Ego Draconis

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  1. #21
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    Wulfhelm kept moving forward, always forward. His legs were nearly giving way under his slumbering, stumbling body, tired eyes lidding over as he approached the entrance of the tower. The poison was taking it's toll, and he could feel it's venomous bite spreading both pain and atrophy throughout his limbs, casting them under a spell of both sleep and arthritic reluctance.

    He found himself at the foot of the towering structure, panting out ragged gasps of air as he stared at it's entrance: A massive, oaken door. Even to Wulfhelm, who was a half-giant himself, it impressed him. Twice his size, (which was quite a feat), it sat there boldly. The large, iron rings hung from the wall and gleamed a bright, boastful silver. Engraved with the angry faces of fearsome lions within, they gave the appearance of challenging and defying anyone to enter.

    Dumbstruck, the half-giant stood there, eyes fluttering up to the massive tower that seemingly had appeared to suddenly plant himself in front of him whilst he was focused on movement: Unremarkable when his attention was not focused on it, it was only when he stared upwards did he realise how magnificent it was: A complete titan of stone and incredible masonry work, it sat there, bearing down upon the Half-giant. Just for once, the Titan understood what it felt like to be small. This was no simple watch-tower, no. This belonged to a guild – a guild of fighters.

    It was only then that it occurred to the Half-giant that he had seen this tower before – though only under a different guise – it was in the exact same position he had always seen it, but never did he see such a magnificent structure like this one, no. This building had a concealing spell over it, making it appear like an unassuming, long-abandoned guard post.

    He turned on his heel, narrowing his tired eyes to the spires of Cyre in the horizon, a faint smile of affection spreading across his lips as he gazed upon the massive, sprawling city in it's splendor, watching as how it even stretched to the horizon and beyond, curling around the world – it seemed ridiculous: Almost as if the stone to make it had simply been planted there, leaving mankind to pick up the pieces. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he swore he could hear the bustling streets. The cries of the traders. The smell of cooking bread and salted, drying meats wafting into his nostrils which sent his mouth watering and his stomach fiercely a-growling.

    Though, it's nothing compared to a clan meet. Wulfhelm thought, with just an edge of bitterness. Suddenly, he snapped himself out of it, spitting on the floor to clear his head. The poison was making him drowsy and casting him into daydreams. He had to get to a place of safety where he could get that arrow out! It was burning now into his shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to pull it from his skin, and scratch the burning, poisoned wound until it swelled and shredded – better agonizing pain than this powerful, venomous itch.

    Once more turning on his foot, he faced the large, oaken door defiantly, moving forward to run a hand over it's smooth, polished surface. He grasped one of the iron rings firmly in one hand, and knocked, the sound resonating with a metallic clang that shock-waved through the forest, spreading from tree to tree, startling a flock of ravens and sending them hurtling in a squabbling, black frenzy towards the sky.

    Wulfhelm risked a swift look over his shoulder – out of the forest that surrounded the hill, far, far in the distance, he could see figures approaching. Shrouded in obsidian-black hoods, they emerged from the trees like dark, shambling specters. Perfectly in step, perfectly in time. Wulfhelm was not a tactical fighter, but he knew that these men were not to be trifled with.

    There was still no answer.

    “Sorry to take down yer pretty door, fellahs.” Murmured Wulfhelm, his voice being carried off by the sunset's breeze. He took a few calm steps back, shaking with the effort of summoning what little remained of his strength, he closed his eyes, allowing his world to be eclipsed in darkness, shutting out every noise one by one. The sound of the forest life, and even the dangerous, foreboding sound of his assassins' distant footsteps.

    He focused on anger. Rage. That spark of fire within him, that barbarous, powerful hate that sent his blood boiling and his skin crawling with tempered malice – he felt it now. Renewed vigor. Some deep, buried away savage instinct that sharpened everything. Sounds were coming back to him now as he focused, sharper than ever, like a complete, cataclysmic tidal wave - frothing at the brink with contempt fury.

    Though, the forest animals and that gentle, caressing breeze had both stopped. The entire forest seemed silent, as if in fear of what was about to happen.

    Wulfhelm opened his eyes, and everything went red.

    “RRRRRRRRRAAAAGHHHHH!”

    A thunderclap! Or at least, that's what it sounded like. The entire ground shook, and every bird, every creature was sent running, coating the skies with panicked wing flaps and the forest floor with furry darts. The entire tower seemed to shift, both stone and wood creaking under it's weight, as the glass windows shattered one by one. Wulfhelm's world had become splinters and anger, and the pandemonium of iron wrenching and stone crumbling as the locked door tore COMPLETELY off it's hinges and was utterly SHATTERED nearly burst his eardrums – not that he would of noticed in his berserk state. What wasn't small, wooden chunks had turned into tiny, oaken needles which shot off in all directions, coating the floor with a coarse sawdust.

    The footsteps behind him quickened, snapping Wulfhelm from his rage with the aspect of danger. As the anger died down, the tiredness came back, so much stronger than before, as he barely dragged his legs across the ruined hall – which had been completely torn to shreds by debris. Some of the surrounding bricks had come out of the wall all together, and were lying against the mess, which was illuminated by the last rays of the evening sun, which filtered in through the shattered window to the far end of the corridor.

    And, at that far end, a glowing gate stood, beckoning Wulfhelm forward with the promise of freedom. Though the half-giant knew nothing of magic, nor was quite intelligent enough to make use of it regardless, he knew what these were: He had seen them before, on a contract where he was tasked to take down a cult of necromantic wizards who were terrorizing local villages. They had many of these littered around their hideout.

    No time to think. Wulfhelm reminded himself as he remembered that sickening, disorienting feeling of going through such spells. Just run. You don't have any time.

    And so run he did. He heard his assassins catching up with him, felt their footsteps rise onto the stone floor of the hallway and clatter against it with deadly speed. He felt the cold, professional malice in their breaths and, just out of the corner of his ear, heard the soft click of a bolt being loaded into a crossbow with the care of a predator who knows that he's caught his prey.

    Wulfhelm flung himself forward.

    What happened next was sickening. Wulfhelm hated magic with a passion - not people who used it, mind, but experiencing it – for this very reason. And more than he hated being blasted with elemental spells, or having a speaking hex placed on him after a bar-fight, he HATED teleporting.

    His entire world stretched out before him as he closed his eyes, trying to shield himself against the horrible, forward and back rocking motion that made bile rise in his throat, stinging the back of it with it's vile, acrid singe. There was a sharp, blindingly white glow around him which only further rocketed his nausea – not even closing his eyes helped against the overpowering illumination. He felt every piece of his being being torn to shreds by the portal – to be re-assembled elsewhere. Abruptly, his world suddenly became swimming darkness.

    Though he was not unconscious, and he began to come to. He felt the reassuring, carpeted floor beneath him. The smell of dust clouded his nostrils, and a small, relieved smile curled up his stubble-coated jaw as he realized he was still in one piece. Slowly getting up to swaying feet that refused to obey him, he felt an agonizing pain as his entire shoulder lit up with fire – no, it was not his flesh that burned. And there was no red-hot flame dancing on his skin. That arrow, that infernal, bastard arrow!

    Safety could wait – he reached a hand up to his shoulder, and yanked it out. Letting out a startled, angry, indignant cry of pain as he felt the barbs tear through the swelled flesh, his eyes watering from the pain as he gritted his teeth so hard he could of sworn that he ground them down until there was nothing left but sore, bleeding gums. Tossing the arrow in front of his feet, he let out a bestial, rumbling growl of fury as he raised an armored boot, and then brought it down. Sending a nearby jug crashing to it's floor from an unsafe, badly balanced perch on a table, shattering into dozens of tiny, crystallizing pieces.

    His eyes sharpened as he stared at what flowed out of it: Mead, amber, frothing liquid which soaked pointedly into the carpet. Ever so slowly, he began to realize his surroundings.

    He was standing in a mess hall – it seemed strange, an odd mixture of militarized furniture – simple, wooden long-tables with discarded bowls and spoons of honeyed porridge, various cheeses, seasoned and flavored meats covered in spices that stung his nose. Uncomfortable looking benches were lain in rows beside them.

    Regardless, it had beautiful finishes; Like the gold-threaded crimson carpet beneath his feet that kicked up dust any time he shifted his boots, the scarlet not so dissimilar in shade to his blood, which was dripping from the arrow at his feet and blending in stainless. A disturbing thought occurred to Wulfhelm, perhaps the carpet wasn't that color to begin with.

    What he then realized next nearly made him retch.

    There were dozens upon dozens of people around the mess hall, frozen like slumbering statues. Though, they didn't have the contented, peaceful mask of sleep that most had. No. There faces were twisted, contorted. From the look of their eyes, they seemed like those which, in life, would have been misted over with both hate and cold contempt for all around them. Yet, their body language in their last moments did nothing to match this description. Most of their mouths were open in listless, agonized screams, blood dripping, black, venomous, from their jaws, staining their lips a discolored, poisoned red. Their skins were pale and mottled with red patches, cuts and puss-filled warts appearing everywhere like corrupted soils on their bodies.

    They littered the entire hall – some slumped over at the tables, hands frozen in a desperate clawing at the back of their neck. Others seemed to of rolled backwards and fell onto the floor, a horrid freeze-frame of the throws of a painful death, hands, talon-like, scrabbling at their faces, their fingernails caked with blood and halfway through tearing flesh. There was no doubt about it, the corpses were stone-cold. Lifeless. It was an absolute, poisoned massacre.

    “What in the name of the wolf-spirit happened here?” Wulfhelm murmured, breaking the stunned silence. Then it occurred to him – his assassins' should of caught up with him by now: Unless they were-

    A horrifying scream from the floor below reached Wulfhelm's image. Panicked yells, the drawing of weapons, the hacking of flesh and the splattering of blood mixed into some kind of gory symphony, ending with a short, cut-off shriek as a deadly, knife-sharp silence ensued. Wulfhelm turned around slowly, hearing nothing but his own breath. Everything was magnified now, and in the tension, he could even hear his own eyelids shut, as he closed his eyes to try and compose himself, to try and make sense of the situation he was in.

    A wrathful, bloodied battle-cry sounded from behind him.

    Too late.

    ((Another post! I could of continued but it would of just ended up being ridiculously long. ))

  2. #22
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    Default Headed for Cyre!

    Tori, Gama, and Ryoku were on the road in the square; the place where all Blood Elves hang out. This time, though, no one was there. Except for three blood elves who were up to no good. The reason no one was there was because it was the day for the shipment of food and supplies to come in.
    Since their dad hadn't bought groceries in over three weeks, Tori figured she'd do a little shopping. For free. The giant cart filled with food was in the middle of the square. No one was at it. They were over by the shops, which were more like stands with cloths, umbrellas, or a combination of both to keep the sun away.
    Tori had her robe's hood up, and Gama and Ryoku were wearing hats that hid their faces. On Tori's signal, after the people commanding the cart had all moved to a shop farther away, the three made a mad dash for the cart. They all had little baskets that were abandonded on the road, and they were stuffing them full with noodles, apples, lemons, chicken, everything they figured that they would need for food. When the people who unloaded the items fro the cart started to come back with their notepads filled with lists, Tori, Gama, and Ryoku ran for the shadows, away from their eyes. In a few moments, they would realize that they lost food, and would start to search all around the square. That meant that Tori, Gama, and Ryoku couldn't stop running. But, when Gama started to fall behind, and tripped, Tori grabbed his basket, and gave Ryoku the basket. She pushed Ryoku along, back towards the house, his little feet running like crazy. Tori put her basket on the floor, helped Gama up, and gave him her basket.
    "Vel shas sai si cyri. Vos iar eilia thyr Ryoku pyr, please.(Run back to the house. Pick up any food Ryoku drops, please.)"
    Gama nodded, grabbing Tori's basket of food, running after Ryoku.
    While Gama was still running, almost catching up to Ryoku, the three people who unloaded the food appeared, with two guards. The unloaders all had confused looks, and only one had a sword. The guards were calm, each with a sword in both hands. Tori knew she couldn't fight all five blood elves at once, but she drew both of her daggers anyway. When the guards realized she was armed, they backed up. The unloaders backed up with them too, getting their bearings together. Before they could do anything, though, Tori quickly put one dagger back, and opened her side pouch that was strapped to her belt, under her robe. She pulled out her throwing knives, and threw three of them. Each hit their marks; two of the unloaders legs, the one holding the swords' arm. Since the guards were caught off guard by the sudden attack, Tori turned and ran, running out of sight. She knew for a fact that those blood elf guards could beat her to a pulp. She heard their footsteps, gaining on her. Tori knew that if she didn't hide soon, they would find her, and kill her for sure.
    The second Tori saw a rope hanging down from a wall in an alleyway, she turned and leaped for the rope. She got a good hold onto it, and when her feet collided with the wall, she climbed it as fast as possible. Being a blood elf, she couldn't climb it very well or quick, but adrenaline was her friend. She climbed the rope all the way to the top, but the guards saw her at the end of her climb. She plopped onto the ground, pulling the rope up so the guards couldn't follow her. Tori dared to look over the edge, and saw that the guard were scowling at Tori's escape. They were cursing each other out, blaming it on the other.
    "Cym tyr o, o dumb*ss! O jhaer caes kaer eirdae! (How could you, you dumb*ss! Yu let her get away!)"
    "Shar eisi o salol eirdyr? Air'm eir os thar! O eisi si tystalaes, eiraes eir. (What are you talking about? It's all your fault! You are the commander, after all.)
    Tori lay on her back, panting from her intense escape. But, she knew she would have to get back up and go back to the house. So, she rolled over onto her stomach, placing her palms on the floor. She pushed herself up, and stood up. She walked around the roof of whatever building she was on. She could still hear the guards fighting below.
    Tori walked around on the overgrown roof. It was overun with vines and moss, and there was some grass growing, too. When she looked closer, Tori could see that a few of the vines on the bottom of the small jungle were actually thorns. Tori picked her way carefully around the roof, and found a better kept building in a leaping distance away. She took a running leap and had a few feet to spare from her jump. Luckily, this building had a door to the roof, so Tori opened the door and pushed an elevator button, since it seemed to be the only thing she could do. After a few minutes, an elevator opened, and two people, who looked to be a couple, walked out. Tori quickly stepped in, and pushed the button that said "1". The elevator stopped at level "5", first, and three blood elves stepped in. One of them pushed the number "7", while another pushed the "3". The other hanged back, seeing that the "1" button was already pushed. The elevator stopped at level three, and the blood elf got on. One other elf came on too, and sat back on his heels, waiting for the elevator to reach level one. Tori and two blood elves got off. There were three ways she could take; left, right, or forward to the double doors that led to the outside. While the other two elves took opposite sides of the hallways, Tori continued forward to the double doors. She pushed one open, and headed into the outdoors.
    The sky was dark, so Tori knew it was past dinner time. But, to Tori's surprise, there were two plastic containers filled with food next to the fire place. Tori knew that Sakana had cooked food, so Tori picked up the container filled with less food, and scarfed it down.
    Lost in thought, Tori realized how it will be another month until the cart comes back. They need to buy groceries every week, though, so Tori made her decision: She would steal a bunch of money from other people, steal a horse, and ride to Cyre to buy two months worth of groceries.
    Tori ran to Sakana's room, and told her what she was going to do. Sakana stared at the wall for a few seconds after Tori told her everything, then finally said, "Shaesi pyr par caer cor tyli? (Where does dad keep his money?)"
    Tori smiled, liking how Sakana thought. She didn't want Tori to steal too much money from people, so she was going to take all their money, then steal a little bit of money.
    "Ai jhoji cyrn o sol. Ai'jh saji eir os tyli. (I like how you think. I'll take all our money.) Sakana's eyes widened.
    "Byre eir os air! Jhaeli ei jhori shor thys iar, eir jhaer!(Not all of it! Leave a little bit, at least!)
    Tori smiled, and walked into her dad's bedroom. She opened a broken safe, taking five silver coins, eighteen gold coins, and a single gold coin. That left two gold coins, three silver coins, and two copper coins.
    Tori turned and walked out of the bedroom, into the living room, and out of the house. She quietly sneaked alongside the road, hidden by the shadows. Up ahead, Tori saw the horse stable. Looking both ways and putting her hood up, Tori ran as fast as she could to the horse stable. When she knew she made it to the stable safely, Tori crept inside. A black horse with a white crest on it's forehead whinnied as Tori climbed onto it's saddle. She grabbed the reigns and kicked the horse. It bolted forward, trying to fight against Tori. She leaned forward, holding the reigns while her hands were wrapped around it's neck. It was a difficult task, but Tori got the horse to be okay with her as the rode into Farglow. Many people saw them, and some tried to stop them. Tori just made the horse get faster and faster, until they were at a full gallop. The horse, Midnight, rode out of Farglow, headed in the direction of Cyre...
    "Shawn, what the hell do poker chips smell like?"
    "Butterflies."
    _______________
    "Shawn, do you have your license?"
    "Do you mean my pilots license? Or my license to kill, which has been revoked. I would go into details, but then I would have to kill you, which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked."
    "I was talking about your detective license..."

    ^^ Two awesome scenes from a T.V. show called Psych.
    _______________

  3. #23
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    Blue leaned forward in anticipation. He had no leads…nothing. A small part of him wanted to give up, but the happy face of Tesa kept reappearing. No, he wouldn’t give up, never.

    “Well, we don’t know where she is…but we might know someone who does.” Blue faded alittle bit, but any information was pivotal.

    “Ever hear of the mage called Esbin?” Soril asked. Blue grabbed a drink that the tavern owner left them and took a sip.

    “Ya, the one that is called the Time Mage. Supposedly he can see into the future.” Blue stopped for a second to take a breath. “Only problem is, no one knows where to find him.” Soril smiled.

    “What if I told you he had a great grandson?”


    ~~Meanwhile~~

    Rau sat at his desk scribbling on another law that was trying to get pasted. He sighed making a big X on it, while tossing it onto his desk. He leaned back and started to massage his temples. He hadn’t slept in days with all the commotion taking place. As he started to doze off, a soldier ran into the room.

    “Sir, more messengers from Cyr have arrived. They claim for a meeting with you.” Rau waved his hand.

    “Tell them to shove it. I have no time for their petty proposals or complaints.” The soldier stood there as if waiting for Rau to change his mind. Rau looked up from his desk annoyed. “Um… that is all.” The soldier put his fist to his chest and left the room.

    Rau got up from his chair and opened the door. He peered out and noticed no one was present except for a guard at the end of the hallway. Rau silently opened the door, and closed it behind him. He walked down the hallway a few feet till he got to one of the many rooms in the castle. This room contained beautiful designed wooden double doors. Rau silently opened the door and walked inside. The room was majestic, with expensive furniture and paintings everywhere. In the middle was a bed, with a woman laying inside. She was older and appeared to be half awake.

    “What is it Rau?” Rau approached the bed, grabbing a chair along the way. He placed it next to the bed, and sat down in it, rubbing his temples again.

    “No… nothing. Just a lot of work to be done and I seem to be running out of time. Don’t know how your husband did it.”

    Krystal gave a small laugh. “He always loved the challenge. How goes my daughter.”

    Rau looked up staring into the eyes of Krystal saddened and worn. “She is safe as I promised. I have my best men with her at the location we discussed.” Krystal laid he head back on the pillow.

    “Stupid prophecy. All because of Fray decided he had to see Esbin.” Rau sadly nodded his head. “We decided to agree with him though. It is all our faults.” Rau got up and walked to window. He looked out the window. Krystal was the one to speak up again.

    “How about that boy Blue…what is happening with him.” Rau didn’t move from his spot. He kept still, staring out unto the garden. ”I…sent Enos after him.” Krystal made a surprised sound leaning forward off her bed.

    “You promised you won’t kill him! This will severely affect Tesa if you do! And if you do I’ll…” but Krystal started to cough really hard, spasm like. Rau rushed over and caught her and laid her back now.

    “Please Krystal, don’t get up until your better. I commanded Enos to take him alive, and to only use measures if Blue poses a severe threat… and as we all know, one of the strongest fighters in Heoden isn’t going to lose or be threatened.” Krystal turned her head from him looking the other way.

    “You know this was the only measure to stop him from interfering. The prophecy foretold this! Great dangers are in this land, and unless we take measures against the Ico Dynasty, we will all die. Esbin told us this.”

    “Esbin didn’t tell us anything, you and Fray took it... took it into your own hands instead of letting it play out!”

    “We would all die if it played out! This is why we choose to march against the Ico Dynasty! This is why we risk our men’s lives! I will tell the men soon. We will secretly attack Cyre and stop this prophecy!” Rau moved towards the door, to return back to his office.


    ~~Back at the Tavern~~

    Blue tapped his finger against the table. “Do you mean grandson?” Soril shook his head. “Remember Esbin is like 150. Some say he found the spell for immortality. I personally don’t know.”

    “So how did you find his great grandson?”

    Soril looked towards the 4th member of the party who hasn’t said anything. Laura looked up red in the face.

    “Yu…the grandson…kinda has a thing for me and he owes me after I got him out of some big trouble a few years back. As repayment….I asked for him to help you.” She didn’t stare Blue in the eyes, constantly blushing and looking away.

    “I don’t see how you found out though, how..” Blue stopped mid sentence. Blue smiled (one of those teasing kind) and leaned forward putting his face closer to hers. She started to blush heavily. “Ohhh I see, so THAT’S what you did for him.” If her face wasn’t bright red before, it turned cherry red now. “OH NO! NEVER! It was when our team was on a mission…” Everyone started to burst out laughing. It was nice to lighten the mood up abit. Blue leaned back on his chair.

    “Ok so I gotta meet this Yu. Where is he?” Laura’s brother spoke up this time. “He is located in Cyre.”

    Blue shrugged his shoulders. “Well that plan is out the door. I won’t be able to get through the gate.” Arsul smiled.

    “Ahh so I guess who haven’t heard of our…gang… in Cyre?” Blue raised his hands confused. “As you know, we pledge our loyalty to you, as our general. Well it wasn’t only us. A lot of Legion 5 has pledged loyalty. We stationed a group of us in Cyre, to act the part of a gang, but more to find information regarding anything to do with Rau. We named them Genesis. A few soldiers you personally know are in it. They will help you enter the city. Meet them at the North gate, 3 days from today, at around this time. You will know its them.”

    Arsul looked towards the others and nodded. They all started to get up. “We have to go. We are meeting some resistance members in a nearby town. Good luck to you my friend and general.” They all put their fists to their chests and left the tavern. Blue decided it was time to hit the sack, as he would be leaving early that morning.
    Last edited by *sky; 03-06-2011 at 05:50 AM.


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  4. #24
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    Talking I finally posted! :D You all stole all the good colors. :(

    Hiro blinked. Once. Twice. Each time confirmed that he was finally awake, and what he saw now wasn't a dream. How could it be? As he slept, images materialized before him, obscure in appearance, but visible none the less. Then, when Hiro awoke, all light ceased to exist, and only the sensation of touch truly dictated reality. Or was it? It was becoming harder to tell now.

    Sighing to himself, he could almost feel the chilling puff of fog forming in the air, lingering as proof of the frigid temperature. That was a another sign that he was awake, for there was no temperature in dreams. Actually, the thought of escaping the stifling air that harshened his breathing and coldened his hands didn't seem like a bad idea, especially if he could see her again: Cerelis. It was brief, and most of what he remembered were fragmented, but Hiro knew his sister had contacted him, that she was still safe. If only he could remember! Squeezing his eyes shut, Hiro pressed his thumbs to his temples, the rest of his fingers messaging his forehead. Gradually, snipets of Cerelis invading his dreams returned to him...

    ******Speculum Viator - Mirrage Messenger******

    Obsidian paint poured like acid in every direction, yet breaches of flaming circles weaved in and around them. Together they formed a pattern familiar to Hiro, often seen when he had troubled slumbers. Realizing he was putting too much pressure on his eyes, he relaxed them a bit. That's when he heard a cheerful giggling resounding from somewhere behind him. Instantly, he thought of turning around, but didn't know how. He couldn't rotate his head. Everything that he was experiencing now was in his mind. Feeling helpless, Hiro continued listening, waiting for something or someone to appear amidst the darkness. That's when he felt it: a hand had somehow touched him. Shocked, he jumped back a bit, discovering he could move. It was working!

    "Hi-roveus, thart...'ear m-i...spa-ke? Yew...us-t...ha-..i......'o...Cyre!"

    There was a distortion, from the way Cerelis spoke to how she looked when he gazed upon her. Her hair, which had been seeped with as much darkness as his own hair, was faded and held shades of pink highlights every now and then. Judging from the way it tumbled to her shoulders in uneven layers, it was the target of misuse. Some of the strands were frayed, whereas others seemed to have grown where hair had been ripped from her scalp. Although her damaged locks could be seen relatively clearly, her face was a blur. Certainly, he could make out the one brown and one silver iris that mirrored his own, but her skin was different, as if proof that she wasn't truly there. It glowed with an euphoric light that concealed the scars beneath it, keeping them a secret from her brother. Even her attitude was misleading, her words haunting him, but Hiro could barely make out a calm smile on her face. She didn't want him to worry.

    "Cerelis! You mustn't allow a wretch'd soul as that which resides within Richelieu to consume you! Our hope shines not with words, not with acts, but within quintessence. Free yourself from damnation, and wait for me. Dare not dally in his keep--"

    He held his breath. Cerelis had strolled over to him as he tried his best to warn her, to no avail. After all, if she could escape, she would have done it long ago. Richelieu kept her as his captive, not just as a physical slave, but bound her mind. Perhaps that was why his memories of her contacting him always seemed fractured? Even now, a grainy texture like that of noise in a picture was increasing relentlessly, trying to overwhelm the moment entirely. Fustration must have revealed itself upon Hiro's face, for Cerelis's hands firmly clutched his own. There was no warmth, not even a hint that she was touching him, yet his eyes did not forsake him here. Or did they?

    "Cerelis, you are hiding? Or does he covet you from me entirely?"

    Suddenly, for only a second or so, bulky chains that obviously weighed a ton tangled like tenacious snakes around Cerelis. The scars that had concealed themselves brandished themselves across Cerelis's sickly, pale skin, as if the purplish blue whelps and gashes of intense red sucked all the color away from it. What he had thought to be plush, vividly pink lips became the hue of one who had been poisoned, though he couldn't be sure if this was true. Oddly, despite all the torment exposed on her body, Cerelis retained a refine beauty that couldn't be extinguished. She was literally a princess who was treated as a slave, or maybe worse! Richelieu mocked him by slaughtering his whole family, save Cerelis. Just what was he planning to do?

    "He has weakened you to no more than a specter. Forgive me..."

    "...N-t...ew-r...f-...a-...lt! P-le...s-...da......t....gi....-p! T-o...C-...e......'o Cyre, ...nd......e o-ne...av......all...Y.....a-e...bl-e...s'd......g-o...H...ro....."


    ******Nepture's Raider - Cell ******

    Somewhere along the lines of recollecting his memories with Cerelis, Hiro had dozed off yet again. No, it was more like being in a daze, his eyes having been slightly open the whole time, aside from his occasional blinking. Raising himself from the slight lean to his right he had positioned himself in, he regained his composure just as footsteps echoed nearby.

    Without a doubt, those boisterous, confident strides belong to none other than Captain Renshaw. For a pirate, the conditions he received were compassionate, considering he could have left him stranded at sea. Of course, there was the nagging fear that they (the captain and his crew) would turn on him, subjecting him to any method of cruelty for entertainment. The possibility of that happening wasn't slim, for his fate rested on the unstable supply of rum. Judging from the ruckus he heard above moments before he heard the footsteps, this may have been the case.

    Immediately after the footsteps stopped, a voice rung through the small space, directed at Hiro. He was right: the captain himself was before him. Renshaw greeted him with a question, one that wasn't expected to be answered. Not that Hiro was planning to do so. He spent enough time to know when to speak and when not to.

    Listening attentively, he was surprised that the next destination would be the one he despirately needed to head to. Was he some kind of mind reader? No, it was in fact due to a lack in rum. Where did they get the money to buy rum anyway, especially "the world's finest rum"? Hiro didn't know, nor did he particularly cared. What mattered was that their goals overlapped, and that the consequences of pirates becoming sober didn't endanger his life...yet.

    While he contemplated all that could happen to him once he got to Cyre, a loud crash erupted from where the entrance -- or rather, exit -- to his cell was. Apparently, he was allowed to leave his cell, but just where were they? He could still feel the quaky steering of the ship, so much so that when he attempted to stand, he wobbled a bit. He would have fallen backwards had it not been for his basic knowledge of the cell's structure, which allowed him to grip ahold of the door.

    Timing his moves accurately, Hiro managed to briskly follow Renshaw, only to realize he didn't know much about the layout of the rest of the ship. As soon as he asked to board, giving a small account of his past, he was lead downwards, giving him no chance to familiarize himself with his new environment. Hoping to stall his clumsy fate on the upper level, Hiro decided to ask more about the trip to Cyre.

    "...How should we precede upon entering Cyre? Forgive me, but would you not and your companions risk captivity for your...duties at sea? Have you not any plan?"
    Last edited by lokuri; 05-11-2011 at 02:15 AM.

    Nurarihyon no Mago!
    Quote:
    Inpa: "...I got your mask already, look! Isn't it pretty?”
    Balthazar: ”Urgh.. !! It's pink..”
    Inpa: ”Oh please, it's called being metrosexual!..."
    -- farag0n; Tales of Amn

  5. #25
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    Dunk Dunk. Dunk Dunk.

    The noise woke up Laec at an instant, he practically jumped out from bed, somebody knocking usually meant two things. Either somebody politely wanted to make their presence felt, wanting you to open of your own accord. The second that they politely made their presence known before kicking the door in.
    “Open up Laec, I know you’re in there” the demanding voice of miss Lugenharts entered through the door and in to his eardrums. Or it was miss Lugenhart.

    Let’s see, he had paid his rent, he hadn’t broken anything and Greg hadn’t insulted her as far as he knew.
    At that moment the small knife called Greg that he carried in his belt woke up, there was no physical sign but there was a certain feeling of wakedness about Greg whenever he was active. That and the following dialogue was a certain hint.

    “Be quiet you old hag, either send in somebody armed for us to fight or go away to whatever hole you crawled up from!”

    Ok scratch Greg not having insulted her, the silence practically oozed from the door, the feeling of I am very angry and therefore very quiet to make you aware of exactly how angry I am. Suddenly he really wanted to escape from another exit than the door. Then again the room was not very generous in escapes.

    It took just one casually cast eye in one direction to take it all in. It was more of a cubbyhole than an actual room. There was just enough room for one bed in the corner, a very, very small desk and a chair where his old frayed coat lay, most consisting of a faded black but with the occasional patches of colors in it, red, green, white, brown, anything really he could get his hands on to patch up the holes with. There was a window but it was no more than a slit in the wall which let in some sunlight. No chance for him to squeeze through there. Throwing out Greg would probably improve his situation but wishful thinking would get him nowhere unfortunately. He was as bound to Greg as he was to his arm.

    “Laec, Greg. Both of you come out right this instant or I make you regret it".


    Sighing he put on the coat and slowly opened the door behind which stood an old lady, her skin wrinkled and hair bleached of age but despite this stood proud as if her inn was the very palace of Cyra itself. Her manners was the sort that said I merely let you stay in my presence because of my infinite grace that only queens and cats possessed.

    “That’s better. Greg if you ever take that tone with me again and I will make Laec to cook and hack the rest of the meals for the month to pay his rent”

    “Anything but that! No more vegetables, no more pork, I can’t stand a single second of being forced to slice and hack them again! Told you we should have sliced her”
    he added in what he probably thought was a subtle, quiet voice and might very well have succeeded if he had any idea about what subtle meant, despite his efforts Greg never seemed to grasp the concept.

    "Not helping Greg” Laec could almost feel how this inn also slipped between his fingers, he been thrown out of more than one because of his companion.

    “Let me get this straight, you two, the two of you have discussed whether to kill me or not?”

    “Ehm, I would like you to see it as us having discussed not to kill you”
    “That’s alright then. There’s a man seeking you downstairs. Personally I would never have let him in but he said it’s important, he only wears black you know. Only thieves, murderers and people who got things to hide wear those colors, not the kind of people I let in”
    “Ehm” Laec began as he swiped his eyes downwards and up over the entirety of Ms Lugenharts, dressed from top to toe in black. “You’re only wearing black as well”
    Staring straight into his eyes with her own cold blue ones until it felt like his eyes begun to frost and he averted them she said icily, with icicles punctuating every letter “your point being?”
    “Nothing at all” Laec answered hurriedly “I just get down and see who wanted to meet me then” he said as he hurried down the stairs, creaking with every steep.

    Down there, leaning casually against the doorframe stood the man she had talked about. Just as she had said he was entirely dressed in black, from the boots and upwards, it wasn’t the savvy elegant black of the rich but the dirty and faded black of the poor.
    “You’re Laec?”
    “Yes, can I help you?” Laec replied, praying in reverse in his mind. Nobody had needed a curse removed in ages and honestly he wouldn’t even be able to afford food soon but then again he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be involved with this man, he had the nagging feeling that miss Lugenharts description of people wearing black wasn’t completely inaccurate.

    “You wanted to see a book from Mr Leydens personal collection. I been told to bring you to it, as long you perform a service for Mr Leyden”

    Leyden, one of the more refined criminal lords. And he wanted a service. Somehow that single word made him very worried. From his knowledge anybody powerful enough to send somebody else to talk to you would never need a service performed that would be easy.
    “Not involving anything sharp surely”? One could always hope.
    “Oh please let there be something sharp and dangerous! I beg of you, you wouldn’t believe how useless this sorry excuse of a hero is. No matter what I do he runs, and while he got the speed of the charging right and would be great if he only could charge in the right direction. At the pace we’re going I can’t even say we’re going nowhere, we’re going backwards!”
    The man didn’t bat an eyelid, as if an unknown voice coming from a man’s waist was something that happened daily.
    “I was told there would be sharp objects involved, if you don’t come”
    A threat, somehow Laec was a bit relieved. No need to hesitate with threats involved, he knew where he was with them, usually far away.
    Well we’re not going and that’s final” Greg said defiantly.
    “Please don’t listen to him. I come, hate to be involved with anything sharp, much offense meant Greg, what does Mr. Leyden he want me for?”
    Striding towards him the man looked around, as if fearing anybody to hear them before he whispered “Mr. Leyden needs a curse removed, if you succeed he will allow you to study the book to your hearts contents”
    And if I fail?" he had an horribly feeling of where this was going.

    And if you fail” the man first now allowed a small smile to show on his face “you die”
    Last edited by Befram; 03-10-2011 at 07:55 PM.

  6. #26
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    Default A new friend.. ?

    – 20 years ago –

    Maiyu was rushing through the village of Inoua holding a bag in her hands. Her feet splashed on the muddy surface created by the earlier morning rain. She stumbled on the way a few times and each time did her best to protect the bag. The bag withheld cookies which Maiyu had baked all by herself, with her mother. She was going towards the house of an an elderly woman, Naila, who lived in the village.

    Maiyu called Naila ”grandma” even though she wasn't her grandmother, it was just something she had grown to do. Harvest time had just started and the village was bustling with people, all heading to the fields or returning from there. The men coming back from the fields had the strong odor of hard work on them. The odor crept it's way inside Maiyu's nostrils and made it's home there, causing Maiyu to pinch her nose. Once she arrived she started banging Naila's front door like no tomorrow.

    Naila: ”D-dear child! Please do not break down my door!”
    Maiyu: ”Lookie grandma! I brought you cookies!”
    Naila: ”Oh it's you Maiyu! You shouldn't have, I'm the one who is supposed to bake cookies for you.”
    Maiyu: ”I baked them all by myself! With mama!”
    Naila: ”Hah hah.. Such a sweet child. Come on in and I'll serve you some granberry juice.”
    Maiyu: ”YAY!”


    Everything was good back then. Now I'm consumed by hatred and malice.. revenge never brought the satisfaction I yearned.


    Maiyu had one eye open while she lay on the wet, grassy ground on the edge of the forest. It was a real downpour, every drop that fell on her face became only heavier. You could easily picture her crying because of all the rain, truth was that she wasn't however. She was able to move her fingers, nothing else. Her vision was a total blur, she wouldn't be able to make out a person even if they were standing in front of her. Suddenly she felt something on her waist, it was a hand. Was she being robbed.. ? No. The person grabbed Maiyu and placed her on their broad shoulder, it was definitely a man of sizeable build. Soon darkness enveloped Maiyu's eyes again, taking her into a different realm.

    – After 2 days –

    Maiyu tried to open her eyes but the light hurt them so she immediately shut them. After a while, she accustomed to the light. In front of her was standing a Half-Giant, a seasoned one at that. The man had a long curly grey beard which looked like a small cloud of fog. His hair was short and grey like his beard and he possessed rather sizeable horns, curled behind his ears. Maiyu could gather from the man's look that he had gone through his share of battles, he had two scars in the corner of his left eye and one scar right in the middle of his chin. The man had sags under his eyes and wrinkles all over his forehead, it looked like he hadn't gotten sleep for some reason. His eyes were gentle and brown colored.. somehow he seemed familiar to Maiyu. Was this man her saviour?

    ???: ”So.. finally waking up, are we? How you feeling?”
    Maiyu: ”.. Ugh.. like the morning after a night in the Drunken Bear” (an infamous tavern)
    ???: ”Hah hah! Gotta tell ya, you looked like shit when I found you lady. Oh right, the name's Hector. Still remember who you are?”
    Maiyu: ”Maiyu.”
    Hector: ”Maiyu, eh? So.. what's your story? How'd you end up in a remote place like Forest of Whispers, on death doors to top it off?”
    Maiyu: ”Long story.”
    Hector: ”Not a talkative one, are you?”
    Maiyu: ”You guessed right. Thank you for saving me but I need to lea-.. Argh!!
    Hector: Hold still!! You're not going anywhere with those wounds! You just gotta lay down and let your body heal itself first before you even think about leaving.”

    Maiyu's wounds weren't healed yet, not even close. For now she just had to stay as this Hector's guest. She didn't like it all but it was thanks to Hector that she was saved. Hector's hut was a small one, it was made of sturdy wood which gave it a home-like feeling. There was a bear pelt on the floor, facing a fireplace which was lit. Maiyu was on Hector's bed which was next to the fireplace, in the corner. There was a single chair on the bear pelt and a small desk in the other side of the room. There were some papers scattered on the desk, most likely letters, and an ink bottle on top of them.

    The head of a stuffed deer hanged over the fireplace, it was the first thing that would catch your attention when entering Hector's hut. Hector himself was sitting by the desk, writing something. He looked quite caught up with the writing, perhaps he was writing into his diary how he had just saved a damsel in distress? Then again Maiyu couldn't picture Hector having a diary, it was a tad too girly for a man of his build. A large axe and a bow were resting next to the front door, most likely hunting gear. Hector was no doubt a hunter who sold his goods somewhere, perhaps in Cyre. Suddenly the writing came to a halt and Hector's eyes locked onto Maiyu.

    Hector: ”Feeling better yet?”
    Maiyu: ”Not really.”
    Hector: ”Hmmh. Well I need to go sell a few pelts in Cyre soon so stay put, you hear me?”
    Maiyu: ”Sure.”
    Hector: ”By the way, how can you even see under that hood? Why not take it off?”
    Maiyu: ”I prefer it like this. Do I need a better reason?”
    Hector: ”No, of course not. So care to even tell me where you come from?”
    Maiyu: ”South.”
    Hector: ”You gotta be kidding me. That's the same as introducing yourself only as a woman!”
    Maiyu: ”.. Village of Inoua.”
    Hector: ”Hmm.. I've been there on my journeys. It's a peaceful place.”
    Maiyu: ”Is.. the village still there?”
    Hector: ”Yeah, it's still there. You going back there?”
    Maiyu: ”.. No. I don't belong there anymore.”

    Hector nodded and left for Cyre soon after that. Maiyu stayed in the hut and tried to get some sleep on the mean time. Her dreams were filled with nightmares though so she couldn't sleep much. The carnage brought by her own hands haunted her, the only good thing about that was the proof that she hadn't become completely emotionless. Hector's hut wasn't far from Cyre but it would take an hour or two to get there by walking.

    – The next day –

    It was around noon, Hector was firing up the fireplace since it was a rather cold day for some reason. Maiyu suddenly shot up and cringed. Her body was reacting violently due to Sanguin blood withdrawal. She started coughing and bloody veins started to appear around her eyes and face. A high fever also took over Maiyu, taking away all her strength. Hector got startled from the sudden outburst and quickly tried to examine what was wrong. Maiyu was able to spurt a few words even though the pain was unimaginable.

    Maiyu: ”Need.. Sanguin.. blood..”
    Hector: ”You can't be serious! It's poisono-”
    Maiyu: ”Q-quick. .!!”
    Hector: ”.. Fine! Hang in there! I'll be back shortly!”

    Fortune was not with Hector today. Not a single Sanguin was in sight. Hector cursed and just started running towards west. He had no idea where Sanguins could be found but he had to try at least. He kept running and running, desperately trying to find at least one Sanguin. He even tried shouting to attract attention. After running far enough he finally found a pack(10+) of Sanguins. Sadly a pack was too much for a single man. He couldn't possibly walk out from a fight against so many. He still had to try something so he shot a single arrow into one of the Sanguins, hoping it would turn the beast's attention towards Hector. Sadly, all the Sanguins turned their attention at Hector as the arrow swept past.

    Hector: ”Damn.. this is bad..”

  7. #27
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    A shambling, twisted, broken shell of a person flung itself at Wulfhelm, the sunset's rays taking on a more sinister edge as they illuminated the horrifying visage in a vivid, sickly orange.

    The lumbering barbarian was too slow, however, and found himself hurling forwards as the wily monstrosity latched itself onto his back, it's stick-thin legs latching around him and shunting him forward, the barbarian only barely managing to stop himself before he was hurled forward towards the portal, which lurched sickeningly forward at him, it's swirling, azure depths threatening to drag them back to their twisting, vortex-like hold.

    A glint of silver caught the half-giant's eye as he tried to compose himself against the attack of the monster – a dagger, metallic and curved like a tiger fang, shone in the half-light of the evening. The beast let out a horrifying, gurgled screech towards the roof, the deadly object clutched within it's skeletal, clawed talons. Wulfhelm smelt it's breath as it nearly retched in it's face, the horrible stench of carrion choking his throat and singing his nose with rotten fire.

    “ENOUGH!” Wulfhelm yelled, swinging a lumbering hand back towards the stick-thin monster – although the blow was clumsily placed and slowed by the toxin that was seething it's way through his atrophic muscles, it still connected. With a panicked screech, the sickly beast was sent hurtling from the Half-giant's back, launching itself into the air as Wulfhelm's arm connected with all the force of a falling tree-trunk.

    Wulfhelm staggered lazily around to stare at his assailant, barely able to keep his raggedy, gasping breath under control. It felt like his muscles were being clogged up by taxing grit, and that his lungs were being compressed – squeezed by the hand of some invisible vice, filled with empty air that failed to rejuvenate him or beg his body sweet release from the lack of air.

    That's when he saw what had struck him – and what had horrifyingly butchered his assassins below. It stood there: A mere hollowed husk of a person. Green, sickened skin matted it's spindly, bone-thin frame. Ragged tatters of dead hair clung desperately to it's head, strands of the fragile, crackling stuff toppled off in clumps. It's eyes were bloodshot, turned a violent, anguished crimson lashed with scarlet veins and raw, bruised eyelids that flooded with black.

    When Wulfhelm looked closer, he realised with a sort of disjointed horror that it was – used to be – a man. One would imagine such a monster scrabbling away in a damp, dimly lit cave – but this bone-thin man was dressed in finely linked chain armor, one of his vehemently shaking hands holding master dagger within it's sapped fingers.

    From one mess to the other... Wulfhelm thought to himself, cursing his luck. If I wasn't so damn... Drowsy...

    It was becoming hard for the giant to even piece his thoughts together as he felt the venom seep into every corner of his body, slowly sapping away that gargantuan strength that had made him famous as the “Mountain Breaker.” - A feared outcome of prophecy to the Kal'Kalak, and a savage mercenary to Heoden. It burned him, turning his veins to acid and setting his blood boiling with sloth.

    The spindly beast screamed and lunged at him once more, swiping out with that deadly-edged blade. Wulfhelm raised an arm to block the blow, but he was too slow, the dagger grazing his arm before recoiling for his jerkin, ripping savagely through wolf hide and glancing off the chain-mail, causing the abomination to reel back from the contact with a high-pitched squeal, almost staggering to the floor in a tangle of yellow limbs.

    Wulfhelm watched with simmering rage as he realised he was bleeding, staring at the scarlet droplets that began to materialize from the cut. Though a sickening nausea overtook him, he realised that the stinging, the bleeding, made him feel less nauseous – pained, but mobile. Then it occurred to him: the sharp edge of that fabled half-giant intelligence kicking in for but a moment.

    Of course! Blood! The venom is in my blood! Wulfhelm stared at the pitiful, sickly wretch, and a surge of anger rose within him. I am not going to be bested by some mere, sickened man because of a few herbs! He simmered, veins popping forth from his neck as his eyes faded over with blood. That barbarian's fury seeping back into his veins like rejuvenating, uncontrollable fire. I am wolf clan! I AM THE SILENT THUNDERS THAT CAUSES THE AVALANCHE! I AM THE TUMBLING ROCKS THAT SHATTER THE NIGHT, THE WHIPPING CRACK OF THUNDER!

    “I AM THE MOUNTAIN BREAKER!”


    The clansman yelled spite, screaming wild curses and hell towards the roof of the mess hall. He grasped one of his axes, roaring with a herculean effort as he fought through the arthritic poison seeping it's way through his body. He raised the axe to the sky, the metal catching the last of the sunlight's rays in a glorious glint...

    And took the axe to his own arm, rending a gash from shoulder to elbow, as blood burst forth like a great, gory river. The red liquid blasting itself through torn skin and damaged muscle. The giant didn't think, the time for thinking had come and passed. There was only ruthless, immovable determination to not be slain by such a pathetic creature.

    Sickness took hold: He lurched. Bile rose to the back of his throat as his world was dived into a vast ocean of dots and darkness, stunned silence ensued, as everything seemed to fade out of blurred vision: The barbarian was viewing life through a blurred screen of paralytic nausea – all feeling left, as he stood there. His brain not even managing to piece together what was happening, not even as he toppled towards the ground. Not even as he saw the sickened shell of a man let out a blood-curdled imitation of a screech and charge towards him, dagger raised high.

    It all came back to him in an instant.

    “GET... BACK!” Wulfhelm roared. Motion! Glorious, unhindered motion! It ran free through the half-giant's body in glorious liberty, as his powerful, thumping heart shattered back to work, having almost dithered before, it rammed the thick, scarlet liquid through his body with earth-trembling life. He felt like a wolf on the hunt, glorious, unchained! In that moment, Wulfhelm felt what it feels like to hold true strength, and to feel it surge back into his bones, bones that knew it's wrath well: Bones that welcomed it back, and sent his body into a glorious riposte.

    The axe was flung through the air with tremendous force, and the wind around the giant stirred restlessly in such legendary strength. The dagger stood not a chance against the tempered steel and the Goliath power. Sparks flew for a moment, the hellish screeching of metal upon metal, the sound of war, and with a blood-curdling fury, the dagger was cast to the ground like a twig.

    Insolent!” A step forward sent cutlery on the nearby tables jumping in their places, another cup toppling from it's stand and smashing against the floor to join in the chorus of pandemonium strength. “WHELP!” Reversing the axe in his hand, he brought it down like a scorn titan, the screeching monster barely able to avoid it as it scathed it's chest, tearing through the brittle skin – it no longer held that diseased, maddened rage. Instead, it shrieked like a vulture, barely able to do anything apart from scrabble desperately with it's brittle talons.

    “DIE!”
    Wulfhelm ordered thunderously, that single word holding more booming, resonate power than any other, as he shifted forward, using great, lumbering momentum as he rose, cocking his head forwards as he charged towards the ill wretch's jaw.

    There are many legends about half-giant horns. How they are harder than the strongest steel, how they can cleave through bone and how they are impossible to even carve – holding their natural shape no matter how hard an effort has been made to shape them into a weapon. Some regard this property as signs of the horns being spiritual beings of their own, who would only fight for their beholder – their ungovernable tenacity serving as proof of this. But all knew one thing:

    You do NOT want to be charged by them.

    The horns shattered into the poisoned Oathkeeper's jaw, shattering it completely on impact with a sickening crunch. But it didn't stop there – the horns had lodged themselves firmly into the tattered, ragged flesh and obliterated bone, and as Wulfhelm cocked his head backwards with a blood-curdling yell, the former man went with it.

    It flew upwards, a screeching, wretched, pathetic missile, as the beast collided with the ceiling – decorating it with a brutal splatter of ruby - before thundering back down – light as a feather, yet tumbling towards the floor as a rock. It landed with thunderous impact, it's screech sending even the bravest fliers soaring from their nests. The wild screaming and hooting afterwards dithered into a whimpering, jaw-less groan, and Wulfhelm felt a surge of rage as it stared up at him with soulless, bloodshot pupils.

    A risen foot, and a thundering shake, and the thing's head was no more. Nought but a ruby stain on a scarlet carpet.

    More shrieks echoed from behind him, and he broke out into a wide, wolfish grin.

    “COME AT ME!” He bellowed back at them, and so they did – having dealt with the intruders downstairs, the hollow, sickened horde that had overwhelmed the assassins now charged at Wulfhelm, who stared over his shoulder – watching the tangled mess of putrid, green limbs contrasting with some of the finest armor and weaponry he had ever seen scramble into view. Holding the gargantuan axe in one goliath hand, he faced the oncoming horde.

    Darkness consumed him in a haze of red.

    __________________________________________________ _______________

    Wulfhelm stood as a towering, vengeful giant on the ground floor, although his eyes did not hold the same gargantuan fury – instead, he looked pitifully on the victims of the infected monsters that had attacked him earlier. Normally, he would treat such people with furious anger. But they had not been given a swift death, no. They lay mangled, mutilated. Stretched on the floor in a horrifying mess of tattered clothing, entrails and scarlet fluid. Dead. There was no other description – they had all been living things once, but now they were merely stains on the carpet.

    Lumbering towards one of the corpses, Wulfhelm rummaged around in the entrails – his hands were already sodden in the disgusting, blackened blood of the infected wretches, and he was no stranger to gore. Although the giant was not light of heart, what he saw next made his heart lurch sickeningly.

    There, in the mess, was the amulet symbol of the Fifty-Six Blades, splattered with scarlet – practically dripping with blood. It bore into his mind as a token of what was once before, and the pain of exile – the pain of loosing his own home – struck deep into his mind once more. It was not the same, leaving the Fifty-Six Blades. It had been his own choice, but now they were hunting him.

    Where has my home gone now? Blood-brother, I wonder, if things had been different. If I had heeded your words...

    But those memories had faded now, he could barely even picture the man's beloved face: sometimes the Wolf-clan came back to him in his dreams, ghostly specters. Whispering bitter, spat curses to the half-giant in the night's shadow, coming back to remind of a past that he longed so much, so desperately for. But when he awoke, those images were somehow gone. Buried in the back of his mind to haunt him in another sleepless slumber.

    Tracks...


    The half-giant's train of thought was shattered for a moment, as he noticed footprints placed deftly into the soft earth – running away from the tower. Was it perhaps one of the assassins? No, he had only counted three. He knew not of the order that had lain within this tower, nor their ways.

    Escapism caused him to gravitate towards the footprints – the lumbering man taking care not to trample the trail – it was fairly easy to follow: A footprint here, a snag of clothing there – it was of the same, silken make of those monsters within this tower.

    Had one of them escaped? No. These footprints were much to precise: Whoever this was, they were still conscious, still mindful of themselves. They ran with swift grace: Not clumsy, diseased fury.

    His mind turned to the Fifty-Six Blades, and thought of seeking them out, but... No, the old mercenary group seemed to of forsaken him now. He would only find death within their ranks, and whilst he had to find out why, now was not the time. Where would he even start? He was a tracker of the wilds; Not a revealer of plots.

    And so he began to follow the footprints, deep into the forest, whose oak trees seem to sigh, waving their large, brambling branches to warn him back: But the half-giant was a breaker of mountains, and he would do as he pleased.

  8. #28
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    Default ♪.. Arrivin' to port, gettin' off court, such is life of a pirate.. ♫

    Somehow when Renshaw mentioned Cyre, Hiro got a lot more.. attentative. Renshaw could almost spot Hiro's ears twitching slightly, as if he was aiming all his focus to what Rensaw was talking about. Finally once Renshaw kicked the door open, Hiro came out slightly wobbling.
    Not that it was surprising, Hiro was blind and they were still out on the sea. What surprised Renshaw the most was how Hiro was still able to walk even though Bass was steering again. Then Hiro opened his chest of words and asked about their journey to Cyre. He wished to know how they were going to get inside, it was almost like he was doubting that Renshaw even had a plan to get inside. Renshaw laughed out loud and slammed his hand on Hiro's back.

    ”Gyahaha!! Captivity? Me? I'm Captain Renshaw De Morgan, the most fearsome pirate these seas have ever seen! People hear my name and they cower in fear. HA! I send chills down the spine of even the most veteran of warriors!! Kiddo, ain't nothin' out there that could catch me! And I got me a plan y'know, a fine plan indeed! And you, kiddo, will be playin' the main role!”

    Renshaw certainly had that pirate-ish charisma about him. Even though quirky at times, there was no doubt that he wasn't a capable leader. Renshaw dragged Hiro from his arm back on deck where the others were just silently watching. Armin looked like he was about to explode, his face was red and he was twiddling around his blades. Spade was still unconscious but for some odd reason, he had a smile on his face. Buck & Benz were still crying for God knows what reason. Dingle had vanished somewhere and Olben had gone back into the kitchen. Renshaw quickly started barking orders:

    ”OLBEN! Where're them damn disguises?! DINGLE! Replace that pirate flag with a whitey one!! SPADE! WAKE UP!! BA-”
    ”CAP'N!! Ya can't be serious! Ya can't leave me behind!!” Armin shouted out, he couldn't have disagreed more about being left behind. Renshaw was quick to grab Armin from his shoulder and firmly look into his eyes.

    ”I'm placin' the thing I most treasure in this world in yer hands Armin! You're the only one who I trust to do it! Yer my damn first mate for cryin' out loud, so live up to yer name!!”
    ”.. A-Aye, captain!!”
    ”My baby better be fine an' dandy when I get back, ya hear me?!”
    ”Count on it cap'n!”

    Soon Olben came out of the kitchen, clutching a pair of robes in his hands. Both were rather tattered and mud green in color. Renshaw glanced at the robes with disgust and clutched onto his red coat fiercely. Olben shoved both robes to their respective owners' hands. Renshaw had to back down from the force of the shove, Olben was known of his rough way of doing things. Not even the food was spared from his wrath. That's one of the prime reasons why the kitchen looked like a demolition site everytime Olben was done cooking. Ingredients would be splattered all over the kitchen table and walls. It was easy to actually feel sorry for all the poor vegetables and venison that had to suffer in his ruthless hands.

    Renshaw slightly smelled the robe and his face turned into putrid green for a moment. Just where did Olben get these robes? From their.. ”sewage system”? Renshaw coughed a few times and looked at Olben with fury in his eyes. He, an infamous pirate captain known of his red coat and katana, would have to resort to wearing some dirty bum's underwears? This had to be a joke of some kind. Olben kept a pokerface and finally said:

    ”Don' look at me like that. Is not like you smell any better.”
    ”Oh blimey.. this robe.. it smells worse than Buck's arse!”
    ”B-buh.. I thought me arse smells good..” Buck said with a quiet voice.
    ”Bet me arse smells bettah!” Benz claimed and launched his fist right into Buck's face.
    ”O'Really? Lemme smell it!” Buck yelled and leaned over at Benz in order to sniff.
    ”The hell.. ?! You soddin' muttonheads! STOP SMELLIN' YER ARSES!!” Renshaw shouted with a vein almost exploding from his neck.
    ”.. Ahem. What the hell are ya complainin' about?! The worse the smell is, the less people will try to peek out yer face!” Olben said to Renshaw, completely ignoring the two blockheads.
    ”Ugh.. Mother of God.. Haah.. Haah.. fresh air.. YARRRR!!! Some bloody robe won't slow me down! Kiddo! Get your robe on! We're arrivin' soon.”
    ”Does he even know what yer about to do?” Olben asked with his left brow high, taking slight peeks from Hiro out of the corner of his eye.
    ”Eh? Sure. Ya take point once we set foot on land, kiddo. There, now he knows.” Renshaw said while trying to fit in with his new clothes.

    Olben sighed slightly and then looked at Hiro.
    ”You got that lad? Once we arrive, you two will leave the ship an' you're the one who will lead. Our captain here stays behind you, concealing his face as well as he can. If someone gets too curious, be sure to draw their attention away from Renshaw. We both know our captain's going to just get violent if some numbskull starts pokin' around, thus blowin' yer cover.”
    ”Bah! Someone gets too close an' I smash their face in!”
    ”Don't mess this one up, lad. We want our captain back in one piece.”

    Armin was standing a bit further away, sharpening his blades. Once Olben stopped talking, he moseyd behind Hiro and whispered into his ear:
    ”If ya get cap'n in trouble.. I'll make sure you'll be getting a free course of keelhauling and ”walkin' down the plank” with plenty of sharks to play with..” Armin said this with the scariest voice he could come up with.

    That's when Dingle shouted that they would arrive to port in a matter of minutes. Renshaw turned around and glanced at the port town which they were headed. It wasn't a big one, not even close. Only a dozen houses were scattered along the coastline but there were plenty of fishing boats on the dock. It was definitely a fishing town. Renshaw was unsure what the town was called but that didn't really matter much, they weren't going to stay long. Once the ship came to a halt, Buck lassoed a rope and tied the ship to the dock. Benz placed the walkway to dock. Renshaw turned to face his crew one more time.

    ”Keep 'er steady, ya hear me?! Once I gets back, we're gonna have one hell of a party! Well then, kiddo, start movin'. Cyre baby, here we come. .!!”
    Calm down people, it's just me.

  9. #29
    Still learning the ropes Reputation: 10
    theGECKO's Avatar
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    Default

    Vonur looked towards the city, he was now close to the outer walls, after three days of walking. Vonur didn’t mind travelling; he was intrigued by all the new things that he encountered on his journey.

    They sky, what a wonderful, beautiful thing it is, even when its raining Vonur liked to just look up, and take in the fresh air, and look at the ever changing roof of the world.

    Fresh air was new to him too, Vonur had no idea how clean air could taste. Down underground, even in the clean cities, there was still dust everywhere, that’s why lots of dwarves have deep hoarse voices. But now that he entered the open air, breathing was so different, so relaxing.

    Vonur woke up from his daydream when he had reached the gate into the city. He had walked for near an hour in a daydream state. He looked up at the gate, it was big, but he was used to big, even though dwarves are small, their architecture is massive. He went into the city looking around for any signs, or directions he could use to get to a cheap inn for some rest, travelling in the wilderness was a new experience to Vonur, and he was extremely tired.

    He wandered the streets for some time looking for an inn, and was surprised by the amount of people who looked at him. It was less than he expected, he expected everyone to be staring at him, as dwarves didn’t travel above land. But then he saw why nobody was really paying attention to him. Vonur saw a dwarf. 'What is this, a dwarf living above ground.’ He kept walking along the streets, baffled by the dwarf he had seen. He turned a corner into a new street, and there, again, was another dwarve…no, not a dwarf…a group of dwarves. ‘Is there really this many dwarves above ground?’

    He walked staring at the group, with a confused look on his face. One of the dwarves noticed his gaze.

    ???: “Hey, what you want you scum!”

    Immediately the whole group turned to look at Vonur. Vonur, startled by the sudden shout, placed his hand on the hilt of his axe and changed his expression to one of authority. Some of the passers by glanced down at the dwarves, and scurried away quickly.

    One of the dwarves in the group draw his sword, it was a single handed broad sword, not very decorative, and by the looks of it, very well used. At that Vonur drew his own weapon.

    ???: “Are you sure?”

    The one with the sword stepped out from the group and stared at Vonur, who was standing still, ready for a fight. The dwarf ran at Vonur, sword swinging. Vonur switched to twin mode in an instant, and parried the attack to the side with one of his axes.

    Vonur: “Are you sure?”

    With a look of fear in his eyes the dwarf backed away from Vonur, towards his group again.

    ???: “You wont get away with that, scum.”

    Vonur: “Learn to fight, and we will end this like true dwarves should.”

    The group muttering and cursing Vonur, walked away, down an alley, leaving the main street, where a small crowd were now forming. Vonur switching back to Siamese mode to sheath his weapon, started to walk away from the crowd, hoping for no more trouble, especially from the authorities.

    ???: “Hey dwarf, wait.”

    One of the humans in the crowd had shouted at Vonur. Vonur stopped and turned to face the man, who was now jogging up to him.

    ???: “My name is Alistair, and on behalf of the people, who live in this part of Cyre, want to thank you for driving away the Furies. Thank you.”

    Vonur was shocked by the man.

    Vonur: “Ummmm…well…no problem, no thanks needed.”

    Alistair: “But there is, we have been being terrorised by that group for nearly six months now, nothing would shift them, but you have.”

    Vonur: “Ummm…”

    Alistair: “How would you like to stay at my inn for a few days, you look tired? It’s the least I could do.”

    Vonur: “Well….ummmmm…okay then, actually I was looking for an inn.”

    Alistair: “Great, now just follow me it’s just down the street.”

    Vonur followed Alistair down the street, towards an expensive looking building. Vonur had seen this inn, but decided it was too expensive for him.

    They entered the building, it was not big, but not really small either, it was a comfortable size. There was a check in desk at the far wall, and a sofa on the wall beside the door. It was fancy, a few healthy plants around, some expensive looking ornaments, nice wooden floor. Behind the desk stood a woman, Vonur assumed it was Alistair’s daughter; she looked far to young to be his wife.

    Alistair: “Hello sweetie, this is my daughter, Veronica.”

    Veronica: “Hello there.”

    Alistair walked behind the desk and got a book out, Vonur stood in front of the desk.

    Vonur: “Hello, my name is Vonur.”

    Alistair: “That’s a powerful name.”

    Alistair chuckled lightly.

    Alistair: “Now Veronica, go make sure our dwarven suit is ready for our new guest.”

    Veronica: “Okay father.”

    Veronica got out from behind the desk, revealing an extremely short skirt, and a pair of socks, no shoes. Vonur had never seen a human before coming into the city, ‘Did he say the city was called Cyre?’, but he looked at her, intrigued, dwarven women were not as fragile as this woman looked.

    Alistair: “Vonur, okay, there you go now just sign your name here, just have to keep track of guests you see.”

    He turned the big book he had been scribbling in, and handing Vonur a pen, pointing at a line on the page. Vonur took the pen and scribbled his name on the line, with his barely readable, childish, writing.

    Alistair: “Thanks, that’s perfect.”

    He turned the book back to face him, and took the pen from Vonur again. he signed the space beside where Vonur had just signed and closed the book, with a thud.

    Alistair: “So, Vonur, where you from, far from here?”

    Vonur: “The Iron Citadel”

    Alistair looked at him, staring. Vonur got worried, ’What did I do?’

    Alistair: “Really? That’s amazing; I have never seen a true dwarf before, what are you doing here?”

    Vonur was quite shocked, he would have thought that people wouldn’t have seen many dwarves at all, ‘Do the dwarves breed up here?’ he just assumed only dwarves that left the citadel were on the surface, running from there home, dying alone up here.

    Vonur: “Ummmmm…well it’s a long story, maybe another time. Are there many dwarves on the surface?”

    Alistair: “Okay then, I can understand not wanting to share you business, sorry for being nosey. But yeah, there are loads of dwarves on the surface, do you not travel up here much?”

    Vonur: “Well, actually it’s illegal to travel to the surface, unless ordered to by the council, to get someone who left.”

    Alistair just looked at Vonur for a moment. Vonur started fidgeting with the dust in his pockets, feeling awkward.

    Alistair: “Wow…Well then you won’t know anything about the surface?”

    Vonur: “Nope.”

    Alistair: “…okay then, you want me to fill you in a bit?”

    Vonur: “Sure, the more I know the easier it will be to settle in.”

    Alistair motioned towards the sofa, Vonur sat, and Alistair joined him.

    Alistair: “Okay, where to begin…there are loads of dwarves up here, I would think more than who actually live in Iron Citadel, but that’s just an assumption. There are ones living in nearly every city, town and village, except the Elvin cities. There are also some dwarven made villages, where dwarves have settled down together, making a community. They are pretty much treated like any other person, except by some, you will find some racist people up here.”

    Vonur: “Ha, I thought all people on the surface were going to be racist towards me.”

    Alistair: “Well it used to be like that, when I was a child, but nowadays it has changed.”

    Alistair and Vonur continued to talk for a time, eventually it got dark outside, and Alistair stood.

    Alistair: “Wow, time flies when your having fun eh? Well I am going to close up, and go off to bed.”

    Vonur: “Okay, good idea, it’s been a long day, I’m wrecked. Nice chatting with you, and thanks again for the bed.”

    Alistair: “Oh no problem friend, you’re welcome anytime.”

    Vonur headed up the stairs where the rooms were, and Alistair went into the room behind the desk. When Vonur reached the top he realised he didn’t know which room was his. He chuckled to himself, turning to head back down to ask Alistair. At that moment Veronica came out of a room.

    Veronica: “Hey, goodnight Vonur.”

    Vonur turned again, to face her.

    Vonur: “Ah, yes…ummmm…what room in mine?”

    Veronica laughed

    Veronica: “sorry, did father not say, it’s the one at the end of this hall, on the left."

    Vonur: “Thanks.”

    He started to walk towards her, to get to his room, she too walked towards him to get down the stairs.

    Vonur: “Goodnight.”

    Veronica: “Goodnight.”

    They passed each other, and Vonur turned his head to look at her as she walked away, her walk was very attractive to him, he never once thought he could be attracted to such a scrawny figure, ‘I could get used to this.’ He looked forwards again and went to his room, happy.
    RPing, i'm not really sure neil...

    *week later*

    I am Karosath, the almighty destroyer of the royal family MWAHAHAHAHAHA

    *next day*

    NEIL: so gecko hows the RPing
    ME:who is this gecko??? Adress me only as Karosath, the almighty, u peasent

  10. #30
    Norrin Radd's Nerd Rage Reputation: 29
    lokuri's Avatar
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    Talking Hiro hardly speaks, yet why is he interrupted every time, even in thought? xD

    It was rather expected that Hiro's comment would be met with a deafening laughter. He would have winced -- it happened plenty of times when he first boarded the ship -- but he was already accustomed to all the shouting and hoopla around him. Renshaw was especially ambitious, possibly because he had to command a crew of rowdy pirates. Still, his sense of humor needed work. It often resulted with sudden violence, like the blow to Hiro's back while he was still regaining his balance. While Renshaw ranted about his magnificence, Hiro was rubbing his nose, which smacked into the ground. Or was it the wall? Just because he was blind didn't mean his head couldn't spin out of control. If he stayed on this ship any longer, Hiro would have a serious case of motion sickness. Oddly, Hiro got the impression that Renshaw noticed none of his blunders, for he was still yapping away by the time stood upright.

    "I beg your pardon, but how may I be of--"

    Once again, Hiro was subjected to abuse. He couldn't be lead by his hand, no. Renshaw decided to yank at his right arm and send him up the flight of stairs at full speed -- at least, fast enough for Hiro to stumble every now and then. Seriously, it was like pirates didn't know how to treat the blind. Luckily, he managed to produce a graceful posture, concealing his nauseousness upon reaching the landing above. Judging from the brisk air and scrambling feet vibrating against the flooring, Hiro was now on the deck. Even though he felt more stable here, something seemed...wrong. For a moment, Hiro thought he would feel more secure back in his cell, rather than "following" Renshaw.

    The first, clear sign that Hiro should feel worried was uttered by Renshaw. Disguises? It was a clever idea, but why would pirates have disguises on hand, especially after Renshaw had just explained how frightening he is? Although Hiro couldn't see Renshaw's typical guise, he assumed it was flamboyant and easily recognizable. Why would such a confident, well-fashioned (in terms of pirates) belittle himself by keeping distasteful costumes? Then again, Hiro hadn't taken into account the preferences of the crew. Actually, their individual characteristics were mostly unknown to him. Perhaps someone amongst them created a scheme involving disguises, and everyone else accepted the idea?

    Then there was the second part to Renshaw's remarks, directed at someone named Armin, the first mate. The latter mentioned something about being left behind, at which Renshaw told him to guard his 'treasure'. Was he talking about his ship? If so, that meant that Hiro would be leaving the sea behind and embarking once again on land. But...just where were they going?! All at once, Hiro was feeling ill again, mostly from overworking his brain. Besides, he needed to focus on the most dire of problems at hand: not puking! Once he reached land -- he had faith that that would be happening soon -- Hiro would never board another ship (with a terrible helmsman) as long as he could avoid doing so. All he wished for was to rest in solitude, in the furthest corner the ship had. Instead, he had to endure the commotion and rough steering for a while longer.

    Unfortunately, his trial of endurance was challenged even further. A fierce odor wafted near his nose, causing Hiro to gag on impulse. He tried to resist by outstretching his arms, keeping the slimy cloth away. Slimy? What was he holding?! Renshaw was even more disheartened, proving that whatever plan set into motion wasn't his original choice. What was so important that the captain would relinquish his power of leadership and submit to...whatever was thrust at them? To make matters worse, Renshaw ordered him to put the supposed robe, his only advise was that he would "take point" once they docked. Did that mean he would take the part of the leader? In unknown lands? Gulping down all his petty qualms, Hiro just decided to go with the flow. Only when he was adjusting the robe properly did someone step up, explaining his role in detail.

    "I see. I shall be Renshaw's mediator, keeping him away from squabbles and calming his nerves on this short voyage. If his companions were to accompany us, we would surely undermine our chances of gathering what this quest requires. Therefore, only the most competent amongst them, the captain, and a scapegoat, myself, can succeed. Rather simple, but--"

    At that point in time, someone inched their way towards Hiro, breathing their hot breath upon his ear. When the words were finally uttered, Hiro was able to distinguish it as the voice of Armin. Armin delivered a threat to him directly, but there were plenty of glares and such to pressure Hiro even before anyone spoke. Surprisingly, once you have your loved ones maimed beyond identification, sharks were nothing more than sharp-toothed guppies in comparison. In other words, he didn't need some threat to carry out the deed of protecting Renshaw. He would do it of his own free will, mostly to repay the time he spent on Renshaw's pride and joy, Neptune's Raider. After all, it wasn't wise to be indebted to a pirate.

    Five to six minutes later, the ship made one final, rapid jerk before bobbing with the calm tide. Renshaw gave his last instructions before the mission commenced. Hiro was already lingering a few feet away when Renshaw finally announced where they were: Cyre. Could this truly be fate? Until that moment, Hiro had planned to inquire about Cyre and move through rumors. Even if finding Cerelis within Cyre would still be a difficult feat, as long as he was walking the right path, the distance that Richelieu kept Cerelis away from Hiro would become shorter and shorter. Currently, though, Hiro had to keep an eye on Renshaw, who seemed ready to fail the mission by acting out.

    Just as Hiro was about to step away from the port, he remembered a crucial detail that could give away even a disguise as vile as the ones he and Renshaw received. Stopping in his tracks and holding up a hand, Hiro turned to Renshaw, reading his location from the aura he gave off. "Renshaw, you must know that a disguise is as credible as your every gesture. If you must go about without notice, do so with a bent back and a hung head. One does not need a keen eye to deduce an individual's true nature. A person's status is marked by the manner of which they carry themselves. Please take heed of how you conduct yourself as well."

    Hoping Renshaw understood, Hiro did as he lectured, slouching his shoulders and tilting his head towards the ground. Why would he need to keep his head raised anyway? Without his eyes, all he could rely on was what he felt and what he heard. Actually, that was quite handy, for a slurred speech and dragged feet meant intoxication. By now, Hiro had a notion that their destination would be a tavern of some sort, a place that would supply enough alcohol to make even Armin merry. That meant that Hiro had to listen for a large crowd of drunkards, fresh from shedding their sober selves. Fortunately, finding a lively tavern wouldn't take too much time. Most of the activity took place around where they docked, meaning boats and fishermen weren't hard to come by. Once you moved along the stone pathways tracing towards various homes, an eerie silence drifted in the air. Occasionally, a woman would stand on her porch to shake dust out of sheets, or a child or two would race to and fro, but men rarely made an appearance.

    At last, the sound of chatter and gurgling for laughter entered his ears. Somewhere nearby, glass shattered upon the ground, and a heated argument was underway. Some ran over to cheer the aggressive brutes on, while others started their own fights. However, the majority seemed to be sobering themselves for another round, a few trustworthy mates trying to dissuade them from overdrinking. Indeed, the main entertainment resided in the building everyone surrounded. Perhaps Renshaw knew that a port town would be the best place to purchase him rum (what else would a pirate drink)? Certainly, it wasn't a bustling city with suspecting folk at every turn. Even if they did run into a skeptical person, they probably would come off as a stiff who couldn't tell his fingers from his toes. The more Hiro pondered on the matter of guarding Renshaw, the less there was to fear.

    "Let's hurry inside--"

    Changing his talking habit wasn't exactly easy, but Hiro didn't hesitate because of his faltered words. When he turned around -- no, even before he turned around -- Hiro knew that Renshaw was no longer by his side. While Hiro could sense Renshaw's presence upon proximity of himself, he had wondered too far for Hiro to locate him. Did Renshaw get lost, or had Hiro made the mistake of losing Renshaw? Either way, he couldn't panic -- at least, not on the outside. For all he knew, Renshaw could have ventured into the tavern on his own, leaving Hiro behind. Another possibility was that Renshaw knew of another place to get his share of rum without bum rushing pass loads of people to get what he wanted. His last assumption was that Renshaw joined one of the numerous fights, either as a bystander or participant, but Hiro didn't want to think about either. All he could do was meander aimlessly his way casually amongst the people, trying to sense where Renshaw was.
    Last edited by lokuri; 03-18-2011 at 01:37 AM.

    Nurarihyon no Mago!
    Quote:
    Inpa: "...I got your mask already, look! Isn't it pretty?”
    Balthazar: ”Urgh.. !! It's pink..”
    Inpa: ”Oh please, it's called being metrosexual!..."
    -- farag0n; Tales of Amn

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