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Lysa Martell

"Now... let's show these demons who's boss...."

0 · 856 views · located in Waldria

a character in “Beasts And Bloodshed”, as played by rubytuesday



{“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”}

|{Full Name}|
Lysandria Desdemona Martell

Lysa | Everyone | Always | Likes |

( 17-25)

Heteroromantic | Demisexual

Lysa was born in Waldria, however, when her parents passed, she came to Earth to live with her uncle.

|{Blood Type}|
Her father was a tamer, and her mother was an ordinary human, so she is a halfblood.

Lysa is not a very imposing individual to look upon. At first glance, one would very doubtfully expect much of her in terms of ferocity and strength. And if one knew he was a tamer, you'd probably assume that she had control over a race such as the pixies or the mermaids. This is perhaps because she looks somewhat faery-like herself, what with her petite frame and height, that, whilst not short, is hardly towering, at 5'5". Her complexion is a clear and fair shade of olive, with little to know blemishes to speak of, save for a V-shaped birthmark on her hip, and an about-two-and-a-bit-cm burn scar on the back of her right hand from when she was trying to make stirfry.

Demons are like birds, in that they have many different sub-species within their own circle, and they have perhaps the most variety amongst the creatures of Waldria. Demons also have multiple ways to reproduce, from being incarnated from the sinful thoughts of an individual, to the typical asexual or sexual reproduction amongst one or two parent demons. The former demons are usually the most powerful, and often epitomize the sins from which they have spawned, with incubi and succubi being born from lust and goblins from greed, and so on and so forth. Demons can be frightfully hideous, and ethereally beautiful, and possess a wide variety of powers and abilities depending on the subspecies. Demons are said to be the oldest of the Waldrian species, and are wide in numbers, save for a few, extremeluy rare subspecies. They are often quite defiant and difficult to control, especially if they strongly dislike or loathe their current tamer. However, they have yet to develop any strong hatred for Lysa, so she is able to control them without too much effort.

|{Hobbies || Talents}|
Painting and Sketching | To be honest, art is one of the few things Lysa can do without revealing her klutzy ways. She almost seems to develop a new persona when behind a brush, a graceful, delicate person with a refined and beautiful talent, as opposed to her typical sarcastic, slightly cynical self.
Reading People | Something she learnt from her time with the demons is her strange ability to sense the emotions and thoughts beyond a person's exterior. It is nowhere near magical, but she does have the inane ability to tell whether or not someone is lying to her.
Playing the Piano or Cello | A typical way for Lysa to vent, she can sit for hours playing, often writing pretty melodies as she goes.
Wit and Quick Thinking | Lysa may very well have learnt this trait from her uncle, who was and is the polar opposite of Lysa's late father. Whereas Alaric was a near-genius, with a vast knowledge of the sciences, Corben is sharp and clever, able to twist and play with his words in order to get himself out of tricky situations or convince people to do things they weren't previously sure of. Lysa isn't quite to this extent, rather, she is, like Corben, in ownership of a sharp mind and wit, but her charisma is a little lacking, and she lacks the tact that Corben has spent his forty-two years developing.

|{Fears || Weaknesses}|
Losing the People Close To Her | Fear | To Lysa, there is nothing more frightful that finding oneself alone in this world. The idea of losing her uncle terrifies her, and so sometimes it comes as a relief that he's far too cowardly and light-hearted to get himself into a real danger or trouble. Sometimes.
Never Amounting to Anything | Fear | The idea that she might never do anything worth mentioning frightens Lysa, as her desire to become something is an intense one.
Cooking | Weakness | Let's just say that, if Lysa does become something, it sure as hell ain't going to be a chef. Her clumsiness and inability to conjure up anything particularly edible in the kitchen squashes this possibility flat.
Forgetful and Clumsy | Weakness | Lysa is prone to dropping and breaking things, and to be honest, often finds herself amazed that she hasn't lost her key. Although that is less thanks to her not-so-sharp memory and more thanks to the key's magical ability of always finding its way back to her.
Reckless | Weakness | When it comes to thinking ahead, Lysa is not the most tactical of individuals. She tends to act before she thinks, especially when riled up, and is painfully stubborn.

|{Way To Waldria}|
Lysa is never without her key necklace, which acts as, well, a key. When she wishes to journey to or from Waldria, she simply takes the key and places it into into thin air, this blank space with act as a door, and she will be able to turn the key in this invisible lock, and open the door to the other realm. Her necklace allows her to take passengers, but only one or two at most, and she must be touching them, else the door will vanish before her passengers are able to follow.
She has long, fair, auburn tresses that often tangle as though possessing a mind of their own, and these locks, when down, fall to before her elbows in wild, often tussled waves. Lysa's eyes are a very dark shade of brown, encircled by thick, dark lashes of a much blacker tone than her auburn hair. They are quite large, and sit above a straight, white smile and beneath a pair of fair, straight brows. She has two piercings in each earlobe, and once contemplated a naval piercing, but never had 'the guts' to go through with it, and she tends to wear trousers and jeans rather than skirts and dresses.

|{Family Tree}
| Mother | Jane Martell | Deceased |
| Father | Alaric Martell | Deceased |
| Uncle | Corben Martell | Alive | 42 |


Lysa is quite a fiery individual, stubborn to a fault, and with words than can very quickly turn to scorching embers if directed at someone that she dislikes. She is quite sarcastic, with a cool and quick wit that can be both cutting and humorous, and she often finds herself pitted in a battle of quips against her uncle, Corben. She is brave, and hardly the sort to back down from a fight, but also rather reckless and impulsive, prone to acting on emotion rather than tact or logic. She is intelligent, but more street smart than academic, although that being said, she lacks the smooth charm and hypnotic charisma often found in the typically 'street' characters. She can be quite cynical, and her odd talent taught to her by the demons over which she cares has left her somewhat distrusting, with a difficulty to create strong bonds and emotional connections. She is rather klutzy, prone to spells of forgetfulness, and her impulsiveness often has herself in awkward situations. She is passionate and strong-willed, and when she gets intrigued by something, she could very well spend an eternity yearning after it. Her curiosity is insatiable, and her personality slightly jaded.

Lysa's parents met all thanks to her uncle, Corben. That being said, if Corben's original intentions had gone according to plan, it would have been him going on romantic dates with Jane, and not his handsome, over-achieving older brother. Alaric, Lysa's father, and Corben, Lysa's uncle, came from a long and legendary line of Tamers. The Martells had been Taming the demons for generations, so it was much to Grandfather and Grandmother Martell's anger and horror when they found that their first son not only was a lazy and aimless moocher, but also lacked any Taming ability whatsoever. Their second and youngest son, however, was far more 'Martell calibre', with a noble and honourable air, a gentlemanly nature and, most importantly, an impressive talent when it came to Talent. This all being said, their was no bad blood between the two brothers. Corben was treated as a second string, but he couldn't care less, and the fact that he was physically unable to Tame didn't stir jealousy in him, because, quite frankly, he wouldn't have done such a thing even if he could. When Alaric took Corben from their home in Waldria to see Earth, Corben quickly decided that he preferred it. He liked cars. Led Zeppelin. Light bulbs.

So Corben chose to stay.

Two years later, Alaric decided to visit his brother, and made his way to Corben's flat. The apartment block was home to a number of Waldrians, and had been for decades, with the landlord family well aware of their tenants' peculiar origins. The current landlord's name was Elias Park, and he lived with his daughter Jane in the first floor apartment. Jane was a beautiful young woman, and Corben, as per his typical ways, had spent the past four months trying to win her over, with no luck. Then along came Alaric.

In as cliche a manner as one can use, it was love at first sight. Well, actually, love at first tripped-over-and-spilt-hot-coffee-over-the-other's-crotch-and-then-tried-to-cool-it-down-using-old-brown-water-from-the-flower-vase.

Corben grudgingly 'gave her up' (as he put it), and Alaric ended up staying much longer than he'd previously planned. The pair moved to Waldria when Jane fell pregnant, and their daughter spent the first four years of her life in Waldria. However, tragedy struck, when Jane and Alaric died in a fire that engulfed their home. Lysa was extremely lucky to have survived the accident, but was brought by a fellow Tamer to Earth to live with her uncle. She has lived there ever since.

|{Theme Song}
Move Along || All American Rejects
Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking
When you fall everyone stands
Another day and you've had your fill of sinking
With the life held in your
Hands are shaking cold
These hands are meant to hold

Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong
Move along, move along like I know you do
And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
Move along

Also optional. Can be about anything you want; your character, your personality, how many times a week you’ll post, what you ate for breakfast this morning…anything.

|{Face Claim}
Jessica Jung

Character Dialogue || #6E1538

So begins...

Lysa Martell's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Ulfrik Greymane Character Portrait: Lysa Martell Character Portrait: Ramona Marlowe Character Portrait: Nirvana Elria Character Portrait: Clarissa Rivers Character Portrait: Theodore Herrick Character Portrait: Lee Chen Su Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare
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Time: Early morning, a few hours after sunrise.
Temperature: Still a bit chilly, but gradually growing warmer.
Climate: Summer is starting to come to a close. Despite the warm rays of sun that still beat upon Waldria's terrain, leaves are changing colors, some animals are preparing for hiberation, and multicolored mushrooms are sprouting out of the earth. The sounds of the forest are quiet and tranquil. Everything is calm.



He wasn't used to these comical sounds and smells. Horns honking out of metal contraptions, clouds of dirty smoke filling his nostrils; this was far from the wonderland his brother had described long ago. Either that, or he had wandered down the wrong rabbit hole.

"Sorry! Sorry..." he said, apologizing to all of the passersby he was blocking. Stationed in the middle of the sidewalk, he was trying to fulfill a task for his myths, the elves. The problem was, he didn't know how.

"Do you need help with that?" asked a young man about his age.

He chuckled, a hint of nervousness pouring out from his smile. "Oh, no...I got it. Thank you!" he said. Reluctantly, the man nodded, and continued on his merry way.

Percival was trying to figure out how to take a snapshot of the streets and signs that displayed the words Montreal, Canada - the city where he was standing. He was using this little black device people nonchalantly called a "camera". He had been fiddling with it for what seemed like eternity, and now people were starting to stare. But why should they? The tiny machine was awfully complicated to use! Still, it wasn't like he had time to paint a portrait of his surroundings.

"Excuse me, son," tapped an old lady with a gregarious smile, "are you sure you know how to use that?"

Percival Greymane stared at her, then at the infernal device he was holding, and then back at her again.

"I'd like to be a proud man and say that I do, but in all honesty, miss...I really don't."

Her eyebrows raised. She snickered, but not in a judgemental manner. "Well, it's not as hard as you think," she laughed, "although it seems difficult at first. Took me two hours to learn how to use that model, and I've been a photographer all my life!"

"Then perhaps you can help me, miss?"

She looked puzzled. "Help you how?"

"Could you possibly take a picture of the street and the people around here? I need to show this area to some...friends of mine."

Her brows furrowed in suspicion for a moment, and then she shrugged. "Why of course I can! Just don't tell my patrons I'm taking this one for free...heh heh!"

He cautiously handed her the camera, and she flicked through the settings, holding the device to her eye and finally pressing down the top button. A clicking sound was heard. The young man was stupefied. It was as though she were able to perform this foreign magic that he was unable to comprehend. Nontheless, she had gotten the job done, and displayed on the camera's screen was a still image of the busy Canadian streets.

He thanked her and she winked. "Anytime, young man." she said, slowly sauntering away. Staring down at the photograph like it was a national treasure, (which it really was when he came to think about it), Percival escaped to a back alleyway, where he turned his pin three times and jumped into the blue portal that appeared in front of him.

When the flash of light faded away, the king of Waldria found himself right in the middle of the elves' camp - only a mile away from the castle where he resided.

Almost instantly, Edwenor, the Elven chief, was there to greet him. He was slendor, black-haired, and the spitting image of a wise, old man. Still, due to his imortality, he didn't look a day over thirty.

"Do you have it?" he asked. Percy nodded and showed him the picture on the screen. The elf's eyes narrowed. Meticulously, he scanned over the pixels with unwavering eyes.

"So this is where Prince Ulfrik wants us to migrate. A slum. Who does he take us for," Edwenor scoffed, "reckless dwarves?"

The king quickly responded. "This is but a fraction of Earth. However, seeing as elves are the most human-like of myths, a communal place like this is probably where you would have to reside. You could thrive in wilderness, but due to laws and customs of the people, your daily life probably would not be the same. You could live, yes...but not as free folk."

Edwenor nodded. His thumb put upon his lip to signify that he was deep in thought, he paced back and forth, his green cape flapping behind him like a flag in the wind. "We'll have to mull this over with the others," he muttered, "but for the time present, thank you, your majesty."

Percy nodded, swiftly leaving the camp and retreating into the woods.

He followed the winding road that would lead him back to the castle gates. He could see the structure in the distance; beige stones that made up the roofs and spires that shined through the trees. A beautiful sight, and a wonderful place to call home.

Still, it didn't feel like home. It felt like a structure. A place to eat, sleep, and work - nothing more. He sighed. There was a lot on his mind, and he just needed to think. He was still disguised in apparel that made him look as though he came straight off the streets of Montreal, and so if someone were to encounter him right there, they probably would not have recognized him as the king.

So as he rummaged through the leather drawstring pack that was still slung over his shoulders, Percival decided that he would take this quiet opportunity to study. Her perched himself on the nearest tree stump, pulled out a large, dusty book that recalled the family trees of all past Waldrian monarchs, and silently began to flip through the pages. Aside from his light breathing, the chirping of birds were the only sounds that could be heard.



Cat-like eyes carefully stared into the flowing stream. Every trickle of the water could throw off the arrow's accuracy, and since survival was its purpose, it needed to shoot straight. Just then, the pool splashed and bubbled, and the shaft was released from the quiver into the spray below. It sank for a few seconds, and then slowly bobbed back up, revealing a silver fish that had been impaled by its touch. Breakfast was served.

A fire waiting for her, Ramona took the dead trout and headed into the vegetation, removing her arrow from its limp fins. She then stuck a sharpened stick through her meal, and lit it in the flame. She couldn't think of anything besides how hungry she was. The girl was skinny enough as it was - she didn't need any more stomach growls to keep her awake at night.

Charred enough, she blew on the hot fish, peeled it open, and munched on the juicy flesh. She threw the grey scales into the dirt, and paused as she heard a booming sound coming from nearby. She sighed. Clearly, she wasn't the only one with an appetite for fish this morning.

When she reached the lake again, she rolled her eyes as she approached Maja, the big, black wyvern dragon. The most troublesome of the creatures she protected, the female beast was friendly and loveable, yet prone to jealousy.

"Here," Ramona sighed again, snapping the trout in half and throwing the unbitten parts to Maja. The dragon quickly snapped its jaws, catching the fish in mid-air. She gave a ground-shaking purr, and moved in closer to the tamer girl, allowing the human to pet the shining scales between her eyes and nose.

Two minutes later, that same tamer girl was looking upon the woods from the clouds above. It was a usual hobby to ride the backs of her dragons in order to explore various destinations. The wind rushing through her hair, skin, and everything inbetween, Ramona gushed in the moment, deciding that today she would further decipher the mystery that was the ancient stone she had found three days prior. It sat in the middle of a small clearing, and was inscribed with enigmatic runes, topped off with a suspicious green gem in the center. She pointed to the spot out to Maja, and without delay, the dragon lowered.

Once on the ground, she nodded to the myth. The graceful dragon nodded back, and sent a gust of wind through the trees as it began to flap away. She watched Maja go, her lips subtley curling upwwards. It wasn't a smile, but something reminiscent of one. Taking another bite out of her fish, (which she had brought along during her journey), Ramona sauntered towards the stone. She stood in front of it and gazed upon its magnificence. A strange energy vibrating from its insides into the rock-solid ground below, it looked almost out of place in comparison to the forest that stood behind it. For a moment, she wondered where it had come from, and how it had been made. It was beautiful, yet seemingly dangerous. Slowly, she reached a hand out to touch it...

But not before she heard a rustling sound coming from the bushes behind her. With one swift motion, she tossed her fish aside, pulled out her bow, and slung an arrow into its string. She pointed it in the direction of the movement. And then all of a sudden, a curly-haired man appeared with his hands above his head.



"Woah, woah, woah!" he cried, "Calm down, Robin Hood! I'm not here to hurt you."

Her expression, a scowl with a bit of invisible fire flaming in her narrow eyes, remained unchanged. The same thing went for the arrow that was sharply being aimed at his chest.

He curiously stared at her. He recognized this girl, but not in person. It was the dirt and grime smothered all over her face that gave her identity away.

"I know you," he mused, "you're the one that everyone talks about...erm..." he snapped his fingers in thought. Eventually, the name came to him. "Ramona Marlowe! Yes, Ramona Marlowe...the dragon lady who lives in the woods."

Silence. She still stared at him intensely, as though she were a deer, and he was a threatening predator about to sink his claws through her skin. However, unlike a deer, she showed no signs of fear or cowardice. Instead, the girl showed him only inaudible malice.

With a wolfish smirk, he took languid steps towards her. The man stared at her with the same jerkish intensity, his body only a few inches away from hers. Quietly, he place a strong hand upon her arrow, lowering her aim on him until she had no choice but to unstring the slender shaft.

They shot daggers between each other through their gazes. It was powerful and perfectly dangerous.

He inhaled a deep breath. "Do you know who I am?" he asked with slight annoyance. She didn't answer, and he didn't expect her to. "I am Ulfrik Greymane, brother of King Percival Greymane and Prince of Waldria. I am the prince of this dimension."

The most energetic reaction she gave in return was a blink. Clearly, the dragon lady was unimpressed. He sighed, passing by her and gazing upon the treasure that lay before them.

" Elder Stone. In my opinion, the most beautiful of the four..."

He rubbed his hand upon its surface, tingling as the cold, rigid surface touched his skin.

"Y'know the legend behind these things?" he rhetorically asked her. Obviously he was forced to make it unanswerable because this girl barely answered anything. "When the first tamers decided that they wanted to create a home for the myths, they used special powers granted to them by the gods in order to build the terrain of a new dimension. Once they were finished, they retired their abilities and put them inside four stones...shrines we now refer to as Elder Stones."

His hand stayed put on the beautiful green gem that lay in the center of the monument. "There is so much power in here...if only one could attain that power...why, it would be magnificent! Extraordinary!" He shook his head, "In my honest opinion, I do believe those tamers wasted their wonderful abilities," he said. "They should have expanded upon the already fruitful earth, not create an entirely new world. Perhaps that was their greatest mistake: not being thankful for what they already had..."

He then turned to face Ramona, who was still glaring at him like he were a monster. He just chuckled at her. Ulfrik was smiling at her with charm and politeness, however, there was some mirth hidden in there somewhere.

"I'm having a meetup at my house this afternoon," he told her, "would you care to join my squabble of friends and I? Perhaps we can chat more about history, as well as some other things."

Instead of replying, she trained her eyes to the ground, walking past him and the Elder Stone, and retreating into the forest in front of him. However, before she disappeared, she muttered a simple, "maybe." After that, Ulfrik crossed his arms and shook his head as she noiselessly walked away.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Lysa Martell Character Portrait: Lee Chen Su
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New York City, USA, Earth | Kingswood, Waldria

"I'm dying. Get some tissues and call the undertaker, because you're beloved uncle is about to kick the bucket." Corben lay on the polyester couch with a permanent wince etched into his features, a pale blue, woollen blanket spooled around his waist and a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. "Beloved? I have another uncle?" Lysa replied with a smile as she poured herself a glass of apple juice, adding a couple of ice cubes before wandering over to where her uncle lay, clearly suffering from the painful results of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. With a wicked smile, she leant near his ear, asking in a booming and mockingly enthusiastic voice, "Fun party, was it?!" Corben reacted with a cry of pain,"Agh! Volume. Down. Immediately."
Lysa scoffed, before frowning when her eyes fell upon her uncle's choice of beverage. With a disapproving expression, she deftly swapped the drink for her own, replacing his mug of coffee for her own glass of apple juice. Oddly, her uncle didn't complain, and instead raised the glass to his face suspiciously, as though inspecting it for poison. "Apple juice?" Lysa wandered back to the pantry, taking a sip of the coffee before wrinkling her nose in distaste, and pouring it down the sink. As she scoured the cupboards, she called back to her ailing relative over her shoulder, "Yep. It's got fructose, water, potassium.. all those goodies."
She returned to him with her slender arms laden. "Geez. You'd think a guy so used to being drunk would know how to deal with a hangover." "Hardy-har-har." She chucked the items on the coffee table: one water bottle, two ibuprofen tablets and a box of crackers.

"Go nuts."


Waldria. It really was pretty. Trapped in medieval times and filled to the brim with angsty mythical creatures, but pretty. The seven demons peered over her shoulder at the phone's screen, occasionally oohing and aahing when certain photos caught their eyes. To be honest, their childlike curiosity totally crushed the whole 'demonic

death' vibe they had going on, and the only one that succeeded in hiding her eagerness was Ira. She simply nodded approvingly, muttering comments and opinions as Lysa flicked through the images. "Hmm. That seems adequate." "The humans aren't the most ideal of living companions.." "Who is that statue of? She wears a crown? Is she a prior monarch, or a deity?"

A scaled hand reached over Lysa's shoulder, pointing frantically at the screen, or, more specifically, and the glitzy building that now featured on it. "I like that. What is that? Is it a place of residence?" Lysa stiffled a chuckle, "Uh, it's more a place of entertainment. It's called a casino. This one is in a place called Las Vegas." The seven demons spoke the word in harmony, their voices laden with curiosity and desire, "Las Vegas.

Lysa left the inn with a small smile, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she wandered through the Kingswood, "Well, that went better than I thought it would." She was already aware of the demon race's desire to return to earth, but until now she hadn't really been sure why. Even now she was still a little clueless. Perhaps it was their yearning for change. Demons loved that. They loved progression, growth, evolution. They hated a world that never changed, and, to be honest, Waldria never really had. This whisper of revolution... it hadn't really occurred before. It was different. Fresh. New.

It was exactly what the demons had been longing for for the past few centuries.

Although Lysa personally quite liked Waldria. It was an awful lot quieter than Earth. Or at least, New York, where Lysa resided. Not to mention, in places like the Kingswood, it was pretty deserted. You could wander for hours without seeing another-

"Who are you? Where am I?!"

Lysa almost jumped out of her skin, and spun around to face the voice, arms already rising in an I surrender, don't maim me! gesture. But the owner of the voice wasn't looking at her, or even noticing her. His attention was on the man who stood across from him. Wow. I really need to work on my peripheral vision... it kind of sucks at the moment.

After the initial jump had subsided, she peered curiously through the foliage at the pair. The man that had spoken first had Asian features, tanned skin and- Wait- is that a katana?!

The other gentleman had responded in a relaxed and cool tone that really contrasted with Katana's stressed, threatening one.

"If you are wondering where you are, you've just found yourself in the Kingswood, about half a mile away from the castle."
The man picked up the book he had dropped, dusting it off in an oddly affectionate manner before offering Katana a hand. "And if you're wondering who I am, my name is Percival Greymane. The castle, as a matter of fact, is where I reside."

"Greymane..." Lysa quietly tasted the name on her tongue, frowning at its familiarity. Where have I heard that name before? Her eyes widened in realisation, and her gaze flickered back to the man. "Huh. So that's the pri-" With a loud snap, the tree above her shed a branch, sending it tubling through the canopy and onto Lysa's undefended head. With a cry of pain, she clutched her head, "Ow! Son of a bitch!" Poised. Elegant. Refined. An excellent first impression, as per usual.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Lysa Martell
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#, as written by Dumisa


When the male spoke of his mother, he lowered his blade down some then eyed him, cautiously. Lee's mind drifted slightly and realized that he might know the male standing before him, as well but it was unlikely if he did. Lee was cautious around the male as he sheathed his sword as the male before him began introducing himself. Greymane. The name did sound familiar to him but he just really shrugged it off for now.

Lee knew what the male was trying to say without even speaking the actual words as he nodded his head. "Sorry about the whole thing that just happen." He mumbled towards Percival then picked up his bags and eyed him. "I guess I'll be on my way." When he spoke those words, his ears twitched as he heard a tree branch snap in the distance. A soft gasp escaped over his parted lips.

"Did you hear something?" Lee asked towards Percival, squinting his eyes and scanning the perimeter for someone. "We know that you're there?! Come out or I'll make you come out!" His voice raised as he threw his bags down again, clutching his Katana and waiting for someone to make themselves known.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Ulfrik Greymane Character Portrait: Lysa Martell Character Portrait: Ramona Marlowe Character Portrait: Clarissa Rivers Character Portrait: Lee Chen Su Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare Character Portrait: Cleo Amina Ra
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Cleo, as expected, rolled her sharp eyes and made a sarcastic retort. "Fine, but you owe me a favor if I ever ask for assitantce," she said. The girl slipped a finger underneath his chin, and as she gave him the slightest smirk, his hypnotic gaze remained unwavering.

"I am nothing more than a messenger to you now days." she said, fixing the red scarf around her head while sauntering in the opposite direction. He gave a short chuckle. "Nowadays, it's better to be a messenger to me than nothing." Ulfrik smiled, his arms crossed. Cleo just pointed at him with one slender finger. It was like she was aiming a gun at his chest. "If I get killed by a myth or caught by your brother," she said, "it is on you."

He walked up to her as though no threat she could make would possibly penetrate the thickness of his rough skin. With a gentle hand, he lowered hers, making that fierce finger of hers aim towards the ground. He wasn't trying to domesticate her, but rather make a point sharper than the one she had trained at his chest.

"You won't experience either of those things." he said. He meant those words completely. Cleo was tough to beat. There was fire in her eyes and at the edge of her fists as well. A warrior through and through. Death or his darling brother would not get the best of her.

"And just so you know," he added as an afterthought before walking away, "You actually do mean something to me. It's just that you are too blind by your own ambition to see it..."

And with that, he gave her one last smirk and a wave, saying a simple "See ya," before holding a tiny looking glass up to his eye and instantly disappearing from view.



He gave an inaudible sigh of relief as the man lowered his katana blade and promptly sheathed it. His fight-or-flight instinct had dissipated, however, his suspicion had not. He still gazed upon Percival as though he were a bull about to charge. Fear was easy to erase. Suspicion, however, was not. But as the man picked up his bags and gave a nod, the king was surprised to find that his choice of words had actually worked.

"Sorry about the whole thing that just happen." the man mumbled. Percival smiled. "It's quite alright," he said, "not the first time a swordsman's pointed his weapon at my chest."

Suddenly, before the two could go their seperate ways, a snapping sound echoed throughout the entire, and almost instantly, the man beside him reacted. "Did you hear something?" he asked. Percival's instincts told him that the source of the noise probably came from a small animal or a tiny gust of wind. At least that was until he heard, "Ow! Son of a bitch!" coming from farther into the wood.

And again, the man beside him grew suspicious and threatening. "We know that you're there?! Come out or I'll make you come out!" he yelled, practically chucking his bags down to the ground and putting a stony hand on the edge of his katana.

His lip pressed against his tongue in thought, Percy stepped past the man, following his intuition as he sought out the voice's owner. He looked high and low, remembering the direction in which upon the sound had caught his ear. There, next to the darkness of a slanted tree, stood a petite, dainty woman with her hand clutched upon her forehead. Percival inspected the broken tree branch near her feet, and immediately understood the entire story. Clearly, she was in pain.

He ran up to her, bending his knees a bit in order to examine the possible bump on her head. Now that he was closer to her, the young woman's olive skin, crystal-clear complexion, and scar on the back of her right hand all became visible to him.

"Are you alright miss?" he asked politely. A gentleman like no other, he was planning to stay with her until he knew that she was not suffering from a concussion.

But then ten chimes tolled from the castle bells swaying in the distance, and Percival bit his lip with apprehension. He had to leave now, or he was going to be late. And if he was late, well...

Before he turned to face the katana man, the young king saw the figure of a golden-haired girl approaching from the distance. From this far, he couldn't tell who she was, but perhaps she could be of assistance in his absence if the man couldn't tend to the woman's wounds.

"I have to go," he quickly said to him, "take her to the castle if she needs help. If the guards give you trouble, just say, mellon nikerym. It's elvish. They'll understand."

He then gave a huge wave to the girl in the distance in an attempt to draw her attention. He pivoted back to the man. His hooded eyes were so intense, it was as if their glance could give an electric shock.

"Promise me you will not leave her here or enrage her pain. Thanks for your help. I hope to see you again."

And with that, Percival twisted the shining circular brooch fastened to his shirt. He gave a hopeful smile before his body faded away.



Justice or mercy? She watched this man's every tilt. Every twitch. She tried to grab the future before the future grabbed her. His eyes seemed stoic. Cold. Stubborn. Perhaps his wretchedness was only skin-deep. Perhaps these creatures were only children who had gotten ahead of themselves. They were gripping her forearms so tightly, that she couldn't feel her veins. Nevertheless, the blood inside her was boiling.

And then, like a speeding bullet piercing through silence's thin throat, he gave a shrill, childlike, painfully psychotic chuckle, and languidly began to approach her.


He was choosing justice, but not the preferable kind. In fact, he was probably going to choose the tainted kind.

His inked face just inches away from hers, he put a chilling finger to her chin. She cringed lightly, and gave a low growl as he turned her face to meet his. As he gazed upon her, she tried not to cough - for his skin smelled like cigarette smoke and the stench of hard liquor. An odor she hadn't breathed in years. She had almost forgotten what it tasted like.

“Well then," he said, "a spy can’t go unpunished. What do you think we should do, guys?” As the orcs gave hoots, hollers, and other foolish thoughts, Ramona grimaced at the tattooed man, her jaw locked in strength. Her eyes repeated you son of a bitch over and over again while she gazed into his eyes. Fortunately, he was staring at her with the same wolfish intensity as well, so she was sure her message would be received. He sat there like a child entertained in front of a television set. It was interesting, but not in the good way. He'd look even more interesting once she was able to get a good sock at his nose.

One of the orcs, unsurprisingly, offered the suggestion of eating her. More cigarette smoke flew her way, and this time, the miasma was stronger. She was forced to give a raspy cough. Its sound filled the air and she jerked foward, making the creatures tighten their grip on her bruised skin. Now her lungs were feeling the same amount of pressure as her arms. Forget about her neck; she was sure there was already a bit of blood dripping down already. Greasy tendrils of hair fell in her face like weeds. She had always been a beautiful mess, but this time, she was only the unfortunate latter.

"Hand me that dagger,” he suddenly said. Ramona closed her eyes and gave a grunt as she struggled to get away. This was it. She knew what was coming next. But when she looked up at the man again, she was surprised to find that he snatched the blade away in a seemingly careless manner. Clearly, he wasn't planning on using it. “She’s in a camp with ten or so orcs, she won’t be getting away.” he preached.

Now that there was no pressure on her neck, she was able to breathe completely again. In response, she exhaled, giving another small grunt. The veins in her neck were bulging just a tiny bit. This was getting absolutely ridiculous.

“There’s a bit of a problem with your idea," said the tattooed tamer to the orc who had suggested eating her. "You see, she’s a very important person in Waldria, and if you kill her, that blood is on my hands.”

Important? Important?

She squinted and furrowed both of her thick brows. "The hell you talkin' about? she replied in her usual deep, raspy voice. It was coarse and rough, as if too much moonshine had destroyed its former purity.

“We don’t havta eat ‘er then. It was justa suggestion. Yer the boss.” said one of the orcs with visible concern. The horrid tamer's eyebrows rose as he nodded. “That is the smartest thing to ever come out of your ugly mouth,” he snickered as he stuck the blade into the tree next to him. With the way the orc next to him grunted, it landed too close for his comfort. The girl sighed. This man was a lunatic. An absolute lunatic.

He crouched next to Ramona again, smiling. “Ramona, isn’t it? I’ll apologize on behalf of my lackeys, they don’t know any better. Stupid brutes, if anything. But what was the dragon tamer doing so close to an orc encampment, shouldn’t you know better?”

She nodded and gave a mock smile. "Shouldn't you know how to treat guests with more respect?"

She broke away from the orcs, stood up, and marched up to him, crouching down next to his figure in a similar derogatory way. Her frame was strong. She was a tank of power. There was a hurricane in her eyes. "I don't know what kinda shit you were talkin' about before with me being goddamn important and all, because that's the farthest thing from the truth I've heard in a long, long while. But all I know is that if you ain't gonna kill me, then I ain't stayin here. And you ain't keepin' me here like a prisoner. I ain't gonna be anyone's bitch hostage," she spat. "So I'm gonna piss off now, and you and your goddamn lackeys are gonna do yourselves the pleasure of watchin' me walk away."

She turned on her boot heels, and picked up the bow and quiver of arrows that were littered on the ground below. She gave one last look at the man as she walked backwards, and then turned around, approaching the camp's exit. She wrapped her fingers tightly around her weapon. She was almost safe, but she knew that at any moment, she could easily fall back into danger.