Captain Jenno

The Seven Elementos

Sorry for the delay in my post, I work for a paper and the world went to pot last night so I've got work stacked on like crazy, all outta the blue.

The Seven Elementos

Ten measly pieces of gold for clemency.
"“If only you’d offered us that deal all those years ago, beast. We’d have lined your pockets nicely.”
Brande smiled tightly, and settled into a less confrontational pose despite himself. He lowered his sword, but didn’t sheath it: at the first sign of a strike, Brande would have this orc’s left eye.
Still, he tried to give off the air of a sociable, sportive negotiator, but it was clear in his laboured expressions that his fighter’s muscle ached to be used. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were hardening like frost over glass.
Deep within, the metaphorical flame had been lit: the fire elementos felt his mouth dry as though it were filled with buds of cotton.

He knew it would only be a matter of striking a match, and he could tear both these behemoths down: but the ensuing commotion would be devastating to his mission, and would likely kill more people than it saved.
He breathed in – he breathed out. And he heard his father’s voice.
”What good is a quick sword in a slow witted man’s hands? Think, boy, think.”
And he was right: Brande needed to think. Today wasn’t worth the fight, it would only prolong his march towards his perfect duel.

It took an instant for Brande to quell the fire in his belly, after that. He smiled a little wider, a little thinner. Not sincere, but polite, respectful.
“Ten gold pieces, huh?”
He instinctively let his subservient hand slide into his pocket, an echo of a behaviour, something he’d seen his father do whenever it came time to pay his way.
Nothing. Brande was a penniless vagrant, and the hordes that had stolen his life from him hadn’t even had the decency to leave him a coin purse. Brande was flat out, perhaps irreparably broke… but his tastes were still rich.
He took his hand from his pocket, and reached into his messenger’s bag instead.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the fare, my man,” he admitted, his voice soft, regulated, accented faintly by the inflections of his father, the familial inheritance from a land far away. One might even have thought it friendly, were it not for the tense context.
“But I can offer you a good time that’s worth more, and will kick less, if you think yourself a man of refinement.”

The gesture pained him, raking his fingers along his bag’s meagre contents until he felt the rough texture of a lovingly folded, golden-brown leaf.
Cured for years on some foreign, sunny shore, and hand-wrapped by delicate, tanned fingers. As thick as wide bottle necks, and packed densely.
Brande withdrew two cigars, two of five. They were the closest he’d ever gotten to an inheritance, unnoticed by the marauders who ransacked his home, in the drawer of the burnt husk that was once his father’s desk. He’d smoked one each anniversary of the fire- it had seemed ironic but appropriate- but soon he would be out.
He wasn’t sure how much they were worth: only that the quality of the tobacco alone made ten gold pieces seem like pittance to a discerning smoker.
“I’ll even throw one in for your friend over there,” he offered, holding both of them up, “What do you say, amico, let bygones be bygones?”
"Or give me the excuse to light a match."

The Seven Elementos

Whew, hi folks! Sorry I've been absentee for the past couple days, my eyes have nearly glazed over from having stared at so much Cyrillic. I'm writing a post.

The Seven Elementos

Hey folks: Baklava's gonna be on the road today (she's movin' long-distance!), so she probably isn't gonna be around 'til tomorrow. She offers her apologies to those waiting on their prompting post!

The Seven Elementos

Admittedly as someone else who's returning from a hiatus I'm not super familiar with the Guild's new toys yet, but as forewarning I'll probably forget to use the mentions system myself because I sort of expect you all to be checking in regularly, anyway. When I do remember I'll keep it in mind.

The Seven Elementos

I was working on the assumption you would be regularly checking in, given that's what we're sort of hoping for from you anyway, but note duly taken. I'll edit it in! Thanks for the tip.

The Seven Elementos

<Snipped quote by Captain Jenno>

Shot down...twice...T.T _|-|O

Oh well, I had fun making my characters (which to me, is the best part) and If someone drops, sent me a mention or a PM and I would be glad to join. You may see me lurking a few times, just to see how the story is unfolding. Hope I see you guys around!

Oh, @Baklava I found a good image for his demon form. XD

@Crimson Raven

And as always, you're a champ about it! We'll definitely shoot a DM your way if a position opens up!

The Seven Elementos

Alright everyone, thanks for your submissions! Since the last one me and Baklava have been talking it over and figuring out which of you would best compliment the environment and the story, since our main interest is moving it along. We do love all of your characters, and if we could we'd accept them all: but you've gotta understand, eleven players is a lot for even two of us to keep track of in the swing of things.

Before I announce which characters we're accepting, I will point out that this is not a contest and there are no 'winners' or 'losers', we do hope to see all of you around in future roleplays, regardless of your status in this one.
So that said, in no particular order, we've decided we're going to be accepting:

• James Terna (@Kaithas)
• Isaac Dorovich (@Sodium)
• Elise Callan (@lydyn)

So Sodium, Lydyn and Kaithas, you'll be up to bat sometime very soon: your characters'll be starting in Jeorvo, and your prompting post will hopefully be up sometime tomorrow.

As for you Crimson, we're really sorry we couldn't use Aegis. Please don't misunderstand, the general consensus between us was that Aegis was cool as Hell, but just didn't quite fit into this part of the story as well. We still hope to see you around, though! Hell, I'll probably pop up in one'a your roleplays at some point, I get around.

Thank you all for submitting applications! If you've got any questions, feel free to drop me a DM. Now we're ready to start proper.

NOTICE: Also I feel inclined to repeat what Baklava said, we're nearing two days and none of you have posted yet. If you have an excuse as to why you can't, make it known, but otherwise please do it. It seems a shame for you all to have put such effort into your characters otherwise.

The Seven Elementos

Brande had set off the very morn he’d awoken.
He’d begun East of the Wisdom Mountains, and walked in the sierra’s shadow for most of the first day, his cloak bound tightly around himself as he’d paced through a whispering rain, wetness on the first breaths of Autumn.
It had been constant, and somewhere further South it was undoubtedly washing away chunks of charcoal from the seared silhouette of Serifina Heights. Shedding another layer of charred skin.
Brande had thrilled to the experience, though: the rainfall threw a sort of pallor over the mountains to his west, and made him feel as though he were walking the spine of some felled behemoth, like a hero of old.
When the first night came, the rainfall sang him to his sleep, as it pattered rhythmically against the knotted branches of a kneeling willow tree that Brande had made into a makeshift tent.
In the night, he’d heard the distant clamour of thunder, out towards The Crimson Sea: he wondered aloud if it were a storm, or a beast, before he’d finally set about sleeping.

The next day was drier, and humid. It was only in the light of the new-born morn that Brande realised his willow, wilting towards the west, was beginning to take on the likeness of rust and amber. Fall was fast on his heels.
He’d shaved and washed in a nearby stream, and moved along with a greater urgency. The landscape was still wet and shifted uneasily beneath his feet in places, particularly when he came into the North proper and began trekking the dirt roads.
He made it to Jeorvo by midday, and rested there for a spell. Brande was a finely bred, but nonetheless penniless, wanderer- hence, those he’d come to know as passing acquaintances had dubbed him The Vagabond Prince- and so made due on the kindness of strangers, particularly when he paid them a kindness in turn.

Jeorvo was a sordid hive of crime and poverty, and in it Brande had stuck out like a sore thumb. In actuality, he was probably the poorest man within the city’s walls: but he also took care of himself, and had learned young to live well off of the land. This, along with his ostentatious cloak and sterling blade, made him an immediate target.
Said blade also made him an immediate threat. Even if he hadn’t lived and breathed the life of a wandering swordsman, Brande wouldn’t have had to worry: when he stumbled upon a tavern owner being shaken down, all he’d had to do was sweep the nearest thug’s ankle with the broad face of his rapier to make them scatter.
In turn, the tavern offered Brande a meagre hot meal and a warm, nameless ale: and with that he was satisfied.
When night fell he made camp west of Jeorva, against the banks of a lake. By late morning, on the third day of his journey, Brande had washed and made his entrance.

Jeorva struck a hidden chord with Brande’s inner aristocrat, a petulant thirteen year old who wanted nothing more than to strut through the town like he was still the last heir of a powerful, dying family.
The Vagabond Prince chuckled to himself at the thought, and scratched absentmindedly at his beard: how the mighty had fallen. But he’d never have been able to appreciate the city’s grandeur as a child, not when ostentatiousness was the norm.
He was lost, for a few moments, in a sort of golden haze as he wandered the city’s streets. His mother had grown up here, his father had once told him: a promising disciple of the sword, with a questionable upbringing and a bad attitude. She’d married much higher than her station, but ultimately never lost the spirit of an urban troublemaker.
He wondered how long ago it was that she’d been bouncing around the alleyways, through the scented mist of cooked food - which to a rolling stone smelled of ambrosia- and autumnal dew.

And yet despite his vicarious nostalgia for the city he’d- until now- never seen, Brande felt somewhat disappointed, because he knew Jeorva wouldn’t be where he fought his perfect fight.
True, the architecture was exquisite- and in places so old it made him homesick for the first time in half a decade- but he’d always pictured the ultimate duel to take place in a space more open, more freeing. Like a plateau in a forest-ridden mountain range, or a field of thematically appropriate flowers.
Perhaps against a wise-cracking, handsome rogue with an eye patch, or a powerful Elven woman with a broadsword in her grip, and all to the operatic score of a howling mountain wind or the raucous applause of cicadas.
When and wherever it was he’d dreamt of it taking place, it wasn’t here. An exciting skirmish, perhaps. A memorable fight, certainly… but not a perfect one.

But that didn’t mean there’d be no fight at all. It didn’t take an experienced swordsman to spot the menacing orcs roaming the otherwise idyllic city centre, breezing through the shades of Autumn like plumes of smoke through a countryside.
So Brande hovered his hand expectantly over Esmeralda’s pommel as he walked, and stewed in his own bias.
His mother had once told him that no race was born bad, but he’d yet to meet an orc he liked, and it didn’t take long for him to find another to take issue with.

It was moving steadily into late noon, an hour before dusk, when Brande began to home in on the academy, and found himself promptly caught up in another debacle all together.
Coming down a narrower street, he stumbled upon an orc, grey like slate and much bigger than even himself- who stood at 6’4” but felt 5”10 in its presence- and a young woman snared within its unsavoury grip.
He cast a glance around: indifference, if anything. Self-preservation at the cost of others.
“Well now, that just won’t do, will it?”
Then there was the shifting of leather, the fluttering of his cloak and a tell-tale flash of white and silver: rapier drawn, Brande closed the distance…
But he didn’t strike. That was where Brande drew the definitive line between a killer- like an orc- and a duellist- like an Ashbell.
A duellist got no pleasure from an easy kill.

He fell into stance, and pressed the tip of his blade into the back of the orc’s neck, lightly.
“I don’t think the lady wants to dance, amico,” he greeted, calmly, tilting his head sideways so as to look at said lady from beneath the orc’s raised arm, “But is it alright if I cut in?", he asked her, "I won’t be long.”

The Seven Elementos

Most'a my post is written, but in the early hours I've switched to a work article. I'll definitely have my post up tomorrow.