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Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Syben
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Syben Digital Ghost

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Sakiah Kywen
The Corhall Slave Mines
1st Sunddir, Aagium, 127th Crest, 5th Cycle



The ardent rays of the sun cast down a wave of heat upon those gathered around the clearing just before the yawing mouth of the Corhall Slave Mine. The shimmering rays were of such extent that those enlisted to protect such a place had already shed down to the bare minimum of required dress. Red tunics sewn with the Paedatorian Crest flittered about in the tiny breeze carried across the barest edge of The Vagrant's Run. Hard leather boots stamped impatiently at the earth, followed by a crescendo of slapping hands and shouted obscenities. For within the mortar and stone walls of the mine, a rousing event was taking place. A slave, to be punished by whip under the scorching sun. A ludicrous attempt at escape, though the city of Corhall would never here of it. To talk about escape alone was punishable. Whilst not impossible, for a slave to leave the mines of his own will is such a rare thing that all talk of it is but barely rumor and speculation.

The audible crack of a whip resounded out above the chorus of soldiers as the taskmaster whirled his tool in the air. He had chosen something special for this occasion. The sun was strong and the guards were tiring quickly. This one was his baby, a braided black beauty of cured leather, and it would serve just fine for raising morale. But most importantly, it was garnished with a tempered steel tip, one that was sure to rouse the sun beaten rabble of the guards into a spree of mirth and ruthlessness. For these slaves were less than the dog that begged from the darkest corners of cobbled city streets. Hell, the dirt he spat upon was probably worth more for its weight than one of these filthy, treasonous animals. Even now the soldiers stationed to guard the mine's perimeter were stirring with such excitement that the heaven's themselves trembled against their collective voice.

He cracked the whip again, smiling as the slaves blessed enough to be in the light of the sun trembled in fear. They seemed to pick up their pace at the very thought of punishment, despite being tied to the large posts of the ore mill. The slow grind of rock was merely a soft percussion as the taskmaster approached his victim, kneeling in the hot, dry earth. The slave was bare but for a few tattered garments, which the taskmaster had so graciously gifted. It always proved a better show to see the slave's clothing torn to tattered, bloody shreds. The voice of the onlookers rose to a deafening roar as his arm cocked back, the steel tip of the whip slithering through the dirt. Before him the slave tensed, yet the chains and shackles bolted to the whipping post did not rattle. This only made him sneer, this one would be fun to break.

Two Hours Earlier


"There you see?" A rugged, filthy woman pointed out. Sakiah barely turned her head as she looked. It was barely light out, the pale gray of the sky only just giving way to the bright fiery ball of fury that was the sun. The heat was quickly rising, and unfortunately Sakiah and her friend, Amina, had moved close to the mouth of the mine. Far enough inside as to barely be seen, but close enough to see out. She set her eyes upon the truth of Amina's earlier claim, and sure enough the guards were shedding their heavier metal plates for lighter, airier leather. Leather that was much easier to puncture.

"So what do you think?" Amina asked, her back turned to Sakiah as they both laboriously chipped away at the hard rock of the mountain. Sakiah's mind worked furiously, but she had her doubts. Since been sentenced to this mine she had tried tirelessly to leave. Yet, her plots and schemes just weren't enough to break through the fortified walls of the slave mines. Yet, with each attempt she was learning more about the inner workings. Things she hadn't been privy to upon entry as it had been specifically ordered that she wear a burlap sack over her head the entire journey. Yet, it didn't take a genius to figure out where she was. The sun, the mountain, and the shear scale of the area itself could have only been one place. The one place she dreaded ending up. The largest slave mining operation on this side of The Broken Range. And even if she did escape, there were still a hundred miles of forest between her and escape. It seemed hopeless.

"It could work," Sakiah replied, listening to the sharp intake of breath from her partner in chains behind her. She knew Amina dreamt of freedom, but Sakiah worried it would make her reckless. Or worse, traitorous. The guards were not above rewarding slaves who disposed of their comrades. It was never as sweet as the taste of freedom, but being a servant and a whore was a much appreciated position to the one they found themselves in now. Deep in the rock, smelling of sweat and urine.

"When?" Amina queried, already her voice shaking with excitement.

Sakiah offered up a silent prayer to the gods before she spoke, "We must find Rook."

Amina nodded, and together they slunk off into the darkness. It was a short distance to where Rook preferred to mine, but it was mostly traveled hunched over and done in small steps due to shackled ankles. The winding cavern had been a labyrinth to Sakiah when she had first arrived. Unbeknownst to her, she had spent nearly a full crest within the darkened walls. Nine months to learn the paths, the people, and the quota. It hadn't been easy, especially in her frail and broken state, but she had survived thus far.

Rook sat perched upon a large flat rock, his bare chest heavings. Even in the low light Sakiah could see he had many more scars than she did, and he wore them with pride. Every puckered slash a badge of honor to him. He was a brute of a man, and the two tiny tusks jutting from his lower lip marked him as part Orc. His red eyes turned towards the sounds of Sakiah's approach.

"I can smell the stench of a Full-Blood," He sneered, rising to his full nine foot height. His chains rattled, from wrist to waist, and down to his leg and ankles. He was laidened down with the heaviest chains they had, and yet he seemed to wear them as lightly as a coat of bird feather's. The guards feared him, everybody feared him. Except for Sakiah.

Sakiah rose up into Rook's hollowed out cavern, "It's Saki," she said, identifying herself by Rook's pet name for her. A great bellow issued forth as Rook laughed, his sneer becoming a smile.

"Ah, Saki!" He roared heartily, "I thought you dead, had not seen you in days."

Sakiah chuckled, for a half-orc and slave, Rook was surprisingly well cultured in the common tongue. Though, he hadn't always liked her. Upon her arrival here she had been the victim of many quarrels. Everybody wanted a piece of her, especially once they laid eyes upon the runic carvings of her shackles. A mage without powers was a prime target for abuse. Yet, for some ungodly reason even she didn't know, the massive half-orc took a liking to her. Though she questioned him one day, he swore it was not sexual. Claiming his massive girth would tear her tiny body in two. Still, she had declined his offer for protection. She was born screaming and kicking, and that was exactly how she planned to die.

"Sorry Rook, I had plans," She replied sheepishly, perhaps she could have visited more. They used to mine together often, him laughing at her as she cried. 'Why you cry tiny one? To make the earth softer?' Rook had asked, absolutely puzzled to her plight. She had tried to explain the recent events of her life to him but he had only replied with, 'You think only you have rough life? We all have stories, but you must remain strong. Our paths are already written and all we must do is follow, it is easy. Be strong like Rook, or die like tiny human.'. He wasn't an exactly elegant man, but he did make good points. He had helped her be strong, taught her to lock away her demons.

"Ah! Plans, I hear tiny Saki tried to run, that your back is still wet from punishment," This seemed to amuse him greatly.

"Plans within plans my friend!" She claimed, "I have learned all I need to leave this wretched place. You could come if you want."

Rook tilted his head in thought, chewing the idea over. "Hm," he pondered, "Surely they would kill me."

"Perhaps, but that would prove just enough distraction for me to get away," She jested.

Rook laughed, his muscles rippling with the vibrations of the rumble he gave off, "Hah! Saki's plan sucks." Sakiah laughed with him, and Amina stood awkwardly as she usually did in meetings such as this. The half-orc terrified the older woman.

"What do you really need Saki? My vision is not as poor that I cannot see the furrow of your brow."

Saki smiled softly, raising her shackled hands up. He looked at her, all lines and edges, "You will get yourself killed."

"No, Rook. This is it, the final plan. I won't die in these mines, I'd rather die out there on the baking earth."

Rook frowned, the gesture distorted by his small tusks, "I will miss Little Saki, do not forget Rook, yes?"

She nodded, a wetness welling up in the corner of her eyes as he reached forward. They had discussed this many times, and it was really only a possibility, but there was no other way. These shackles did not have a simple key lock, but a complex puzzle tumbler, where a simple turn would not suffice. Rook had managed to tear his way free from his shackles once, despite being nearly killed for the effort. Sakiah was hoping he could do the same for her, without breaking her arms and legs. Her body tense as he wrapped his massive paws around either edge of the shackle, "Are you ready Saki?" She took a deep breath, before nodding.

Two Hours Later


Sakiah's entire body felt like it was on fire. Dressed in rags beneath the sun, her entire body felt burned. Such a feeling was not typical for her, as she'd never suffered a sunburn since her powers had awakened. Yet, the guards must have had a detailed report on her. For the past hour somebody had regularly dumped a bucket of water on her, unknowingly countering her resistance to the sun and leaving her skin vulnerable to the point of steaming. She refused to scream, to cry out. The burning of her flesh was not enough to break her, not for their amusement. Even now, as she grit her teeth, she knew such a thought was useless. She could here the slow steps of the man wielding the whip behind her, the crack in the air as she tried to get a rise out of her. She failed to oblige. She stared ahead, nearly boring holes into Amina with her gaze. Amina, who currently looked like a thief caught stealing bread as she stood next to her patron guard. Taken into his service as servant and whore.

Her thoughts discarded from her mind violently as her back exploded into a pain she hadn't felt before. The tip of the whip was solid, and dug deep gouges into her skin. Now, she did scream, a high and blood curdling pitch. The guards became frenzied as the whip met her skin again, flaying the already red and inflamed skin open. A rivulet of blood arced from her to splatter on the ground, steaming as it settled into the earth. Another lash, and Sakiah felt she would die of asphyxiation first. She could hardly wheeze in a breath before he struck her again and the awful, ear splitting sound fell from her mouth. She looked on at Amina with eyes watering from the agony of the whip. Another lash, another bone-chilling scream, except this time nobody heard the cries of the guard falling before Amina.

She looked out across the open dirt, a wild look in her eye as she wielded her shackles as a weapon, courtesy of Rook's efforts. She swung the rune engraved shackles at the nearest guard, cracking his skull straight through his thin leather cap. Sakiah offered thanks to Limysus for the intensity of his boon today. Now, a few guards took notice and turned towards the wild slave. Amina snarled, her olive skin glistening under a sheen of sweat as she swung out again, tearing a sword from the grasp of a thin and lanky looking soldier. She quickly picked it up and growled as she swung her two weapons wildly. Somewhere a swirling boulder of earth had been summoned, and it was on a direct course for Amina.

She spun wildly, smashing the runic shackles into the boulder and instantly dissipating the boulder into a pile of loose dirt and dust. The haze created a perfect covered as she moved between the stunned and coughing guards. She fought with all the desperation that this plan offered her. Another rock soared into the cloud of dust and it too exploded into a hazy cloud. As the dust settled over Sakiah, she didn't even know who to thank for the luck of an earth mage being present. Suddenly the single clash of swords turned into a tumultuous wash of sound as the other slaves began to realize what was happening. By now Amina should have acquired the key and begun to release the slaves from the grinding mill. She waited, patiently. Her vision obscured by thick clouds of dust, but she listened. All around her metal clashed and people screamed, and she remained chained and bleeding to the whipping post.

The minutes ticked by, and it seemed Sakiah's plan had fallen apart. She had given Amina the runic shackles, knowing that they could easily be opened once Rook had broken the locks. Unfortunately, Sakiah could not break free of the whipping post herself, but she feared Amina had chosen to see Sakiah's plan through and make a break for herself. Perhaps skirting some of the danger of trying to start a riot. The sounds around her began to fade from a thundering battle to a quiet, finer skirmish. One of precision and skill, one that sounded of the guards retaining control. Sakiah felt her will beginning to fade, the tremendous pain from her back was starting to override her adrenaline. Soon she was shaking from it, feeling utterly foolish and helpless. A hand laid itself upon her shoulder, and she looked up with hope. Before her stood the man who had held the whip, his face bleeding where he had been struck.

"I recognize you now you little cunt," He sneered, his eyes sparkling with fury, "You-" His gruff voice cut off as a pair of pale gray hands wrapped around his throat, crushing his windpipe with the ease only a half-orc could produce. Sakiah looked up as the face of Rook appeared before her, "Tiny Saki, your plan sucks," he said. Neither of them chuckled however. In a different circumstance Sakiah would have been astonished to see the green washed from Rook's skin into a sickly gray from his years in the mines. Now, he was risking his life for her's and that weighed heavily on her. With a mighty roar Rook clasped his hands together, forming a single massive fist as he swung down onto the whipping post. The thick timber bream splintered from the first strike, and shattered on the second.

Sakiah stood as the post fell to pieces, and with it the brackets and chains that held her down. Now, the pain dulled to the back of her mind as she looked about the haze and dust before her. A gust ripped through the clearing, creating a vacuum that sucked all of the dust from the air. Now looking on with clarity, Sakiah looked at the numbers before her. All around the smooth dirt patch, the bloodied bodies of slaves littered the ground. Even Amina, one hand still outstretched as if she could reach Sakiah. Few guards had actually fallen to the point of not getting back up, and most of them looked to have been standing in Amina's path. Sakiah offered a prayer for the soul of the fallen desert warrior, hoping that in death she would rejoin her people.

A magi stood between her and the gate, dressing in flowing robes of deep reds and brilliant golds. And between them, a large gathering of soldiers. Sakiah drew a ragged breath, "Thank you Rook, but I fear we meet our ends together." This caused the Half-orc to chuckle, "Remove such thoughts little Saki, for I brought friends." Sakiah quirked an eyebrow at the half-orc, before looking around the clearing. Behind her stood a silent army of apparitions with haunted eyes. Most still shackled, and many wielding rusted picks or large rocks. "Maker's Breath Rook, how did you rally them?"

He laughed once more, loudly and full of excitement, "I was a leader, once." Before she could question him further his dark green eyes turned a bloodied red, and he roared with such ferocity that the slaves rallied forth with their own ragged screams. And then the world erupted into chaos. Instantly a blast of razor wind tore through one side of the charging slaves, lacerating entire rows of them at a time with hundreds of jagged cuts. Another blast of wind whipped by Sakiah and the screams of the slaves on either side of her spurred her into action. Just as the wind magi raised his hands for another blow Sakiah whirled, the white hot fire gathering in her hand and leaving in a blazing missile.

The magi remained composed as he thrust his hands outwards, a tornado of air spiraling from his finger tips. The unnatural wind whipped spun violently as it engulfed the fireball. Sakiah sneered, sweat flying from her body as she hurled another volley. The magi gestured to either side, flinging her attacks into the outlying buildings with reckless abandon. Fires began to start, but they were left to burn as the small garrison of skilled soldiers faced the much larger, and much weaker army. Even as she fought the stronger magi, Sakiah could see the slaves who had retained their skills of battle fighting valiantly, yet they would be helpless against what she assumed was an elder wizard.

She danced around the wizard's attack as a crescent shaped slice of air ripped through the earth towards her. She juked the opposite direction as another blade of air rocketed past her. She was quickly wearing down, having been out of practice so long. She looked around for Rook, silently hoping he would come to help her, but he was currently engaged with a soldier wearing an absurd amount of plate armor and a rather ridiculously rized full moon axe. A razor sharp blast of air tore past her, leaving a large slice across her stomach. She howled in pain and fury, returning her distracted thoughts to the fight at hand.

The wizard paused in his onslaught, but only for a moment as his arm became whirling funnels of air. The blast hit Sakiah full force in the face, to the point where she had to actually lean into the gale to keep her balance. The rush of wind threatened to rob her of her breath. She collapsed to her knees as a barrage of crescent wind slammed into her body, opening up her flesh from her collarbone to her hip. She couldn't even cry out in pain as the wizard's power began sliding her back towards the mouth of the cave. Another gash opened on her arm as an invisible attack sliced past her. The sides of her vision turned dim as blackness encroached, threatening to overwhelm her as she struggled to breath. And then suddenly, it was over.

Sakiah struggled to her feet, gasping for breath. Ahead of her the wizard twitched, face down in the dirt and muffled by a puddle of his own blood. Rook looked fearsome as he wrenched the full crescent axe from the smaller man's body. The snarl on his face made him look absolutely animalistic as he jumped back into the fray, now with a proper weapon for a beast his size. He was like death, slicing his way through the ranks of soldiers. Severed necks and limbs coated him in a war paint of savagery. Sakiah turned away from the sight and moved towards the gate. Behind her a gathering of slaves followed, those skilled enough to survive and now armed with scattered pieces of armor and weapons taken from lifeless hands.

Without a word the slaves charged forward, meeting the soldiers ahead in battle. They fought wildly, as the soldiers used tactics and full tower shields to advance on their weaker foes. Except for now, without a mage to hinder her, Sakiah was free to wreak her own havoc. A searing ball of white fire collided with the middle most soldier, blowing him backwards and setting small fires alight on his body. His screams were drowned out as the roar of the once captive slaves echoed out, backed by a chorus of crackling wood as the buildings around them burned freely. Another ball of fire smashed into the soldier's ranks. The soldier fell to the ground clawing at his burning face as the cloth beneath his armor burst into flames. Sakiah stepped over him as the slaves pressed their advance until the soldiers were backed up again the last obstacle of freedom. A thick gate made entirely of rough iron.

She gestured up towards the ramparts, where the ladder up had been cut into the stonework itself, "There! Take the gatehouse!" She called out, her voice feeling so quiet against the cacophony of battle. Yet, she was heard. Men dressed in tattered rags dropped their weapons and scaled the roughly cut handholds as if they had been born to do it. They fell from the top as the waiting guards cut them down, but soon they became a small horde as the ladder on the opposite side fell to their numbers and fists. It took only moments, and the gate was already raising up. The loud clinking of metal on metal was joy to Sakiah's ears.

"You have done it," Rook said, his body heaving as he caught his breath beside her. She smiled, as she watched the gate rise up. "I never thought it possible," he continued, his oafish face split by a wide grin.

Sakiah's reply caught in her throat as the slowly raising gate revealed rows upon rows of feet clad in thick leather boots. Slower still, shins covered in braces of shining metal, glimmering against the sun. Upon the top of the wall the freed slaves began to scream and panic. "Soldiers!" They howled, "Hundreds of them!". The gears of her mind turned quickly, it wasn't too late. They could bar themselves behind the gate and buy time to plan. But even before she could yell to close the gate, a clutch of soldiers ran forward and braced it with thick beams of metal. Soldier after soldier began to roll under the gate, glad in shining metal armor tempered with the Paedatorian crest. Their ranks swelled and panic rose in Sakiah's breast, She would be free this day! Her body was tired, but her mind was not.

"If you wish freedom Rook follow me!" She yelled, charging forward towards the cutout ladder in the wall. A soldier stepped before her and she hit him with a cascade of fire, his entire body glowing red as his armor super-heated from the blast. The wave of heat caused the rest of the gathering soldiers to pause in their charge and shy away from her. She leaped onto the handholds, her battered body screaming in protest as she forced herself to move upwards with reckless abandon. Her hands sliced on the roughly cut holds, and her knees scraped as she bashed them into the wall, frenzied in her desperation. Behind her the massive grunts of Rook followed close at hand, even as she neared the top of the wall a rough hand placed itself upon her rump and pushed her up and over the last few steps.

"Whatever you are planning little one, we must move quickly!" Rook wheezed. Sakiah looked around frantically, she didn't actually have an escape plan from the three story walls. She thought about jumping, but the trees had been cleared away for at least a mile. That was a long distance to run with no coverage and an army outside the gate. Sakiah was still processing her options when Rook took her in his massive arms, and the next thing she knew they were falling through the air. The move was so swift and surprising that she didn't even have time to scream.

Rook hit the ground with a thud, rolling violently and sending Sakiah careening out into the dirt. She struggled to her feet, her body running on empty. "Run little Saki!" Rook commanded, the power of his voice overriding Sakiah's thoughts and sending her into action. The line of trees seemed incredibly far as they huffed and gasped for breath. Her muscles screamed fire and outrage every time she took a step, and she could feel herself quickly wearing down. They were nearly halfway there when a hail of arrows peppered the ground around them, one of which sunk itself deep into Sakiah's thigh. She tumbled to the ground as every ounce of willpower she had left quickly vacated her body.

"SEIZE THEM!" A voice off in the distance screeched. Sakiah had barely let out a whimper before the massive bulk of Rook hefted her upon his shoulder. She could feel his body struggling as he charged towards the tree line. "Almost little Saki! Do not quit on Rook now!" He bellowed, his Red eyes nearly glowing with the amount of adrenaline in his body, sending him into a berserker sprint across the open dirt field. "I will not let you die little one!" He declared, the trees looming before them. Sakiah, in her half dazed state, idly wondered why he kept calling her little one. She thought that was a term befitting for a child, such as a daughter. Perhaps he really did enjoy teasing her about her size? These thoughts fell aside as a cool wave of darkness washed over her.

She looked around, startled, as Rook broke through the underbrush violently and stormed off into the trees. A volley of arrows zoomed about them, but most of them harmlessly embedded themselves into the trees behind them. They had made it, no, Rook had made it. He had just taken her along for the ride. Her weak, and pathetic self. Her thoughts were troubled as a second, calmer darkness washed over her. One of unconsciousness, and sleep.
Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Lauder
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Lauder The Tired One

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Delen Shrödinger

Road outside Corhall Slave Mines


It had been a long travel by foot, wandering the roads to get to an area known as the 'Corhall Slave Mines'. A man dressed in all black, with the exception of his mask, was walking on that road, nearly dying of heat. It had been two months since the landing of the Pestian refugees at Aelholt, a good time to lessen the pain of that voyage, but not enough to completely forget it. The man would never be able to forget anything from his past life in his past home, getting stuck on the past. Though, he knew that he would have to move past it if he were to fully live with himself once more. The man was tempted to take off his mask to hopefully aid himself against the heat, wanting to even plead for the sun to go down and hopefully usher in a cold night.

Shrödinger had to keep up his appearance as a doctor, however. It was one of many quirks of an unstable person who just wanted nothing, but to rest and relax. If anything, the doctor just wanted to continue his work and help anyone that he come across, whether they be scum or light, slave or master, so on and so forth. Happiness came to the man when he thought of helping all of those who had the ill-fortune of coming down with a sickness or catching the end of a blade. Happiness. It was a rare feeling for Schrödinger at this point in his life, but he could feel it nonetheless. He could almost feel at peace, not quite enough to ease his pain but enough to make him feel ease.

The sounds of a good fight could be heard ahead, possibly a tournament with multiple teams pitted against each other. That was his only hope as he neared the slave mines, not wanting anyone to die. Though, he knew full well when he had heard a man screech "SEIZE THEM!" The slaves must've been causing a bit of an uproar since he could hear all the commotion going on in the background. It was a notice that he was all too familiar with, the sound of war. Shrödinger's mind went back to his days when he was just a child, the days of the rebellion before the plague. Needless to say, they were not the most fond of memories.

The doctor stopped for a solid moment just to cast these memories away, nothing must distract him if he had to help any injured in the slave mines. Shrödinger sighed before beginning to walk to the slave mines. As he neared, the more was revealed to him about the situation, the slaves were obviously rebelling and trying to escape, an army had just arrived to contain the slaves, and he so happened to arrive during the middle of it. With that said, he did a one eighty and began walking away, not wanting to get involved in the middle of that.

Though, a sight did catch his eye as he something big running through the woods, perhaps a slave? Shrödinger's curiosity got the better of him and decided to go after this being. It would give the battle some time to die down, it would keep Shrödinger busy, and most important of all it would be a bit of an adventure. The doctor began walking into the woods, following broken branches and any sort of footprints that were obvious. Now he could tell that this was some sort of humanoid that was in quite the hustle to get away from the slave mines. If that were truely the case then maybe the doctor could provide some assistance by making the being some medicines and help with some wounds. Granted if this wasn't an escaped slave then he could be walking after a being that would outright kill him. Shrödinger would take those chances.

Shrödinger began coughing up a storm after following the trail, his sickness coming to jab at him once more. "Not now," the doctor groaned before coughing to the point of getting onto his hands and knees. He fumbled to get the medicine from the inside of his outfit, the life saving essence was his key to continuing on in the world. Shrödinger produced a syringe and set it on the ground. He rolled his left sleeve up to his elbow and jabbed the syringe into his artery, dispensing the medicine. The coughing would not stop for a few minutes, leaving the doctor to catch his own breath and begin to get back on track once more, going after the being that he saw run from the slave mines.

Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by RedDusk
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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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Zugos 'Rune' Velarium

A small tent near Srohl Lake

41st Trydir, Aullum


He did dream, sometimes, when his guarded mind allowed it. More often than not though, he couldn’t tell when he was dreaming. This time, he did.

It started with darkness, like all things. He was trudging through knee-deep water. It was murky and warm and bright red. The color of fresh spilled blood. But it shouldn’t stay that way. In open air, blood would dry up, darken ever slowly, until it became specks that crumbled between fingers. He stood and waited, but it kept its color. Maybe he didn’t wait long enough? How long had he been waiting? In the realm of the mind, time collapsed onto itself and stretched out for an eternity. He wouldn’t have known. So he waited. He would wake up eventually. All dreams ended, once they had run their course.

He was moving again, the water made walking a chore, but he managed. Up in his mind, exhaustion had no meaning. So he kept at it, or at least his body did. He wasn’t in control here. His march ended at the tip of a blade. He looked at the assailant. A familiar face. Hair as white as fresh snow. Square jaws, with stubble. A jagged scar that ran from the bridge of crooked nose to defined jaw line. Crimson eyes that mirrored his own. Ah. It was one of those times when memories bled into dreams, and he found himself playing the same scene over and over again, as if it hadn’t been etched deep enough into his mind.

It started with an overhead strike. He was fast, so his opponent didn’t turn it into a contest of speed. Wise move. Each slash was harder and faster than the last, each and every one of them intended to end the fight. It felt like a carpenter driving nails into wood, a consummate professional at work, brutally effective when it came to his chosen art. He stayed ahead with guile and smarts, but it only got him so far. The sharpened blade found purchase in his flesh. It hurt. Or at least, he remembered the pain. And there was more to come. He lashed out against the flurry of attacks with the desperation of a cornered beast. His left hand felt limp at his side, leaking red and useless. The two-hander felt heavy in his grip, slippery with blood. Thunder sounded in his veins as steel clashed, again and again. He pushed. His opponent pushed back harder. It was a vicious tug-of-war, and he remembered losing. He remembered dying. A single moment of clarity when his guard broke and the blade cleaved its way through his ceremonial shirt.

Beyond that point, darkness held dominion. The dream should have ended then, because that was when his memories did. Yet, it persisted. He saw his arm raised, and with a flick of his wrist, the opponent staggered backward. The air around them crackled with magic, its stench tasted metallic on the tip of his tongue. His ruined arm moved again, sending the swordsman flying. Hot blood splattered everywhere. It was uncomfortably warm. He blinked and looked around. More blood in the pool now. Whose? His? Theirs? He was standing, yet the crimson liquid reached his chest. It was rising, still. But did it really matter? He could swim. He would keep up, always. But the temperature was disconcerting. It was warm before, barely enough to remind him of human touch. Now, he swore it was boiling. He forced himself to move faster, struggling against the current. A wave of red slammed against his face, thickened blood got into his gaping mouth. He coughed and sputtered, splitting out the offending gunk.

It tasted wrong.

The dream ended abruptly.

He lay very still in the darkness of his tent, eyes opened and alerted, but the only movement was the rapid rising and falling of his chest. It was a simple motion, breathing, and yet it helped immensely. Slowly, with each breath, he calmed the swirling chaos of his mind; memories rearranging themselves. Gradually, the dream melted away, leaving behind unearthed memories and a bad taste in his mouth. Yet, it was still unbearably hot. He shifted, scrambling to sit up, only to grab onto a soft, fuzzy object on his chest. With more force than necessary, he flung it off the mattress while his other hand groping for the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. The weapon came to him easy enough, but as soon as it did, he realized the furry thing for what it was: a goddamned cloak. One he most definitely did not own.

Realization set in, then the white knuckle grip on his sword loosened. He pressed a hand to his forehead, wiping off sweat as best as he could. It must be those sellswords next door. He had been out here for almost three weeks, hunting down a list of names given to him by his current employer. The forest between Srohl and Mor had been a hotspot for bandit activity for months now. It wasn’t rare for thugs and highwayman to turn up near borders of adjoining territories where law enforcers from both side treaded lightly, but their number had risen significantly these last few months. No one knew where they came from; some blamed the drug traffickers of Mor, while others criticised the lax security in Srohl’s clay pits that led to slaves escaping and taking up unsavory professions around the region. Still, all that mattered that the caravans were robbed; the cargos picked clean, any profit thus forfeited. A wealthy Freyman wanted it taken care of by the time his shipment of fine silk and exotic pelts came through. And so it would.

He had been prowling these dark woods ever since. Alone, of course, he worked better on his own. The bandits were dangerous, but they were far from organized. They spread thin among the dense vegetations, each group with its own leader and beliefs, and they barely tolerated each other. He broke the smaller ones first. Armed with looted weapons and patchwork armors, they didn’t put up much of a fight. The larger ones though, he had been struggling with those for weeks now. He did what he could; he slaughtered their patrols, he harassed their hunting parties, he foiled their operations. One broke on its own. Two others he personally eliminated. Only one remained. With the deadline approaching, he was doing his best to claim the head of the remaining bandit lord.

Then a company of mercenary came along. They camped out in the edge of woods; a little too close to his own humble tent, but they didn’t bother him. He returned the gesture in kind. They never told him why they were out here though. He never cared enough to ask. But whatever they were sent out here to do, they hadn’t been doing a very good job. The mercs devoted themselves to various recreational activities, often seen heading into the nearby towns as soon as their wages came in. Booze, wrenches, wooden pipes of sweet smoke, tiny vials of purple liquid…he had seen them indulge in almost every sin known to mortals. And yet, some of them still managed to get bored. That was when one of them tried raiding his place. Unfortunately, he came back right at that moment, still seething after a failed kill. He would have strangled the poor sod there and then, had his comrades not intervened.

That was one week ago. They must have got braver since, sneaking into his tent again and pulling this kind of trick. Granted, he was not his best last night. Three straight days of cat and mouse would do that to you, especially when he couldn’t really tell which one was the mouse here, him or the bandits. He returned to his hideout to recuperate, only to have a shitty cloak thrown on top of him.

Such challenge could not be left unanswered.

It didn’t take long to identify the perpetrator, especially when the man in question didn’t even attempt to hide.

Heya, bunnyboy.”- Lazy Eye greeted him as soon as he set foot into the squalid campsite the mercs called home. Naturally, it was not the hired sword’s birth name, but it was the one everyone used, for good reasons.-“Want sumthing?”- The man asked in heavily accented common, rows of yellowed teeth behind chapped lips. It also seemed like he had been drinking, and lacked the decency to rinse out his mouth first before starting conversations.

He just stared down into the mercenary’s steel blue eyes at first, suppressing the urge to introduce Lazy Eye’s rough face to his fist. But it wouldn’t do. Not on his own turf, when the wretched man had the advantage. Then again, it took a good uphill battle to get your blood pumping. He hadn’t got a good fight in a while. Out here, he only hunted. His kills felt unearned.

Yours?”- He lifted the mess of fur and cloth, holding it up in Lazy’s field of vision, while keeping his tone neutral and his expression blank. It wasn’t hard. He had practice.

Of course, has been lookin’ for days."-The mercenary grinned widely, all jagged teeth and inappropriate glee.-“So kind of yo-

He thrust the bundled up cloak into its owner arms with enough force to send the older man staggering backward. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have done that. Mercenaries were an odd breed; their hierarchy was like a wolf pack’s. Meaning, they hunted together, they fought together, and he had just provoke the whole pack. Eyes snapped to him that instant, hands reached for their weapons. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the distinct sound of a sword leaving its scabbard.

Tension ran high in an instant. His own hand felt twitchy. Then Lazy laughed.

Don’t go get your pants all twisted up for such a small thing, Rune. Just a joke man. All good fun.

You have a shitty sense of humor, asshole.”-He finally let a smile graced his lips. Not one of his best smiles though. This one just looked like he stepped on something unpleasant and was silently berating himself for it.-“Don’t bother me again.

He turned to leave then. The mercs seemed contented to let him. They were still watching, but their weapons stayed where they should.

Hey now, wait up bunnyboy.”- Lazy called out. He kept walking. –“I know about yer little bounty.

That got his attention, if only briefly. His contract was supposed to be private; he would complete the bounty in a pre-determined amount of time and receive the payment afterward. Failing to do so, and his employer would hire someone else, who then opened the jar he had loosened and received his payment. It was a risky venture, but the hefty reward made everything worth it. Or so he thought. With the way things were going, he didn’t think he would make the deadline.

And?

Let’s wager.”- The mercenary took out a folded piece of paper and held it up. The man wielded his grin like a scythe; it was unnerving.

He should have just walked away then. No one was going to stop him. No one could. But he didn’t. Snowkin had always carried madness in their blood, in the end.




A few hours and a conversation later, Zugos found himself standing in a dirt-packed ring, face-to-face with a mountain of a man, all scars and muscles and unbridled bloodlust glinting in amber eyes. Hell, the guy must have orc blood in him or something; he never knew humans could grow this large. In a sword fight, he would have taken the giant on, no problem, but without the reach of his blade, he felt oddly vulnerable.

Besides him, Lazy Eye snickered.-“Or we can play chess?

That offer seemed nice. They taught him that back in Klonia, claiming it ‘encourage logical thinking and critical decision-making’. He was certain he could beat a backwater merc if he wanted to. But because he was stupid and suicidal, he shook his head. Lazy gave the ‘I tried’ shrug, before backing off.

Around the ring, men gathered, laughing, cheering, joking and cursing. An orchestra of chaos, with him and his opponent as conductors. He saw them passing a helmet around; it jingled with coins. For a brief moment, he wondered how many would bet for him. Should he bet on himself? That was probably not allowed, but he wouldn’t anyway, even if he could. The odds weren’t in his favor. Across the ring, the giant stretched, his massive fists were wrapped in thick bandages. Zugos wore his gloves instead, with the metal plates removed, of course.

His opponent lowered himself into a stance, like a coiled snake. He took a deep breath, tuning out the noise, dropping into a stance of his own. Right. Nothing like a good uphill battle.

I know where the Jackals are hiding, Lazy had said, yer outta time right?

And I know you’re not lying because?

Suck it, bunnyboy. We don’t know if ya’d keep up yer end of the bargain either. We can’t exactly chain ya up and drag ya with us, how’s a brother gonna fight with his arms tied up like a trapped hog? Lazy spat, venom in his voice. It seemed he wasn’t the only one taking risk here. ‘side, it’s six months. Ya even get paid.

He stayed ahead through guile and clever footwork, but the giant was catching up. A fist sailed toward his face. He ducked and went low with knee to the stomach, only for his opponent to block with an open palm. He panicked, dashing back.

Too late. A left hook found its way to his face. If it caught him on the side, chances were he would be eating through a tube for the rest of the month. He tipped his head back slightly, out of the way, but there was no saving the nose. He felt it cracked with a sickening crunch, and tasted copper. Pain bloomed. The force sent him tumbling sideway, until the ground soared up to meet him.

Ouch.

You all talk, eh freak?”-He could basically hear the sneer in his opponent’s tone from across the ring. Then again, he wouldn’t know. He was too busy crouching in the dirt like some camp whore, painting the packed earth with droplets of red. The giant didn’t make a move to finish the fight though. He half-expected a kick to his side, just enough force to crack ribs. He knew he wouldn’t get up from that.

But nothing happened. Heh. It seemed he wasn’t the only one enjoying himself.

Struggling to his feet, he leveled a gaze at the giant, ready for the next attack. The man only grinned. So he used the time to recover, shaking the worst of the pain from his muscles. He hadn’t been doing well; his specialty was with a sword, not hand-to-hand combat in some dusty ditch. Still, he managed to get some good hit in. The giant’s left eye was slightly swollen, and his lips were bleeding from a cut. That was something, right? He mentally gave himself a pat on the back. Well done. However, it would take more than that to win. After all, he was betting his own freedom here. Well, technically, it was more like his employment. Lazy’s company was getting conscripted into the Paedatorian army soon, and Lazy, being the rascal he was, didn’t like it. He couldn’t leave though, his contract with the company still had six months left, so he couldn’t just run off in fear of being beaten into a pulp for ‘gross misconduct’. The gist was, if he won, Lazy would hand over the bandit’s location and help him with their elimination, free of charge. But if he lost, he would have to take Lazy’s place in Paedator ranks. And from what he heard, their post would be at the Corhall mines. Up there, in the blazing sun, staring at some half-dressed slave for hours on end. He would rather die drowning in a mud pool; the stench was probably more pleasant.

So losing was not an option. He wanted this to be a fair fight, but it didn’t feel like he could win fairly. So be it. He could have his fun some other time.

The giant neared. He inhaled, and was rewarded with a mouth full of blood. It seemed his nose didn’t plan to stop bleeding any time soon. They were locked in heated combat a few heartbeats later. The larger man threw punches that hurt like sledgehammer even when he blocked them with his forearm. No wonder they called him Shatterjaw. One strike flew under his guard and landed in his gut. There was no saving it now, so he let the force threw him backward, going for distance. The giant charged, relentless. He waited, just right, before tugging at his opponent’s belt buckle, with his magic of course. Would be weird otherwise. It came undone easy enough, then with another firm tug, the giant’s pants pooled at his feet. Wide-eyed, he tripped, sprawling on the packed dirt. Zugos seized his chance, delivering a brutal kick to his downed opponent’s temple. And it was over.

The hunt was over soon enough, with sufficient help. They cleared out the bandit camp, its inhabitants put up minimal resistance before disappearing into the woods. Lazy and his friends left the following day, heading toward Corhall mines. He stayed, moping up the survivors. A week passed and as promised, the Paedatorian came through with his caravans. They parted ways soon after, the merchant promised more works should Zugos ever find himself in the Corhall mines; the man was going to stay there for the next few days. A tempting offer.




2 hours after the Corhall riot



He found himself at the battered gate house at noon, when the tyrant sun reigned. The ground before him was littered with bodies, slaves and soldiers alike, strewn about like broken dolls. It reeked. Soldiers milling about, minding their own bussiness. When he approached, they took one look at his wrists, then left him alone with directions to the pit master’s office. There, he found the Paedatorian merchant, looking like he had a jagged dagger in his gut. The man complained about some ‘lost assets’, which he tuned out while helping himself to the wine served by some slave girl. She regarded him with curious eyes, probably seeing a snowkin for the first time. Eventually, a new contract was formed, discussed and signed, all done under an hour. The merchant must really, really worry about his ‘assets’. Complications with other shareholders and some other business jargons he didn’t care enough to remember. The new bounty was all that mattered now. His prime target was a half-orc named Rook, grey-washed skin and mean eyes from what the guards told him, and his fire mage companion. His employer wanted them retrieved before the Paedatorian army moved in, claiming that they did not know how to handle ‘delicate cargo’ and was liable to damage his ‘expensive merchandise’. Paedatorians and their dubious practices. Regardless, he got his next target, one that promised a better fight than some half-starved bandit.

Time to hunt. The trail of blood and broken branches was still fresh. He had no intention of letting it run cold.
Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Crucible
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Galthor Tradhar Delthor

Westedge hideout ~ Galthor's quarters





"You know, all this magic nonsense is going to drive you mad"

Galthor didn’t bother turning around to look at the figure as he was focused, looking intensely into the empty fireplace as he muttered Hadian incantations. However this was quickly interrupted as the figure that had opened the door stood in front of him, A tall man wearing thick leather armor with a single steel shoulder plate, a sword holstered around his waist and two bracelets on the hands of the now crossed arms.

“It’s rude to ignore me you know”

With an annoyed sigh he stood up and looked at the man who had a small smile hiding behind his thick brown beard, a single scar crossed his face from the left eye down to his mouth, sighing once more Galthor raised an eyebrow towards Bryar, one of his fellow Silverfangs in Westedge and spoke.

“It’s rude to interrupt me while i’m busy, that obviously didn’t stop you.”

“What do you want with me Bry?”


As he said that he took a couple of steps back, and let himself fall onto his bed, still watching as the rough looking man reached into a satchel to his side, sliding some leather straps to the side and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment and flung it towards him. The parchment was sealed with a greenish stamp.

“The Higher ups over in Aelholt sent this”

Catching the parchment in the air and unraveling it Galthor read it, his expression instantly shifted to one of confusion, as he read it a couple more times. sitting up on the rough bed and looking at Bryar.

“You sure this ain’t for Laura?”

“It’s written in the damn contract isn’t it”

Galthor gave the man an annoyed look before motioning for him to leave, the contract was his first one that would take him outside of Westedge, being sent directly from Aelholt the mission was to take place in Mor, but that isn’t at all what distressed him, he was in a way looking forward for some fresh air. The problem was, in all his missions, he had always tried sticking to burglaries, forgeries, pickpocketing and things like that, at no point did he become particularly known for assassinations, he had barely done any assassinations, yet this contract was exactly that. the parchment told his to inquire in the Mor hideout for further details on his “elimination job” which was normally how murders were written in official contracts, which were normally taken by Laura..




Galthor had put the parchment aside for now, trying to leave it as but an itch in the back of his mind, prodding at him. Before he could prepare for the trip, he wished to finish the ritual that Bryar interrupted, so he went around the room making sure the candles where all lit, and he sat in the cold stone floor, legs crossed in the center of the room staring into the flames.

He breathed in

The shadows that hid, fleeing from the light in the corners and under the furniture seemed to become darker, more pronounced, and the candlelight began to flicker. A few hisses and rattle escaped his mouth as the tattoos in his arms seemed to slowly begin to shift.

He breathed out

The Hadian symbols seemed to escape from his skin and hover slightly above it, the snakes that coiled around his wrists begun to slither.

He breathed in

The darkness seemed to expand, tendrils poked and prodded at the barrier of light before slithering towards him.

He breathed out

The candles gave into the darkness as their flames burnt no more. and Galthor could feel the embrace of a magical essence covering him like a veil. And for the next forty minutes the room was dark, and the only sound in it was him breathing and letting out hisses, rattles and clicks as the symbols hovering above his arms shifted and changed in form as he prepared some incantations.




Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Syben
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Syben Digital Ghost

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Sakiah Kywen, Delen Shrödinger, Zugos 'Rune' Velarium
The Woods Outside the Corhall Slave Mines
1st Sunddir, Aagium, 127th Crest, 5th Cycle



Shrödinger picked up his pace from his original walk to hopefully catch up with the massive creature that he was trying to help. Curiosity had peaked his interest and there was no way that he was backing out of this now. The doctor soon entered a small clearing to see a behemoth of a man crossing it, after following the trail that was so recklessly left behind. Now Shrödinger knew exactly what this being was, an escaped slave. Though, his eyes did not stay on the beast himself when he noticed that the slave was carrying something.

“Er, excuse me!,” Shrödinger called to the massive person, wanting for him to stop so that way the Shrödinger wouldn't have to run anymore. “I only wish to help you!,” he continued so he could treat this person if needed. The doctor was still ready to run, though he did not truly want to just leave if this person did need help.

The heaving mass of Rook stopped cautiously, his head straining to peer over his shoulder has he knelt and gently set his companion down. With fire still blazing in his eyes he turned, his stature towering over the smaller, oddly dressed man. ”I do not require your help,” he rumbled. His eyes darted to either side, suspicious of lurking soldiers, surely it would not be long until they began combing the woods. ”However, the girl here does, she has taken many wounds,” Rook eyed the man as he gestured to Saki’s limp form.

Shrödinger silently nodded to the massive figure, not wanting to anger the Orc. “I will treat her injuries as best as I can. I wouldn't want to hinder you from whatever you are doing,” He said, moving forward with his his doctor’s case at the ready. It had everything he would need for this, but he wasn't sure the extent of the damage to the girl was. Shrödinger looked at the girl for a moment before his gaze went back to the one who had been carrying her.

”My name is Shrödinger, I merely wish to help all who need my expertise,” he formally greeted with a slight bow of his head. Not wanting to waste time, he went to fast walk past the man. Rook stepped aside slightly, keeping a very attentive eye on the man. His mistrust pushed to the side by the need to see Sakiah make it through this day. ”If you do anything to hurt her,” he started, his threat left in the air as he followed close behind the ’doctor’.

Shrödinger crouched next to the girl, looking over her for a moment to simply analyze the damage. ”There are many wounds being presented to me here, finding where to start is easy, but it is a lot,” he stated before setting his case down to his side before opening it, revealing the stockpile of medicines on one side and a small bonesaw. The doctor took out a small vial filled with an antibiotic brew that would kill off any bacteria that may infect the wound as he worked. Afterward, he produced a smaller kit that would allow him to close the wounds as he did not have anything to cauterize them with at the moment. Immediately, Shrödinger began to sew the it closed along her midsection. This would all go smoothly, assuming she didn't come out of her pain induced shock.

It took several silent minutes for the doctor to get the wound closed but it was a simple, yet delicate procedure. He ran the same procedure on the two other cuts, the one on her right arm and the other running from her shoulder to hip. Shrödinger sighed with slight relief as he applied bandages to those wounds, then he turned his attention to the arrow. ”Are these arrows barbed?,” the doctor said, turning to the behemoth.

Rook turned his gaze from watching intently, waiting for Shrödinger to make the slightest move towards threatening Saki’s life to the man himself, ”The Paedatorian army does not make a habit of supplying their bowmen with barbed heads, unless procured from other means I would assume not.”- Rook let out a sight as he knelt next to the doctor, his form still doing a decent job of seeming to loom over the man even as he crouched-”Even then, we do not have time for a surgery, it must be pulled.” Rook’s face took on a solemn tone as he placed his hands on either side of the wound, his green eyes meeting the doctor’s own, ”It is likely that she will awaken, loudly. We must be prepared to move after.”

At least that makes things simple for me,” the doctor sighed before holding his left hand on her thigh and grasped the arrow with his right. Without warning, Shrödinger pulled the arrow out of her and set it down next to him. He then closed the now open wound, and wrapped a bandage around her thigh. Though, the girl did scream as predicted it was only for a moment. Her eyes fluttered open, mixed with pain and fear, before falling back into whatever darkness her mind was in.




Zugos had a thing for timed missions. It added a certain thrill to the hunt, a sense of urgency to the chase and an odd satisfaction to the kill. Monetary rewards were merely bonus to him; he had no shortage of coins. However, at times, he also wondered if self-imposed time limit was also how his masochistic tendency chose to manifest itself. Especially when he found himself jogging through a forest at noon with nothing but a thin cloak to protect him from the scorching sun.

He had donned his usual battle gear: cuirass, boots and gloves with metal plating and his ragged cloak. The urgency of the mission demanded that he depart as soon as possible, so he didn’t have to get his rucksack. All he had managed to grab was a large water skin, a length of rope and a baker’s dozen of throwing knives. It seemed sufficient though, seeing as he would be chasing down escaped slaves, not hardened convicts. Desperation might make them dangerous, but no force of will could overcome a failing body. He knew that from experience. And the pit masters of Corhall weren’t known for their generosity. Or intelligence, he thought with a sneer. These lowlanders didn’t even know how to treat their slaves right.

The trail was obvious, yet inconsistent. He followed blood smears and broken branches, but eventually, their wounds congealed and they passed through clearings. He had to stop several times just to search the area for more tracks to follow. He was closing in on his targets, but at the same time, the deadline was also closing in on him. He had to find them, fast.

Then Lady Luck smiled. Well, it wasn’t as grand as a smile, more like a condescending smirk, but he would take what he could get.

A sharp cry of pain pierced through the air. He straightened himself up then, turning his head to where he thought the cry came from. With practiced ease, he zoned in on them. Gray skin wasn’t that hard to spot among the trees. In a heartbeat, he took in the surroundings. There was the towering brute himself, just standing near his little mageling. However, he saw another man with them. It couldn’t be another slave, considering the strange apparel. Who would help escaped slaves? In Paedator, that sort of behavior was considered a crime that could result in a fine of several hundreds coins. Maybe this stranger just didn’t think he would be found out? How silly.

He wasn’t going for stealth here. There was no point; they were standing in a clearing. So he just approached them, his steps light and casual, but the sword in his hand obviously screamed hostility. His expression was anything but, though, just genuine awe and interest. It was his first time seeing an orc, after all. Well, technically it was a half-orc, but it was close.

Bloody Aohr, they are right!”- He exclaimed as he neared, his eyes wide.-“You’re built like a brick shithouse!

But that was all he really had to say. His specialty was ‘seek and destroy’. ‘Recovery’ wasn’t his forte, ‘negotiation’ was even less so. Besides, what was there to say? ‘Surrender or I will kill you’? ‘Halt’? He didn’t think words would be appropriated in this situation.

So he charged first. His first target was the large orc. His size and strength might be advantageous, but this time, Zugos had his sword. The distance between them shrunk as he dashed forward, going for a classic horizontal swipe across the giant’s midsection. Rook watched the man closely as he gave himself away, a turn of the foot here, a tensing of the shoulder, the way he held himself. The gray behemoth stepped outside the arc, just a hair away from having his insides spilled upon the ground with his sluggish movements. He sneered, his eyes turning a deep red as the adrenaline surged into him. His toes curled into the earth as he brought his opposite leg forward in a sweeping arc.

Zugos saw the attack coming, so he turned, bringing his sword between the giant’s leg and his body, with one hand firmly on the hilt, while the other pressing against the flat of the blade. The thick gray leg connected and he countered the force of the kick with his magic, his runes humming quietly to life as he deflected the blow and send the far larger man reeling back into the dirt.Shrödinger watched as the two went at it, now he felt the need to move the patient but he did not wish to anger the Orc either. Rook stood, anger swelling inside him as he reached his full height, chest puffed, and arms flexing as he brushed the dirt off of himself. He was prepared to give his life right then and there as he stared his opponent down.

”SEIZE THEM!!” a familiar voice screeched. Moments later a troop of iron clad soldiers could be spotted dashing between the trees.

The soldier’s arrival had an immediate effect on Zugos. He dropped his combat stance almost instantly, his expression of tranquil attentiveness faded away, replaced by a humorless smirk. Turning to where the soldiers were running toward them, he sheathed his sword , then reached for a sheet of rolled-up paper on his belt. With quick movements, he shredded it to bits, letting the pieces fell like snow.

There goes my new wyrmskin boots.”- He sighed, turning his gaze toward the outlaws. –“Better run, strays. Your handlers are here.

”He is right, Doctor-man,”- Rook agreed, swallowing his pride, -”We must go.” He stooped down, casting one more sideways glance at the stranger, smaller man who had so easily deflected his attack, before looking quite concerned at the mostly bandaged Sakiah. ”I fear I may not be able to keep up, but I need to stay with her to monitor her healing process. If you are able to carry me then please. However, if you cannot then leave me here,” The doctor said, standing to full height and packing up all of his things into his case.

Rook gave the thin, frail man a curious look before sighing heavily. It was going to be a very long day for him. ”Do not kick, or I will drop you,” Rook said, or rather commanded before quickly scooping the man off of his feet and onto Rook’s shoulder. A second huff, and his tiny, unconscious charged was draped over the opposite. Rook grimaced as he adjusted their combined weights, before loping off into the woods with his massive, inelegant gait.
Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Syben
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Sakiah Kywen
Unknown Location
1st Sunddir, Aagium, 127th Crest, 5th Cycle



Darkness, total and absolute. Broken only by thousands of tiny, insignificant motes of light. Always closer, forever smaller. Twinkling off in an impossible distance, as if beckoning. Calling, reaching out for something. Finding only nothing except the total encompassing absence of light. An abyss so complete, it seemed unreal. The way it shimmered, as if caressed by millions of tiny hands constructed from crystals refracting every color of the spectrum. An oily shimmer, continuously persisting, barely there. A trick of the eye, yet a shade made of infinite nothingness has no eyes. Sees no sights. Feels no touch. Death, perhaps?

The blackness shifted, spinning wildly, the motes of light dancing. Bright duets, shimmering in attraction as they spun and swirled, dipped and twirled. Jarringly, they stopped. Still, glinting a symphony of soundless echoes. Crying out, pain? A slash of red, cutting through the serenity of nothing. A second swathe, crossing the first at an angle. A sudden jolt, crimson tears blanketing the vacuity. A hundred stars dying. Fading from existence. Glittering shades that slowly faded from the marred canvas. Shades of light dwindling, glinting woefully as they departed. Leaving only one.

A tiny hope, growing. Long arms of light dancing from it’s body as it raced toward. Insides of blue and white, or browns and greens. Spinning madly, a ceremonial dance mimicking the unseen others. Closer now, and a rush of color. Smoky wisps of pale white leading depressing grays guiding darkened blotches. And suddenly, everything.

A rush of sound met her eyes as she burst through the clouds, her tingling body rushing towards the planet. Spit forth a maw so much like that in which she herself dreamt of escaping. Glittering with it’s precious earth. She spread her arms and let the winds carry her, closing her eyes as she was escorted across the ocean breeze, smelling the salt in the air. A boat rocked underneath, the sea hardened men unaware of her soaring figure, silhouette across the dark clouds heralding a storm. She passed through them with the ease of a breath.

The sun was bright as it glimmered across the frothing ocean waves. She squinted, her vision hazy across the glare before she turned in a wide sweeping arc, coming low across the ocean waves. She passed through a swell, feeling nothing but frivolous across her body failed to pick up sensation. She gasped in shock, but no air filled her lungs. Panic swept her mind and for a moment, her journey stopped and become a tumultuous tumble beneath the ocean’s surface. She imagined bubbles escaping her lungs and she drowned, and they blinked into existence, jiggling a ballet slowly to the surface. The scene stunned her, long enough that the sweeping pull of whatever mystical current was guiding her drew her in once more.

Up, out of the waves, and back into the air. A mass of land looming before her, crested by an enormous gathering of stone. A city, spanning miles along the coast, entrenching deep into the mainland. Miles and miles of flattened cobble and shaped wood, of worked marble and polished metal. She swept down a wide avenue, glittering with swept shop fronts and flowers in bloom. If she had been breathing, her breath would have caught. Instead, her mouth hung agape as the pull became stronger. The whip whipped at her, causing her to idly wonder why it was that she could feel that, but not the splashing of the ocean’s wave. Translucent fingers took hold of her, wrapping themselves around her as the pull became a tug, as if her body was too heavy for it’s force. Her eyes widened in fear as the force gripped her body, squeezing her as if into a vacuum to small for her. She shot forward, the world becoming a multicolored blur. Her senses flickered in and out, a barrage of sound assaulting her ears fading into the violent caress of the pull. The world spun, wild and vivid in its color, before dropping her in the middle of a room.

She forced her eyes to open, and was met with only blood. No, not blood, the color of it, pressed into a plush carpet. She stood carefully, her brows hunched together in wonder and confusion. Curtains of deep purple spanned entire sections of wall, from floor to ceiling, over polished windows higher than she was tall. A thick, wooden desk lacquered to a bright shine sat before a chair thick with cushions, depressions in the fabric holding a hundred sparkling eyes of diamonds. She strode forward, both appalled and intrigued by such splendor. She passed between two plain looking chairs position in front of the desk, and yet somehow seeming exquisite in their plainness. She turned, hearing the groan of two obviously heavy doors pushed open, the squeal of hinges absent beneath layers of grease.

She was beautiful

A woman entered, but not like any Sakiah had ever encountered. Like herself, yet different. Two horns adorned her temples, gracefully curving back with the shape of her head, barely skimming the surface of her shining, sun-colored hair. She was short, yet her hollowed cheeks showed a maturity in her age, a deeper plum set against the brighter purple skin. Her eyes glittered as she strode into the room, shifting with hues of red and orange, splashed with yellow, as if a raging fire had left its imprint on her eyes.

The woman turned, and Sakiah noticed their was another, a mirror of partner, less in her visage but appearing that of an elegant painting. Set with hues of blue and black.

”Wise council, Sister... but misguided.”

”Please, hear me on this-” A slap resounded throughout the office chamber. A stinging red handprint left on the blue cheek of the taller woman. Sakiah could see wetness welling in the corner of her eyes.

”Do not try my patience!” The shorter one seethed, obviously in a position of power over the other. The taller sister nodded meekly, forked tongue darting across her split lip, tasting only the acrid taste of warm, fresh blood. The shorter one took a look of concern, her hand reaching up to brush the side of her sister’s face even as the taller one flinched in response, ”Sssh, sssh… I’m sorry, it’s just, you know how things get to me,” She cooed. The blue woman nodded as a strand of midnight hair fell across her face. The purple hand caressing her face moved to push the strand away, before forcefully lacing its fingers into her hair and wrenching her head down closer so that the hot breath of her older sister could be felt across her face.

”Send the howlers east, with Misla… she alone should be more than enough”

”Yes, a-as you com-m-mand.” The blue one whimpered as she was shoved towards the exit. She straightened her clothes, salvaged what was left of her pride, and left with the heavy burden of orders.

Sakiah stood, entranced by the exchange when she felt a sudden change enter the room, a chill, perhaps. The sensation definitely seemed to be there, replaced quickly by a sudden spasm of light tingles shooting across her. The shorter, purple woman’s breath hitched and she turned about the room slowly. Her eyes scanning, her mouth agape before she seemed to settle on Sakiah’s position. Neither of them understood this moment. Sakiah, who felt unseen by the entire world except for this captivating, gorgeous woman of a race she was unknown. Fierce in her command and sure in her power. And the woman with tresses seemingly made from the sun's rays, unaware and yet feeling something off. Something definitely amiss. She looked with eyes that were not her own, but those of her being, the world taking on a veil of shimmering, dream-like quality. And suddenly, she could see her. Hair whiter than the heavens themselves. Eyes shining with the pale glimmer of gold. The four ivory horns cresting her head like a crown.

”You…” she whispered, a single, unspoken breath passing before a wave of force ripped Sakiah from the lavish office, thrusting her back into the blackness, back among the shining, dancing motes of light, enthralled with her passage as she hurtled through nothingness.
Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Crucible
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Crucible The Keeper of Reality

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Galthor Tradhar Delthor

Westedge Hideout ~ Living hall




Torchlight seeped through the room revealing an interesting contrast, to one side a natural cavern curves and twists, with a underground river flowing through it, a soft current brought the occasional small fish, or critter through the clear water. a few fungi and plants grew on the humid walls of the cave and smoke crawled through the ceiling, making it's way through a few cracks in it, slowly finding it's way to other caverns an eventually, leading it outside.

The other half followed the course of the river for a long time, seemingly carved into the stone a hall outlined the cavern. This hall is the Living hall of the Westedge hideout, where unoccupied members come to spend their time until they receive a contract, or to rest from a successful mission. Sitting around a table close to where the river enters the area, three people where talking. A Strong, large man wearing tough leather, with a few metal plates on certain bits. A woman in simple clothes toying with a dagger, and a tiefling who just sat there, arms crossed and looking annoyed at the man.

"You lot, any of you seen Ylor or Laura around here?"

Three heads turned to Galthor as he approached the table and said that, looking down specifically at the tiefling who looked back at him with a large grin on her face.

"Oh you didn't know, Both of them left yesterday, heading southwards."

Galthor looked at the tiefling, raising an eyebrow. He needed to contact one of the mentors to get a copy of the Mor hideout key, actually, he needed to even know where the entrance was since he had never been to the place before.

"Yomi, you know something don't you? i recognize that grin"

"Oh you read me like a book, i'd be all over you if you weren't such an ass"

"Still sulking about the Calderon job? I thought higher of you"

As this point the tiefling had swiftly gotten up, and walked over to him, a grace in her walk that was only beaten by the grace of her wielding a sword.

"And i thought higher of you then to steal a fellow fangs contract"

As she said this, she leaned closer towards his ear, slipping something into his pocket while saying.

"Ylor told me to give you this, good luck figuring out where the entrance is."

And with that the tiefling walked away, disappearing through a door, closing it behind her with her tail. reaching into his pocket Galthor felt the key that Yomi had given him. The last thing he needed before leaving to Mor, well, that and the location of the entrance, but with a bit of effort he knew he could find a Fence that would point him towards it after some convincing, and his arcane focus should serve as enough proof. So turning around, he began making his way to his quarters, to grab his bag and set way to the beginning on his contract.




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