin arrived was beginning to dim rapidly, and now the square in which he sat was a shaded imitation of its daylight self. The temperature had plummeted, and he could see the guards shivering, their chain-mail little protection from the harsh elements. While he sat, smoke drooping in his mouth, a wagon trundled past with creaking wheels and the clap of hooves on the cobbles. A stocky man steered the cart along the road, his cargo a dozen or so barrels of mead. He gave Darin a cautious glance as he passed, and the Captain saw the men reflexively stroke the knife resting on his hip.

Grubby-faced, the man climbed from his cat and glanced at the grand anxiously while his son cried beside him. Afraid, the boys father offered the child no comforting words, no consoling touch. His mother lay in the mud beside him, blood flowing freely from his nose and mouth while she whimpered. He had been in the military only a few years, but these horrors had become familiar to him. The horror of these things had dulled over time; it was only war, after all. He watched the Officer beat the woman again and again while her family watched without a word - when the child went to move his father finally touched him, if only to grind his knuckles across the boys jaw. Watching on, the young soldier tried to ignore the tears streaming across his own dirt-smothered face. He told himself what he already knew; there was nothing he could do.

Because he was watching the cart disappear into the gloom, Darin didn't notice Jeroc until the short man was right before him.

Smoke clouded around his face while he stared at the stocky man, creeping tendrils hanging in the still night air. He remained perfectly silent for almost a full minute while his piercing eyes took in Jeroc. Wide-set and with a thick build, the man looked overweight and stifled. Even while Darin sat Jeroc barely stood above him. With a deliberate slowness he removed the cigarette from his lips and tossed it into the swirling fountain. A tiny hiss cut through the silence as the smouldering tip was extinguished. Whoever this man was, red faced and with swollen eyes, Darin did not appreciate his company. Straightening his hood so that the shadows were cast deeper across his face, the former Captain replied in a harsh, bitter voice.

"Are you begging, fat man?"

His words were as harsh as the freezing maws of the night, but long since had his sympathy for others been worn down likes the soles of his boots. Upon standing up, Darin towered half a foot over the Goldsmith, although the smaller man possessed a wider girth. Even so, the Captain bent his head a little and spoke softly to the man.

"What about walking up to a man in the dead of night did you imagine would be productive, beggar?"

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