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The Book of the Damned

The Book of the Damned

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A one on one rp for me and Anna

979 readers have visited The Book of the Damned since blackrider created it.

Introduction

“You stand accused of being a spy for the north! How do you plead!?” The judges thunderous voice boomed throughout the small court house followed by a series of loud clacking of wood on wood as he raised and lowered the gavel repeatedly in an unnecessary rage. The judge, who’s old age was clearly shown by the many wrinkles and alarmingly bald head, looked extremely frail as if a small wind could knock him over. His small beady coal black eyes were transfixed on a shabby looking man before him, the old judges eyes seemed as if they were looking at evil itself.

The poor man who found himself under the judges bone chilling gaze seemed unfazed by the accusation, and used to the hateful look of the judge. The man straightened, his solid frame resembled that of a soldier saluting-his stance sharp and crisp. His hair, unlike many of the blonde haired clean cut citizens who filled the old courthouse, was a dark black, and his eyes, also unique, were that of a dark green with specks of brown. His face, which was actually rough with cuts and grime, was covered in a large black beard that trailed to the midsection of his chest. Along with his long dark hair that reached down to his shoulders, which had begun to mat together due to little hygiene, the man looked as if he was straight out of prison-looking to be in his mid thirties, his torn up pants, grimy white shirt, and grey animal pelt vest didn’t make him look any better. Yet, still with the look of a poor beggar, the man carried himself with a certain pride and manner that demanded respect. “I, Sir, Am of no such thing.” His voice boomed, cool and calm, but at the same time angered by the accusation. The truth was, all he was was a simple mountain man, living right on the large treck of mountains which separated two Kingdoms whose war had gone on so long none even remembered the cause, but fights were constantly arisen due to pure malice and hate between the two great warring factions-the only incentive to fight was to kill.

Unfortunately for Flint, who was the bearded man standing trial, he was born and raised in the Northern Kingdom, Opening him up to extreme racism and bigotry in the Western Kingdom. That meant that this was already an open and shut case, which always resulted in one outcome, a nice thick rope tightened around the spy’s neck. “LIES! LIES! LIES!” The judge roared, practically jumping his small old frame out of the creaky chair he resided in, placing both palms on the large table with a loud thud, his beedy eyes seemed to grow with even more hate “You were found by the Royal Scouts of the King himself plotting secret paths through the mountains for your fellow Northern scum!” The Judge roared slowly sinking back into his chair all, coughing the whole way down. He grew quieter, wheezing heavily. Flint thought it sad that the old man had worn himself out from a mere short shouting spell, as for what the judge had said however, Flint was amused…because the truth was he was merely hunting deer when hed run into “the royal scouts”.

Flint began to speak a response, but was quickly cut off by the lightning crack of the gavel, it seemed the judge was in the mood to yell again, his beady eyes turning to smaller slits like they did every time he yelled. “I deem you guilty of the accused crime! The punishment is the same as is for all other spys!” The packed courtroom burst into cheers and whistling, “HANGING!” The Judge hollered over the mallet, which was currently repeatedly striking the ancient table.


Before Flint knew it he’d been drug out side, being led onto the gallows where so many men-innocent and guilty-had been taken unwillingly by the cold hands of death. The crowd, which had now grown, roared and jeered as the rope was fastened tightly around Flint’s neck. It all seemed unreal to Flint, here he was, one pull of a lever away from death, and yet he wasn’t afraid. The large masked executioner grasped onto the handle, which when pulled would drop the floor out from under Flints feat, if he was lucky his neck would snap….if he wasn’t….then the true horror started, as the crowd was treated to a poor soul kicking and flailing limply in the air like a rag doll until the life was slowly choked from him.

“Wait!” A young voice shouted from a distance, the sound of hooves scraping the cobbled streets approached as the voice grew louder. “Wait!” It proclaimed again, the horse plowing through the crowd. The large executioner looked up from the lever, the man on horse carried the kings emblem. “This prisoner is to be takein to the castle dungeons immediately, by direct order of the king himself!” The large executioners hand twitched, as if called by the lever which held Flints fate. “Buh e’s been provn ta be a spy” The Neanderthal of an executioner said, pure and simple he wanted blood. “You dare to question your king?” The young errant said, raising a slender eyebrow on his young face. His right hand slowly found its way to the hilt of his sword, as if dareing the executioner to try anything stupid. “Righ then!” The executioner boomed “Guards! Get up ere ye stupid gits!”

Now Flint was almost sure this was a dream, the events that had just taken place were far to far-fetched to have actually occurred. He desperately wanted someone to pinch him and wake him up, but the large guard who approached him did him one better, sinking his large muscular arm into Flints stomach, quickly sending him to his knees with an extremely loud ‘thud’. At first flint felt the searing pain in his stomach, and then his world was swallowed into darkness.



Flint awoke in a start, cold sweat rolled down his forehead and had covered much of his now damp shirt. He quickly looked around, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head “Where am I!?” He roared, echoing long down the cold damp hallways that lay before his cell. Gripping the iron bars, yelling like a mad man he began thrashing at the bars, as if trying to rip them from the cell wall. It was now that realization set in, remembering clearly the events that had lead to where he now was, in the dark cold cell, god knows how many feet underground, all because he was born in a different place. He sank down to his knees, despair taking over, who knew what would happen to him now. It was hear, kneeling on the cold stone floor, he finally noticed the second man standing in the cell, a long dark cloak hiding his features, and the main reason Flint had not seen him until this moment. Flint stared at the figure for a long moment, slowly arising with his fists clenched, he didn’t know if the man was a friend or foe.

“So I see you’ve finally noticed me, Sir. Aiden.” The figure said, taking a step forward. His voice was sly and sharp, and contained the hint of forced kindness. “Quite a fit you had there, isn’t it? Id hate to run into that on the battle field…” he said it as if hinting at something. “…Any how….Are you familiar with folk tales, Sir Aiden?” Flint was silent, anger growing in him, here he was in a cold dungeon accused of being a spy and left to rot, and his cell mate wanted to talk about fairy tails. “What are you talking about!?” Flint barked angrily, taking a step forward. The cloaked figure stepped back, but then thought better of it, regaining his lost ground. “Well…uhm…” He coughed nervously “What if I told you I could grant you your freedom?” The anger in Flint rose, going from talks of make believe to that of false hope. “And how do you propose that…” Flint grunted as he sank back to his knees, resting his back against the cold stone wall, this man was obviously a crazy. “Just receive a simple artifact for me! You’ve heard of the book! The book of the damned! The book of darkness! His book!” Flint knew of the tail, as did every child in their lands, he simply chuckled. “The book that the gods themselves banished because no man nor god could control its power!” Flint shouted, it was the last lines of the story. He began yelling again “Yes! Ill get the book for you! Just as soon as I rip these iron bars from their place, storm my way out of the castle weaponless, and journey into the mountains to wherever it is the gods hid the book to end all days!”

“Tsk tsk tsk, Sir Aiden” The cloaked figure said, pulling his hands upwards to his hood, slowly drawing it back. The site of the man made Flint jump to his feet, even though the darkness hid most of his features, Flint could still recognize the cold deep eyes anywhere. The main continued talking, unafraid that Flint was on his feet “To talk to a king with such sarcasm! Indeed they named you The Brave Aiden for good reason!”

This was the final straw for Flint, his face contorted in anger as he launched himself at the man, grabbing him by the scruff of his hooded cloak he threw the man into the dark stoned wall with a loud crash “And what’s to stop me from choking the life from such a great king!?” He roared, his large callused hands wrapping tightly around the fair skinned king, who only smiled up at Flint. “Your life…” he replied quietly, it was rather hard to speak with your wind pipe slowly closing in on itself. The anger in Flints eyes didn’t die but his grip slowly loosened, until it was non existent altogether. “Your serious?” Flint asked, still finding it hard to believe “You want me to find you…this book? And if I do…I can leave?” The King simply nodded “….And if I fail?” Flint asked, as if weighing his options. “Then you shall at least get to taste the fresh air one last time.” The king said with a smile, already knowing his answer. And Flint knew he couldn’t refuse, sure there’s no way he could find a make believe book, but he was sure if he got into the mountains he could easily slip away from whatever goon, and he was sure there’d be one, that the king sent to keep an eye on him. “Ill do it…” Flint grunted with disgust, he hated the man.

“Excellent!” The king exclaimed happily, as if Flint was happy to help. “Well we mustn’t keep your comrades waiting! Come come!” And like that the king was out of the cell, opening the large iron door with an extremely loud creaking noise, his feet raping against the cold cobble stoned hallways as he sped off. Flint nearly had to run to keep up with him, a large frown on his bearded face, it was like chasing after a child. The king lead him along the long cold halls of the dungeon, until finally taking him up a large flight of twisting stairs, which opened into somewhere deep within the castle. Flint wasn’t exactly sure, but he was sick of walking through the lavish palace after about fifteen minutes of having to walk on the dark red velvet that trailed throughout the castle halls, he hadn’t seen one window, and he hated being cooped up inside (nearly spending all of his time outdoors). He also hated the millions of pictures that must have hung on the dark stone walls, all of old kings or famous heroes who had slaughtered his people by the thousands. He wanted to set fire to the palace and watch as the damned thing burned to ash, a task he’d almost accomplished long ago. “Where are you taking me!?” Flint thundered, sick of everything surrounding him. But before he could finish his statement the king had vanished through a large wooden door, decorated with lavished carvings of some forgotten battle in a forgotten time, Flint quickly followed.

Flint now found himself in a large banquet hall, a long oak table spread out before him with various meats and fruits, some of which he’d never seen, it was the most food hed seen at one time however. Somehow the king had already made it to the end of the table, sitting in a large golden chair with a warm plate of food already awaiting him. Two large, and heavily armed, guards stood at each side of the king, spears raised high with a lifeless look across their faces. It was now that Flint realized guards like this stood everywhere in this room, hidden well next to large statues, or in the cover of opened doors (which were evenly spaced throughout the room) Flint walked towards the king, who beckoned him to sit next to him….instead Flint took an opposite seat, sitting at the very end of the table. “Eat my friend! Have your fill!” He answered the kings request by sending the nearest tray of, what appeared some strange fruit, clashing to the floor, sending the contents everywhere. “All you northerners are alike!” the king roared, jumping from his seat “ Barbarians! The lot of you!”

Flint to sprang from his seat, hearing the unsheathing of swords all around him he slowly sat back down, pure malice in his eyes as he looked at the king “Then let me be on my way! Give me my damned burdens and let me go!” Flint roared back at the king, referring to “burdens” as his comrades.

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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 2 authors

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth glances over at her sword, which she left laying by the fire, a sad look in her eyes. "It was my father's." She says quietly, moving away from Flint a little to sit down next to him. "The king told me he was killed in battle, up in your lands. The guards were under such heavy attack they couldn't get his body. The only thing they were able to grab was his sword." She says, biting her bottom lip as she brings her legs up to her chest, loosely wrapping her arms around them, remembering the day she received the news. It was actually the day she graduated from the academy. What was supposed to be a happy, glorious day; for her, was one of the worst days of her life. She swallows hard, glancing back over at Flint, "Now, what is this thing?" She asks, reaching over and picking up the skin a little, a slightly disgusted look on her face, trying to forget about the painful memories that come flooding back every time she talks about her father.

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Seeing the look spread across Elizabeth's face had made Flint wish he'd never even asked the question, and hearing about her father actually brought a slight frown to his face. He wouldn’t dare tell her what exactly happened to the bodies of Southern invaders left in his lands. Instead Flint wiped the frown from his face, which had only been there mere moments, and forced a big toothy grin across his face. He decided the best course of action was to simply answer her question about the creation he held in his hands in hopes it would completely take her mind off of the topic. After Elizabeth had taken the finally sown together animal hide from his hands and examined it slightly Flint actually grinned for real as he watched her continue to examine the thing. “Cant you tell?” He finally asked, still hoping perhaps he could cheer her up slightly. “It's a long sleeved scale shirt, or scale armor if you want to get technical. This blasted thing should keep you from getting impaled by almost anything. Especially pitchforks.” He mentioned the pitchforks with an even bigger smile, loving the fact that he could bring up their first battle. “Well go ahead, try the damned thing on.” He finished speaking eagerly, wanting to see how if he had actually gotten her size correct. If he was right it should have fit her rather well along with being extremely more lightweight than any form of forged armor.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth looks at Flint rather surprised, "Really? You made this for me?" She asks, letting the pitchfork comment slide with a just a slight scowl. She carefully gets to her feet and holds the shirt out at arm's length, looking it over. She hesitates just a moment before slipping it on. It actually fit surprisingly well, hugging her curves in all the right places, almost like a second skin. She looks down at her body, blushing slightly. She always tried to wear baggy, loose fitting clothes while working in town, not wanting to have people staring while she's trying to work. In a job that's mainly full of males, she always did her best to blend in, only wanting to stand out when it came to her skill, not her body. She glances over at Flint, giving him a small smile. "Thank you, it's very nice." She says.

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Looking at Elizabeth as she wore the final product of what he'd been working on for days he couldn’t help but smile inwardly, and to make things even better she looked rather stunning in the rather tight fitting armor-something Flint hadn't planned at all. He simply wanted her to have better protection then the simple garments she'd been wearing. Holding his hand up at Elizabeth's words Flint began speaking in response. “Don't mention it, really. The hide wouldn't have been big enough to fit me anyways.” As he spoke he took a few bites of jerky, glad that Elizabeth didn't know just how much hide was still left inside his rucksack. There had been plenty for Flint to make himself a piece of armor until he had decided to make one for Elizabeth instead.

The night continued in the same way most nights had between the two, Elizabeth furiously polishing away at her sword as Flint methodically carved away at the same piece of wood he’d been working on sense the beginning of their journey. Every now and then Flint would notice her inspecting the newly fashioned armor she now wore. As the night wore on Flint set his carving aside, picking up a slender stick he began poking at the flames of their campfire-stirring the coals in an attempt to keep the warm glowing creation burning. “Tell me, Elizabeth.” He stared at her from across the fire, the flames twinkling in his deep hazel eyes giving his gaze an extremely serious tone. “Have you ever heard of the stories of the Mystic of the Mountains?” He was sure she had, every child of both the North and South had been told the tales growing up, tales such as 'if you don’t listen to your parents, the mystic of the mountains will snatch you away in your sleep.'. Many believed the tales were that of folk lore, of a mage to powerful to actually exist.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth smiled at Flint, still grateful for the armor, surprised that he had even thought about her in first place, but she doesn't say anything else about it. She moved back over to her sword and continued to shine it like she did every night, letting the heat from the fire warm her and finish drying her hair. Elizabeth stayed like that for a while, not talking much until Flint asked about the Mystic of the Mountians. She'd heard stories about the woman, everyone had, but she'd never met anyone who had actually seen the woman. "I've heard of her," She says with a nod of her head, glancing over at Flint. "Why do you ask?" She asks.

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“Well.” Flint began as he continued to absent mindidly stir the fire. “That's the only person that I imagine would have any idea of where to find this blasted book. And I don't know what you've been raised to believe, but she does infact exist.” He paused for a moment as if considering his words carefully, he'd honestly never admitted to anyone what he was about to tell Elizabeth. “I know that because I've met her myself. I know where she makes her home in the mountains.” The words he spoke lingered eerily in the air between Flint and Elizabeth. The reason Flint had never told anyone this information, aside from the fact that he lived in the mountains and rarely came across another living soul, was he didn’t dare invoke the wrath of The Order of Rusak. The Order was an extremely well funded and battle hardened order of mage hunters, one of the very few organizations that contained men and women from both kingdoms. They were devoted solely to rooting out and slaying any form of magic, a practice extremely feared and shunned by both the North and South. Despite their best efforts however they had never been able to track down the whereabouts of the infamous Mystic of the Mountains, or at least none of the mage hunters had ever returned from the Mountains alive with information about her.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth nods her head slowly at Flint's words, "So that's where we're headed right?" She asks, though she's sure of the answer. She's not really sure what to think about the Mystic of the Mountain, having heard many different stories about the woman, but not from anyone who'd actually met her. "What's she like?" She asks curiously, wanting to know what to expect when they meet her. She always likes to be as prepared as possible for any mission she goes on.

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“Yes, that’s indeed where we are headed unfortunately.” By the tone of Flints voice it was clear that like most people he had no love of magic. “As for what to expect? That’s something you never really know. She can however be....” Flint trailed off for a moment, searching for the right words. “...Cryptic?
Sometimes you cant really tell just what her words mean. As long as your traveling with me though you shouldn’t really have to much to fear. Over the two years I’ve known her we’ve developed a sort of ….relationship?” As Flint finished he finally tossed the stick he’d been using throughout the conversation into the dying fire pit, the flames responding to the new piece of wood with a loud pop. “Before we venture into her lair” He said the word lair as if it was a thing from nightmares.. “We'll stop by my home to stock up on supply, its no more then a mere day and a half travel from here.” He said as he looked at the now visible mountains looming in the distance, only to return his gaze to their ever depleting pile of rations.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth stays quiet, listening to Flint as he talks. A small frown subconsciously forming on her lips at the word 'relationship', though she quickly wipes it away as soon as she realizes it. She slowly nods her head at his words, "Sounds like a good plan to me." She says, turning her attention back to her sword. "How did you meet her? The Mystic of the Mountains." She clarifies though she's sure she doesn't have to. "I feel like you know more about my past than I do about yours." She says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

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After Elizabeth had spoken Flint wasn't entirely sure what to say, the past five years he'd lived in the mountains was mostly due to the fact of him being shunned from his own people, and the fact that she was now asking about his past made him extremely uncomfortable. Immediately he pulled out his familiar piece of wood and began whittling away like crazy, something he was rather sure that by this time Elizabeth recognized as a nervous habit of his. “Well, are you interested in how I met the damned witch or just my past in general?” Flint asked meekly back, hoping Elizabeth wasn’t interested in his past. He was almost positive if she'd found out about who he truly was shed completely hate him, hell, she might even just kill him on the spot.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth watches as Flint starts to whittle at his piece of wood again. She can tell that he's rather nervous because of her question. Not wanting to pressure Flint about his past she decides to settle for how he met the Mystic. "How'd you meet the damned witch?" She asks, copying his words with a small laugh, hoping to ease his nerves a little. She runs a hand through her hair, which has finally dried, before starting to polish her sword once more. Not wanting to stare at Flint while he talks, not wanting to make him uncomfortable again.

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Flint stopped carving away for a minute, turning his intense hazel gaze to Elizabeth. He thanked all the Gods he could call to memory she was only interested in the witch. “Well, it all started one day when I had been tracking the largest deer I had ever run across. And when I say large, I mean almost unnaturally so. Despite what you think I'm a rather good hunter, mostly when I have a bow at my disposable.” As he brought up the bow and arrows Flint couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed, thinking back to Elizabeth's comments of him being a horrible hunter. None the less he continued on “After a day and a half of tracking the animal I came across a small old leather Tipi in a slightly large clearing. As I had entered into what I thought was someones meager camp I could no longer find any trace of the deer-no hoof prints or broken twigs, no blood trail, no pieces of fur left behind. It was as if the thing had just completely vanished.” As he spoke in his serious tone of voice Flint could tell he had Elizabeth completely enthralled in the story, so he continued on with his tale. “As I entered the camp hoping to pick up the trail of the deer I'd been hunting I was greeted by an extremely elderly women who hobbled about on a large walking stick. She invited me to share a dinner within her tent, and I foolishly accepted not realizing the abomination id been speaking to. Once I had broken bread with her things occurred....” Flint trailed off, his eyes fixated on the fire as if he was lost in his own horrifying memories, quickly though he snapped back to the conversation at hand-shaking his head slightly in the process as if to clear the thoughts he’d been thinking of. “Then things occurred that made me have no doubts of who she was.” He finally finished, obviously leaving something out of the story.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth had tried not to stare at Flint as he talked, but half way through his story, she couldn't help it. Her attention was focused solely on Flint. When he finishes talking she frowns slightly, knowing there has to be more to the story. "Well what happened?" She presses, extremely curious, her mind swirling with lots of possibilities, trying to figure out what could have possibly happened in the Mystic's ti-pi, to prove to Flint who she was.

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Flint let out a loud 'gulp' before he dared answer Elizabeth's question. He really hadn’t wanted to respond but for some reason he felt like he could talk to her and the words almost effortlessly flowed from his mouth, he had after all wanted to get this topic off his very chest for years. “Well....for one thing the Tipi simply looked like a tipi. It was actually much more then that, once I entered into the humble looking structure everything completely changed. It was as if I walked through the gates of a grand stone castle, large stone pillars stretched high into the ceiling, so far I couldn’t even see where they ended. The size of the inner chamber I had walked into was also enormous, at least half the size of your own kings grand housing. I don’t understand magic but it was clear it was at play the minute I entered that accursed place.” He paused a moment, not wanting to admit the next part but still he went on, shame heavy on his voice. “Ill admit every fiber of myself wanted to turn and run at that point, but my fear of being turned into a toad or struck down by a fireball outwieghed whatever uneasiness I had already felt. So reluctantly I took a seat at a rather grand looking silver table the old women had beckoned me over too. And then...well...As we ate she told me things. Things that had already come to pass, things that eventually happened, and things that were still yet to come. And I'm sure you;ve heard yourself how only the Mystic of the Mountains mastered such a gift of fortune telling.” After he finished speaking Flint was silent for a long while, still staring blankly into the roaring fire his mind clearly far away and dwelling on some suppressed events.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth's eyes widen at Flint's words. "Wow, really?" She says, wondering what all the Mystic of the Mountains had told him. If she told him about this, now, or about how he's going to die. When she thinks about her orders to kill him she feels something she's never felt before, at least not about the king's orders, doubt. She quickly pushes those feelings away. "What all did she tell you?" She asks curiously, almost too much so. "I mean, did she tell when you were going to get married or to who? And how many kids?" She asks jokingly, trying to cover up her little slip up, not wanting him to get suspicious that.

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Flint seemed too lost in his own thoughts to notice Elizabeth's slight slip up only to quickly snap back to reality once words like 'marriage' and 'kids' were spoken. Honestly he didn't like dwelling on anything the witch had told him for it seemed for every good thing she had to tell him there was a handful of negative attachments. Making a loud hocking sound at the back of his throat Flint spat into the fire before he spoke. “I don't wish to speak of this any longer. The Mystic be damned my future is my own to decide.” He barked gruffly, almost angrily, at Elizabeth. Apparently this was a touchy subject. He then continued on however “The only reason I told you of this is so you know just what were walking into. Now I'm going to sleep, we should be well within the Mountains by the fall of night tomorrow.” And with that Flint laid down and rolled over, his back to Elizabeth, which was actually a rather unusual thing. Most nights Flint stayed up well past when Elizabeth slept. It was almost as if he was just trying to avoid speaking on the subject any further, or he could no longer look her in the eyes. Unsaid words hung awkwardly in the air that night.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth frowns at Flint's words, watching s he lays down with his back to her. She sighs quietly, turning her attention back to the sword in her hands. She can't help but wonder what the Mystic of the Mountains told him, that would make him act like this. After a few moments of the awkward silence, Elizabeth gets up and moves over to her sleeping bag, laying down as well. She lays facing the fire, watching flames until she slowly starts to drift off to sleep, her sword and small dagger both within arms reach like they always are when she sleeps.

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Within hours of setting out from camp the next day the mountains had become visible, they were huge giant things of stone that stretched well beyond the sight of either Flint or Elizabeth. They were well known among both lands as extremely treacherous and were for the most part avoided by both cultures, and yet the mere site of them had brought a slight smile to Flints face. Over the years he had come to consider the rocky landscape his home. As they began their trek up the great stone beast the large lush forests began to slowly change into a more sparsely vegetated environment.

It seemed as if Flint was even more vigilant upon entering the mountains, keeping both tomahawks in has hands as they journeyed onward. Over the years he'd lived here he had learned one thing: you were never truly safe in the mountains. The sun was disappearing over the rocky peaks above them as they finally reached Flints cabin, Flint had been forced to push them extremely hard in the last hour or so of their travel as he explained to Elizabeth that 'they had to reach his home before night' he didn’t exactly explain why but the mere tone of his voice spoke volumes-you obviously didn’t want to be outside at night.

His cabin wasn’t much but it appeared rather cozy looking, obviously handmade from wood and mud the tiny home was tucked away among a slightly thick patch of large fern trees. Outside of the friendly looking cabin sat a tree stump with a large ax planted firmly in the middle, obviously Flint spent time cutting wood there.

As Flint neared his home a loud “Mreowoof!” sounded in the air, causing Flint to quickly turn to his right closely examining the right side of his cabin. However before Flint had enough time to fully explain what the noise was a medium sized creature had rounded the corner and pounced on him, the dirty brown furry looking animal licking furiously at Flints face. The thing appeared to be some strange cat-dog hybrid, the bulky beast had powerful canine like legs and and obvious dog tail and yet its pointed ears face and whiskers said it didn’t quiet belong to either family. Iether way the creature appeared to know Flint, and rather well at that, Flint now smiling for the first time sense their awkward talk as he tried to lift the excited beast off of him “Calm down boy, I told you id be back!”

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth is pretty worn out by the time they reach Flint's cabin though she doesn't let it show. She's been trained well, and it takes quite a lot to tire her out, but they had covered a large distance in a short amount of time. By the time they get to Flint's cabin, Elizabeth really just wants to go to sleep. She glances around, taking in her surroundings. She's looking at the stump with the ax protruding from it when she hears the strange noise coming from the side of Flint's cabin. She glances over just in time to see the strange creature tackle Flint to the ground. Instinctively her hand goes to her sword, until Flint speaks to the beast as if he knows it. She relaxes a little and runs a hand through her hair as she studies the beast. Now that she's sure Flint isn't in any danger, she's rather curious as to what the creature she debates a few moments, whether she should ask or not, but finally she speaks up. "What is that thing?" She asks, studying it closely, not sure if she's ever heard of this kind of creature before, not knowing much about the mountains since's she was trained as a castle guard.

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Flint honestly wasn’t sure how to answer Elizabeths question as he wasn’t entirely sure just what the creature he had raised over the years truly was. He had found the thing abandoned one cold winter morning, the tiny creature at the time he had simply mistaken for a kitten, and it was quite the surprise when over the next few months the would be kitten had turned out to be...something else.

Finally letting Flint get back to his feat the beast appeared more interested in Elizabeth now, bounding over to her with its tongue flopping out as it panted rapidly it began to sniff at her furiously, finally stopping and looking up at her with its big saucer shaped eyes. The big fury animal then proceeded to nuzzle against her leg, a loud purring coming from its throat as it did so.

“I honestly don’t know.”Flint began as he amusedly watched his pet running its head over Elizabeth’s legs as it purred. “I just happened to come across the annoying thing one unfortunate day as a baby.” He called it annoying even though it was obvious he cared about it. “Only to see it grow into....”He paused looking for the right word, but only came up with “That.”.

Turning his attention back to his home as he dusted himself off before starting towards the sturdy looking door of his home, opening the thing with a loud 'creak'. As he entered the cozy cabin he was greeted with the familiar sight of his home, which consisted of little more then a decent sized fire place, a lumpy bed, an unstable looking table with two chairs, and a large table against the right side of the cabin that, judging by the blood stains, was where Flint skinned and prepped most of his hunted game. Various and exotic animal hides also sat all over the place, from the blanket on his bed to a large carpet before his fire place, there was even a large close line like contraption that had more furs hanging from it then Flint could count-he apparently spent most of his time hunting.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth looks down at the creature as it comes over to her. She steps back a little, uncertain of this creature in front of her, but when it rubs it's head against her leg and purs, she can't help but to reach out and pet the thing. She pets it, listening to Flint as he talks, watching as he heads into the house, following closely behind him. She glances around at Flint's home, "So, you built this place all on your own?" She asks curiously as she slowly walks deeper into the house, looking around. "It's pretty cool." She says, gently places her hand on the wall, feeling the wood. She walks over and sits down on one of the chairs by the table, relaxing a little.

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Flint wouldn’t admit it but he was indeed proud of the tiny hut he had cobbled together and he inwardly beamed at her compliment of the cabin. “You can call that mut Catdo by the way.” Flint said with a slight laugh as he nodded at the hound which was following Elizabeth like a shadow, still occasionaly running its head against her leg with a loud purr. “Im the one who's been away for lord knows how long and the damned thing seems more excited to see you, obviously Catdo didn’t get the loyalty of a dog.” As he jokingly spoke Flint had found his way over to the table stained in red, rooting around in a drawer underneath after reaching the table. He returned to Elizabeth with a large brown wooden bowl of dried jerky which he plopped on the table before heading back over to the door-the two of them were rather hungry having run out of food the day before. As he reached the door he shut it with yet another loud creak. After he had closed the door he picked up a large thick beam of solid looking wood which he placed in two slots on both sides of the door, effectively sealing them inside from whatever creatures might roam the outside at night. He then returned to the seat adjacent to Elizabeth, noticing Catdo sitting next to her. The way the dumb mut was wagging its tail and drooling with its tongue hanging out made it obvious to Flint that he wanted some of Elizabeths jerky. Reaching into the bowl Flint helped himself to a piece before addressing Elizabeth again. “Well im glad you like the place, im shocked a southerner would. I know how you all are obsessed with your weird ston sturctures.” He said inbetween bites of jerky.

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Elizabeth reaches into the bowl and grabs a piece of jerky, taking a bite as she watches Flint put the think beam across the door. She glances down at Catdo as the creature looks up at her, drooling with his eyes locked on the jerky. She laughs quietly, tearing off a piece and giving it to Catdo. "There you go." She says, a small smile on her lips as she pets the animal behind the ear. She glances over at Flint as he speaks up again. She glances around his house once more. "Well, it seems to do it's job. It's nice, in rugged sort of way." She says with a small shrugs of her shoulders, giving another piece of jerky to Catdo.

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“Nice and rugged eh?” Flint asked as he watched Catdo devour his pieces of jerky happily. “Just like me, right?” He let out a hardy laugh after speaking, picking his long worked upon carving and knife from his rucksack which he had dropped next to his seat. Beginning to whittle away, not bothering if the scraps hit the floor, he continued to speak. “You can sleep in my bed for the night.” He nodded towards the large lumpy looking thing that had the extremely warm looking animal skin draped over it, Flint was sure it'd beat sleeping on the floor. “Ill go ahead and just use my sleeping bag for the night, tomorrow we go to see the mystic.” As he finished speaking he help up his carving, eyeing it carefully before returning to carving away.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth laughs quietly at Flint's words about him being like the house. "Yeah, I guess so." She says, finishing up another piece of jerky. She glances over at the bed, feeling kind of bad about kicking him out of his own bed. "Are you sure? I mean, it is your place." She says, a little uncertainly. After sleeping on the ground so long, sleeping in a bed would be nice, but she doesn't want to put Flint out. 'Why do I care?' She thinks, not really sure why feels so weird about taking Flint's bed from him.

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