Goldeagle1221

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Spooky yet lovable.

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Festering wound.

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Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

Levine’s Countryside, Cormyral

Breakfast had been unremarkable. Shredded pork on a buttered biscuit with a small cup of expensive tea for Cyra, and a tall glass of milk along with remarks on how he should probably eat more in the morning for Hildako (who later found himself hungry and fetching a lucky, yet questionable meal from a street vender along with a few I-told-you-so’s).

With stomachs full, the two made their way briefly back to the inn to fetch the contracts and before they knew it, they found themselves in one of the many misty forests of Levine’s countryside. Underfoot and undertail, mud from a rain two nights ago was still slick, while the greenery of the leaves remained the rich and velvety green often scene in a thunderstorm. The droplets of the mist formed on Cyra’s tail, making Hildako wonder a little bit about her tropical home back in Xoskea. He stared in what would have be silence if not for the loud caw’s of the forest birds for quite a while. His mind eventually wandered back to about her life back in Xoskea, after all he had known her for about two years now, and he found appropriate to probably know these details about the companion that put up with him for so long.

He went to ask, but he retracted his words as he opened his mouth, assuming it would spark another conversation about their possible vacation in her homeland that she desired so strongly. Instead he kept his mind on the business at hand, “So this is just a simple shake down. We throw our weight around a little, retrieve the lost purses and property of the farm these goons sacked, and go on our way. The usual.”

“That’s not the usual. Not for you at least.” Cyra said with a raised eyebrow. She looked and sounded amused. Perhaps she was in a good mood because she had yet to slither into a tree. Perhaps she found Hildako’s statement funny in an ironic sense. “So” She continued, “I’ll just stay in the back, looking pretty, while you give them your usual scowl.” Not that she knew what his ‘usual’ scowl was or if he even had a usual one.

“Pffft,” Hildako sarcastically replied, “let’s hope they don’t give up that easy, I didn’t tredge in the mud all this way to go home bored.”

He shrugged while side stepping a stray bough from one of the trees, “but sure, the usual scowl for the unusual situation.”

Cyra let out something between a squawk of surprise and a grunt as she smacked her forehead into the branch Hildako had so smoothlysmoothly avoided. “You” She rubbed her forehead, “really need to warn me about things like that.”

“Sorry!” Hildako yelped, jumping to grab both her shoulders and shift her away from the rest of the tree, “where there are branches…” He murmured, “ let’s hope our targets didn’t hear that.”

After a second of thought he added, “Actually let’s hope they hear us coming.”

Suddenly Hildako squeezed Cyra’s shoulder, “There they are!”

In front of them the trees parted to reveal a haphazardly put together camp. Canvas tents ringed a massive fire pit, where three burly looking criminals were roasting what could only be a poached calf on a spit. It could only be assumed there were more in the tents, as sounds of various activities both ordinary and obscene were taking place. Some tents had more than one shadow cast on them, and Hildako had rather not define what owned them, in fact he found it better to not prepare himself for the numbers, and just dive right in.

His boots kicked up the dusty dirt of the clearing, scuffing loudly as he exited the trees shouting, “this place smells like shite!” The men around the fire looked him over confused for a few seconds before registering the challenge, hopping to their feet, weapons at the ready. A dumb smirk grew on HIldako’s face, only causing rage to twitch in one of the campers faces.

“Hil” Cyra’s voice, full of warning, drifted out from the woods. Despite possessing a massive snake tail in place of legs, or perhaps being of it, she could seemingly disappear into the woods when she wanted to. Very likely the group Hildako and Cyra had come to ‘persuade’ had no idea she was even nearby.

Hildako’s ear twitched at the sound of his name, but he attempted to ignore it as he started forward. One of the brutes chewed out a threat from a very unkempt mouth but it was so mumbled, Hildako had no idea what he had said and simply walked into the light of the fire, smug face now illuminated below his tattoo. Stepping on foot onto a log used for a seat he leaned forward on his knee and casually gave the large man the finger.

Saliva foamed around the man’s mouth as he fumbled for his own blade, cursing. His buddies started to egg him on. “Show him.” “Yeah go get em Big Jeb.” “Snap him like the twig he is.” Among a sea of swears.

Hildako spread his arms as if inviting the criminal to fight him, impatient eyes staring the criminals down.

“WAIT!” A commanding voice suddenly sounded, ordering the obedience of the campers and turning them to silence. A man who had just exited one of the tents stood near the fire now, buckling loose pants, steely eyes trained on Hildako’s forehead. His finer clothes and shaven face either pegged him as a classier rogue or the ringleader, perhaps both.

“You fools, can’t you see that’s The Omen,” A steady finger pointed at Hildako’s forehead. A small look of fright crossed the faces of the three campers and there was a rustling in all the other tents at the sound of the nickname.

“I’d wager the guardian of the shadows that watches over this demon is around here somewhere too,” The ringleader bit his lip, while Hildako stood in surprise.

“Boys,” the ringleader turned the the emerging criminals from the tents, marking their number at eleven men, all scared. The ringleader kept a finger trained on Hidako while shaking his head in disbelief, “grab the loot boys, and run we will meet at our other location, RUN!”

Hildako waved his hands, “wait no!”

“Stay back, Demon! We’ve heard the stories of all who cross your path!” The criminals were rushing around the camp, knocking down tents to swipe all the loot and stolen goods they could, two men had already fled the camp with arms full of loose goods and cash. A stone dropped in Hildako’s stomach, and his wince twitched, his targets were getting away -- his opportunity was getting away.

Unknowing in how to stop this, he charged the scattered group of criminals. The forest wind rushed by his ears, howling at him as he kept his sights on the ringleader. Kicking off of one of the stumps used as a seat, he launched himself in the air, turning his foot to make a point at the heel, he smashed it into the face of the ringleader mid jump. The kick burst the ringleaders nose into a cloud of crimson, with a further crunch as he crumpled to the ground, Hildako landing on him.

Big Jeb saw this and charged at Hildako, club in hand. The large man swung at Hildako , only to find a set of rapid punches slam down his rib cage coupled with a sudden elbow to the neck. The large man collapsed next to his leader, gasping for air. Four more had fled by time Hildako was by the tents, mace in hand. The three remaining criminals were backing slowly to the treeline, two with blades in hand, one shakily holding a hunting bow and all with scared faces worn.

“We don’t want to fight you, Demon,” one stuttered, causing a deep frown to carve into Hildako’s face. He winced, “do it.”

“N-no!” One pointed his blade at Hildako, “stay b-back!”

“Do it,” Hildako hissed through his teeth, taunting them by opening his arms for a strike. His face turned grim, a look of anger turned to a spark of sadness as he started to close the gap.

“No!” The one holding the bow shouted, releasing his arrow with a twang. The arrow clumsily left the hunting bow and slammed into Hildako’s shoulder, causing him to take a few steps back with a grunt of pain. He felt the small bodkin tip poke out of his shoulder blade, and a warm red spot started to form on his shirt. He looked down, surprised at the sight of the wooden shaft protruding from him, but when he looked back up, expecting the blade of one of the criminals to finish him, they were already sprinting through the woods, terrified and anxious. Hildako just stood there, eyes wide as he stared at his fleeing opportunity, his shoulder pulsing with pain, and his head feeling a little lighter as the red splotch thickened.

The man with a bow screamed as a tiger, massive in size, stepped into his path, blocking his way. He took a single stumbling step back towards Hildako as he dropped his bow and reached for a long knife, almost fumbling it several times. The tiger let out a low growl, its eyes closed, but somehow it still seemed to know exactly where the man was at all times. The man screamed as he lunged towards the tiger. The tiger tensed as if to dodge or leap onto its target, surely it had more than enough time to do either. It did not, however, instead it leaned in towards the man, as if willing him to stab it. And he did, driving his knife into the tiger’s should.

“Hah!” He yelled triumphantly, but let out a terrified screech as the tiger slowly looked towards him and growled. He run away into the woods, so terrified that he didn’t even think to pull his knife out of the tiger’s shoulder.

The tiger seemed to watch the man flee for a moment before turning towards Hildako and letting out a long growl, one that sounded more displeased then threatening.

Hildako’s widened eyes narrowed at the growl, “you’re the one who let him stab you,” he answered, slowly using his left hand to add pressure around the arrow shaft that protruded from him in an attempt to slow the bleeding. While he was not opposed to the idea of death, not like this, not while being nagged.

The tiger let out a second growl as its body began to shift. Within moments it was gone, replaced by one specific lamia that had a knife impaled in the back of her shoulder. “Your actions” She said, wincing as she reached back towards the knife and pulled it out, “have harmed us both.”

Hildako frowned, clearly unconvinced as he walked over to her, one hand on the arrow, “My actions?” He huffed, “my actions did nothing but attempt to save the contract, but NOW we have to go back to the fat man and tell him it’s all kinds of screwed up before he starts blaming us for tipping them off or whatever fantasy he will conjure up.” He angrily added the last half of his sentence as he ripped his shirt away from his arrow wound, saving the clean bits and stuffing them into some sort of ball as he stared at the hole in Cyra’s back.

“Who was it that said we would just throw our weight around a little?” Cyra frowned at him. The wound on her back bleed freely, ignored. “I could practically smell the fear of those men. Actually… I’m pretty sure I did. I think some of them pissed themselves.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Had you demanded they left behind their stolen goods they almost certainly would have. Instead you were too fixated on starting a needless fight.” By this point a bit of frustration had crept into her voice. “How long are you going to keep doing this?”

“Fear… fear was the problem! If they didn’t fear any of this I wouldn’t have had to act, but noooo- reputation got in the way!” He angrily grumbled behind her, focused on collecting the cleaner fabrics. “They were going to just retreat with everything. It is highly unlikely they would leave anything behind at a simple request! I needed to act.”

Hildako finished his makeshift bandage while ignoring her final question with a wince. His voice softened from an angry growl to a softer growl, “heads up, bandage going in.” He pushed the bandage into her shoulder with his thumb. He looked over to the still flickering campfire where the large man and the ringleader laid flat, unconscious or possibly dead, “want me to burn it close or can you make it back?” He looked down at his own puncture, the blood having stopped against the shaft.

Cyra winced as he applied the bandage. “You can try and fool yourself,” She said, ignoring his question about cauterizing her wound, “but you will never be able to fool me.” She waited a moment to make sure he was done with the bandage before beginning to slither away. “Just remember that I won’t let you pass away. Not while I still draw breath.”

“A threat if I ever heard one,” Hildako replied, clearly bothered by her statement as he started to walk towards the fallen criminals by the fire.

Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

<Snipped quote by Willy Vereb>

To my knowledge: Spleen, Gold, Sigma, Ekreture, Oraculum, Serp, possibly Monkey pants, and myself. The rest have announced dropping out or don't frequent the the Chatzy or the thread anymore.

@Aristo

Things are kinda... Iffy if you ask me.

Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

Levine, Kingdom of Cormyral

(SpleenxGold)

Dust motes suspended in the morning sunlight. Golden shafts speared through thin cotton curtains, spilling out into a small dusty tavern room worth about two meals and a mid morning snack. Splayed out on a thin mattress held up only by a wobbly wooden frame was a young man from the desert. His wiry black hair covered his dark face, save for where his intoxicated snore pushed it away only to suck it back down.

An empty bottle laid loosely in his grip, his other hand holding a dinged up flanged mace that had seen fair use. His linen shirt was wrinkled and covered in splotches of the previous night, including the crimson red of an unnecessary brawl over nothing but pride and the will to die. Knives of all sizes scattered the floor where dusty shoes and cloaks laid, and a long curved blade laid hazardly on top of a leather coat meant to be worn under the armor of a soldier.

The man twitched his nose and a hand of calloused and bloody knuckles retreated from the bottle to scratch it, falling down to a stubbled cheek after the deed. A stiff breeze sent the curtains of the room into a flap, allowing the breeze to rush in and brush the hair from the man’s face, surrendering it to the morning sun.

The man groaned from a sobering headache and opened his deep brown eyes to the optimistic morning rays, greeting it with an angry and pessimistic grunt, disappointed in being alive another day. He wiped his forehead, swiping sweat from a unique tattoo of a hand, an insignia worn by the scholars of the Sakabanatu desert, a very upholding and moral society, whose meaning was long lost in this man’s mind. He only knew of three things now a days, a huge contrast to his days as a student of knowledge and spirituality: one, that every day he lived with the knowledge of the past his heavy wish of death only grew, two, that he knew he was destined to die in a blaze of glory worthy of his long lost relatives and friends, and three, that no matter how hard he tried to die, one woman would intercept him every damn time.

Turning onto his shoulder he looked over to the hidden body that also laid on the other side of the bed, the sleeping form of a woman, a woman who only owned the body of a human from the waist up, but the tail of a snake from the waist down, a Lamia. He pushed himself up onto his arms and continued his hungover stare. This was the woman who single handedly ended a massive brawl the night previous, the woman who kept his own throat from being slit when he fell over himself, drunk and belligerent. Of course it wouldn’t have been the best way to go, but at least he would’ve died fighting, and then maybe he would have the chance to see his lost family and tribe, but then again would it have been a worthy death for his cause? Perhaps not, the man shrugged, but then again, he would have been dead.

“Someday you’ll break something important” The lamia said as she stirred. “Hil,” It was her nickname for the man that had saved her so long ago, “you can’t keep doing this.” She turned her head towards him; although her eyes remained closed, she still knew exactly where he was. She reached towards him and, after a moment of slight fumbling, managed to grab one of his hands. “At least they are are only scraped and bruised this time.” She said as she lightly touched his knuckles with her fingers.

Hildako looked down at Cyra’s fingers and formed a fist, “they will be healed before dusk, and ready for the next fight.” He pursed his lips, a look of annoyance aimed at his traveling companion, “but I suppose that just means you’re going to be ready to intervene by dusk then, too.”

“I’m always ready to intervene Hil.” Cyra’s smile belied the fact that Hildako was annoyed. Perhaps she found some degree of enjoyment from annoying the man. Either way she smiled sweetly at her companion as she said “Or maybe -and I know this is quite the stretch- but maybe we could leave for Kern. We could catch a ship to Xoskea from there. I know many consider the southern islands to be a paradise.”

“Can’t,” Hildako pulled his hand away from hers while making a face he knew she wouldn’t see anyways, “we have too much work to do here and elsewhere. Moving, sleeping, eating, it costs money, and we need contracts, lots of contracts, the kind you won’t find in Xoskea. But hey, I’m not the one keeping you here with me.”

He squirmed slightly at the sound of his final words escaping his lips before he could even think about them, but quietly accepted them with a sigh.

“Hil” Cyra said after a long, and almost intentionally overdramatic sigh, “you know we have more than enough money saved up. We wouldn’t even need to waste money on a ship if that was an issue.” She moved her hand up to his forearm and gave it a light squeeze as she asked “Would you at least consider it? Just for a month or two?”

“I can’t afford to waste months chasing paradise,” Hildako sat up, looking down at Cyra, long wiry hair falling past his chin, “mercenary contracts are popping up like crazy these last few weeks and the stakes are getting larger along with the rewards. People are getting desperate, and dangerous. I can’t miss this opportunity.”

“Just... think about it.” Her tone, and the way there was a distinct pause between the first and second words of her sentence, were a clear indicator of finality in the conversation. She rose from the bed and turned her back to Hildako, something that she never did while in the middle of a conversation, before slithering towards wardrobe that currently held all of their clothes. She misjudged the distance, smacking her head into the wardrobe. “Damn” She cursed, backing away slightly and giving her head a slight shake.

Hildako held out hand as if about to warn her, but flinching as he heard the smack. He sucked air between his teeth and slipped onto his feet, kicking aside one of the discarded blades, “you okay, Cy?”

“Yes” Her tone disagreed with her. She turned back towards Hildako, showing a bright red spot on her forehead, before turning back to the wardrobe. “Damn!” She cursed again as she smacked the wardrobe’s door against the side of her head.

Hildako flinched again, reaching out to move the door out of her way. With a sigh he looked over her new injuries, “and yet I’ve seen you pacify mobs.”

Taking her hand into his he guided it into the wardrobe and onto the collar of a fresh shirt.

“An army of heavily armored men is something I can handle” Cyra commented as she grasped the shirt. “This…. Monstrosity” There was more than a little venom in her tone, “is not to be trifled with.” She slipped out of her old clothes, either forgetting Hildako was right next to her or simply not caring, as she continued “I swear someone moves this damned thing every time I sleep. AND I’m pretty sure the length of the doors are different as well.”

“That would explain the people who break into our rooms at night and move around the furniture too,” Hildako replied, a hand over his eyes. By now he was actually quite used to the situation he found himself in, but still found it polite to preserve modesty. After a brief moment of listening to her struggle with what he assumed was an unruly sleeve he tilted forward on his toes, hand still drawn over his face, “done?”

“Maybe?” Cyra not quite answered. She patted herself down and then gave a contented grunt. “Ok. Where are we going today?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Hildako answered, taking his hand off his face to inspect the wardrobe for his own change of clothes, “remember fat Gil? He liked what we did with those outlaws and deserters so much he wants to hire us again, this time Grogar if I heard right, big money, big risk, big Grogar, I think he said.”

“If he steps on my tail again” Cyra said, “then Eros be my witness I will end him.”

Hildako rolled his eyes, “if you want, you can stay here while I go talk to him?” He snatched a new white shirt, and pants and began to clean himself up.

“As much as I’d love the chance to catch the bastards who keep moving our wardrobe,” Cyra said, “I’d rather catch some sun.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gil’s office was actually an old guarding post repurposed, long abandoned of any municipal duty after the city expanded past its jurisdiction. The exterior stone walls and crowning watchtower had fallen into disrepair but as soon as one passed the reinforced door, the interior was anything but unnoticed. The walls were lined with trophies and paintings from local games and artists. Littered between the art were the tackiest decorations once could imagine, from gold plated alabaster dragons to Ogryn guards made out of fake ruby and cheap wood. The old slitted windows were replaced with large bow windows that let in floods of light to cover the rugs that covered the floor with an overwhelming amount of popping colors. Hildako poked one of the life sized Ogryns, trying to ignore the headache the very floors of this overdone room was giving his hungover head. The hollow structure tilted back, summoning a groan from a fat man sitting on a fatter chair, the two looking almost symbiotic.

“I don’t know why you stay in this game,” Fat Gil continued a previously interrupted conversation, “with your reputation you could be sitting pretty by now but hey, I am not complaining; That last job you did netted me some nice profit with the merchants guilds around here, even landed an obligatory tariff on one road.”

“Uh huh,” Hildako turned from the statue and rested his hand on the hilt of his long curved blade that sat upon his belt, armed to the teeth with blades of all shapes and sizes, plus one flanged mace, “so what am I throwing my life at this week?”

“A lot,” Gil gave a toothy grin, minus the two front teeth, “things are whipping up. My sister Leona in Mycae can barely keep up with the contracts herself.”

Mimicking a hawker he started numbering his fingers, “we got rogue ogryn, we got grogar war bands, we got paramilitary, we got deserters, bandits, goons, armed peasants, strange refugees from the east, we got it all kid!”

“You and miss scowl over there are going to be busy,” Gil laughed, “assuming you want the contracts.”

“I hope you aren’t going to try and sneak in a few counterfeit Kern silvers in our payment like the last time.” Cyra didn’t quite snarl. Not that receiving those coins was a problem in and of themselves as they did have real silver in them, just not as much silver as the legitimate Kern silvers. She let her snarl turn into a more neutral frown as she added “What’s going on Gil? Everyone is acting as normal, but I can tell there are more soldiers on the streets. The nobility is gearing up for war again. Is Riawin going to restart the war?”

“We can only hope so,” Gil shrugged, “that’d mean more business, and definitely more work for you and your friend.”

“You two are getting quite a name for yourself, and it’s lining my pocket to be working with you two, so rest assured I’ll have you on the top of the list as always,” Gil gave a wicked smile.

Hildako nodded, “that’s great and all, but what about the contracts, what about the action, that’s what I want to hear.” The young man was now turned completely away from the statues, trying to ignore his companion’s potential disappointment while he himself was busy staring down fat Gil.
Gil chuckled a wet chuckle, “you see this is why I love you guys, straight to the point, with not a care in the world. Okay I have a few lined up, I assume you want the much more… opportunistic... one again?”

“I don’t suppose we could take a more relaxing job,” Cyra said with a sigh, “for once.” She already knew Hildako would throw himself at the most dangerous job without hesitation. Still she could have a bit of hope. “No? Of course not.”

Gil folded his fingers across his bulging stomach, “I mean, it isn’t out of the question. Yes I prefer you guys on the biggest and baddest sets, but if you wanted to clean out my small bin first, I wouldn’t object.”

Hildako looked at Cyra, his left eye wincing more than it normally did, “C’mon Cyra, we tried that once before, but it was nothing more than stiff warnings and shake downs.”

“I like shake downs.” Cyra countered. “There's significantly less people shooting arrows at me. And have you tried digesting chain mail?”

“No…” Hildako begrudgingly answered, “but it is a waste of…” he pondered the correct words, “opportunity to advance in the field.”

His wince softened into its normal wrinkle, a twitch he has owned since the day he saved Cyra, “I think the larger contracts would be better, at least for me.”

Gil made a face and leaned back, “I’d love to say I have all day, but I’m a very busy man. What do you two want.”

While impatient, Gil even know better than to attempt to split the two up on separate contracts.

“Fine do as you will Hil” She jabbed a finger into his chest, “but don’t pretend that wandering aimlessly through the woods is the same as advancing on an objective.” She prodded him again with her finger before turning to leave the room. There was a moment of hesitation before she slithered towards the door.

Hildako gave out a frustrated sigh before looking at Gil, who simply shrugged with an indifference gained after seeing this particular fight many times. Hildako bit his lip in thought.

“Why do you keep her around if she just makes your decision making more fuddled,” Gil suddenly asked.

“I don’t keep her around, she keeps me around,” Hildako answered mindlessly, “give me the usual.”

Gil sighed, knowing what Hhildako meant, having been in this situation before, “two smalls and one big coming right up, kid.”

Hildako looked over the man with his wince, “shakedowns?”

Gil gave a single prolonged nod, “and one bandit cave.”

Hildako sighed, “put my name on them, and have the papers sent to my room at the Gilded Pelican Inn.”

“Should make her happy,” Gil snickered, “consider it done.”

“Whatever,” Hildako gave a frustrated frown, “hopefully I won’t be seeing you again.” The young man made his way to the door, hearing Gil yell out after him, “AS ALWAYS, KID!”

Hildako slammed the door behind him, greeting the noon sun, a busy cobble road fit between run down shops, and one pissed off lamia.

“The usual,” Hildako parroted at Cyra, his look of contempt hinted at which usual it was, and not the dangerous kind.

Cyra turned slightly towards Hildako, a small smile forming on her face. “Shall we get some breakfast before starting on our day’s work then?”

Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

The Hidden Village of Galdtuta

The journey had been lengthy, and it would have been even more so if not for Aristal’s presence to help with finding the village lost in the shifting sands of the north eastern deserts of the Sakabanatu region. For what should have taken a month at least from Cornwalkis’ estate, had been shortened to just a week, and then of course, having a villager from a hidden village certainly helped.

As the small group consisting of Cornwalkis, Aristal, and an assortment of mules crested a dune, through desert scarves the group saw the small cluster of yurts squat in between two rocky outcroppings and withered farmland, the harvest time long past. Aristal’s face seemed to sink into sadness at the sight she once longed to see, while Cornwalkis, she assumed, wore a hungry bear’s smile under his scarf.

His hungry smile was masked but his hungry gaze was not. It seemed to be pleased for the moment but the temperament that Aristal had grown used to, made its way back to the surface as he slowly dismounted. “So, this is where you came from? How quaint.” he said, hinting at sarcasm.

Aristal stared at the man for a second, forcing down the desire to mention that this is where she was ripped from against her own will and cast into slavery, “yes.” Looking forward again she took a few steps forward, “we need to find the old well.” Her voice either teamed with defensiveness, or a forced urgency, but either way it was clear she was uncomfortable being at her home, shamed and accompanied by the man who leashed her.

Cornwalkis piqued a brow, “You seem rather uneasy, Aristal. Perhaps bringing you here wasn’t prudent? I am sure a group of soldiers could assist me further if you’re this bothered.” He said, looking about. In truth, with him not speaking directly at her, it was possible that she only heard what she could, or wanted to.

“I’m not giving you the story that easily,” Aristal answered, occupying herself with skidding down the dune without falling face first. The heated grains of sand tumbled under her feet as she slid, keeping her back to her traveling companion, in a hopes to make this moment feel like how she always dreamed it would.

She sucked in the evening desert air and sighed, knowing the feeling of triumphant return wasn’t going to happen, not like this. As her feet found the flat of the valley where the yurt village stood she finally turned back to Cornwalkis, “this way! And we better bring some rope, if I remember correctly, we are going to need it.”

Walking into the small scattering of yurts, it was clear to Aristal that her family hadn’t been there for a while, presumably moved due to the surfacing of their secret location after her capture. Her stomach sank as she took in the sights, where only the worst of the yurts remained among tattered fields of rotten crops. Against the golden sands the village was a corpse colored grey, fitting to the dead village. Passing a tattered yurt of hide and lumber, she poked her finger through one of the holes torn into the side and sighed, attempting to expel the weight in her chest.

From behind her, Cornwalkis’ hand reached out to meet her’s as if to help her open the yurt. He sighed along with her, seeing another empty dwelling. “You mentioned a well?” he said while gently pointing her towards a stone structure.

“Right,” Aristal looked at the man for a moment before following his gaze to the well. Her voice was somber and her shoulders drooped with a weight. Holding out her arms she quietly asked, “rope please.”

Cornwalkis stood back before reaching for a long spool of rope, then handed it to her. “The next part of this riddle has us descending into a pit?” He had thoughts of her possible betrayal at this point. At no point in their time together had they been this alone, in his mind, this was the time to be as cordial as possible.

Aristal silently tied the rope to a stony outcrop before leading it to the well, “yes.” She replied finally as she tossed the remaining rope into the well with a delayed splash, “the children used to try and get down in the well to possibly take the power to get rid of bullies and the like, but that obviously was always met with failure.”

Cornwalkis looked into her eyes, “Tell me, honestly, what is this power.” he shifted his gaze to the well, “And why your people went to such lengths to hide it, rather than use it.”

Aristal stared back, “all I know about the power is that we shouldn’t be doing this, and that whatever it is, shouldn’t be touched by us. No one ever actually gave it a form, or said what the power was, there are only warnings.”

“Perhaps it was misunderstanding that led people to cower from it. Things are never what they seem, my young Aristal. You must go into life with both eyes open.” Cornwalkis said, smiling confidently. He then motioned to the well, “Lead on.”

Aristal stared for a moment, “or perhaps it was out of respect.” With her words covered in a stubborn poison, she turned back to the well. Peeking down all she saw was a continuous blackness, only disrupted by a water’s shimmer at the bottom.

Swinging her legs over the low well walls she held tight to the rope. Letting the fibers slip through her grasp she slowly let herself down the rope, until a cold water bit at her ankles. Letting go with a splash, she fell deeper than she expected, the water climbing all the way up to her waist. She shivered, turning quickly in search of some sort of passage from the pool.

A dark mouth formed on one side of the well interior, and she quickly ducked through it and into a smooth soil floored tunnel. The tunnel was a tight fit, but at least she could stand. Turning she shouted out for Cornwalkis to come down.

It didn’t take Cornwalkis to reach her, and being a tight fit for her was an even tighter fit for his much larger build. But he pushed on, nearly shaking with excitement. As the little light they started with faded, he rose his left hand up and with little effort, a bright point of light formed, illuminating their cramped surroundings. “Let us keep moving, Aristal.”

Secretly Aristal was hoping the lack of light would’ve deterred further efforts, a childs wish, but one all the same squashed when she remembered Cornwalkis’ magical ability. Frowning by the light of his wisp she continued.

Slowly the tunnel started to widen, until it was a full blown atrium. The atrium walls were smooth and covered in depictions of various deeds. A closer look revealed a horned figure riding a massive boat over the very moon, while another showed the same figure in mortal combat with a large and grotesque beast. The pictures continued down the wall, from the figure standing next to a crazed and golden haired noble by a tree, to the figure smashing the head of someone else onto the very same tree. Aristal was mesmerized, her fingers tracing the intricate painting of the figure riding atop some sort of mechanical giant. It was only after a mote of dust irritated her eye enough for her to blink and spin in pain for a moment that her eyes found a strange door marking the end of the atrium. It was at least thirteen feet high and stamped into its bronze face was the circular letters of the Sondoper, the traditional language of the Sakabanatu.

“Incredible.” Cornwalkis commented, showing the first bit of wonder and respect this entire time. He stared in wonder at the intricate pictures but was confused as to what the horned figure could be. But ahead of him stood Aristal, gazing upon the door, “What does it say?” He asked her, trying to decipher it to no success.

Turning from the circles she stared Cornwalkis down, hoping for a particular answer to her translation, “it says simply ‘this door is not to be open before the time is right’.”

Cornwalkis let out a chuckle, “Well, there is a popular saying, ‘There’s no time like the present’.” he said before placing his hand upon the door. His first push was met with solid resistance. Instead of taking a more brute force approach, he examined the door. He spoke under his breath, “Now how do you work.” before catching sight of a pin and hook latch. “There we go.” He said, turning to Aristal, “See? The time is now.” His hungry mind began to race as he opened the latch. It made a loud clank, signaling it was ready to be opened. “Come Aristal, help me with this door.”

Aristal held out her palms in front of the door, a disgusted and worried look on her face, “I really… don’t think I can.”
Cornwalkis grew frustrated with her, nearly to the point of yelling at her defiance, but surprisingly took a different direction. He began using his entire weight to slam into the door, finally forcing it open. Immediately a ghastly chill overtook the pair as a grand, lighted hallway was revealed on the other side of the door. Torches blazed against gilded walls of alabaster, somehow not producing smoke or flickering out. At the very end of the hallway stood a podium, an item covered in red silk lay on top.

Before the two could properly examine the rest of the room ,the torches suddenly wavered as a great darkness formed out of thin air. The darkness took form and a disgusting void colored beast came snarling out of the creation. It was large and almost reptilian if not for it’s rigid body being covered in slimy black chitin and it’s mouth filled with three rows of saw like teeth, eyes lifeless and cruel.

Aristal yelped in surprise, reaching for her hunter’s bow, but then remembering her predicament and untrusting ‘owner’.

Cornwalkis didn’t hesitate, withdrawing his sword and forming a flickering light in the palm of his hand, “Aristal! Arm yourself!”

Aristal pretended to draw a mighty invisible blade from her back, staring Cornwalkis down from behind she called out, “okay let’s do thi-”

Suddenly the beast let out a scream that sounded too human and charged at Cornwalkis, its clawed feet scraping against the alabaster floor of the hallway as it launched itself through the door at Cornwalkis.

Cornwalkis shook off the surprise of the beast and thrust his left hand forward. The light in his palm grew brighter before reaching a critical mass and erupting into a solid ray of white hot light. The creature hissed and reeled at the sudden eruption, skittering backwards.

“Damn!” He shouted, turning to Aristal, “Attack it!” he shouted before bringing his sword to try and somehow parry the massive creature.

Aristal gave Cornwalkis a face before charging past both him and the creature. She slid on the alabaster and into one of the stands holding the torches. Quickly snatching it and couching it under her armpit she turned back to the fight, but as she turned a glimmer caught her eye. A razor sharp edge peaked out from under the red silk.

While she sprinted over to examine the possibility of an actual weapon, the creature regained its pose and began swiping menacingly at Cornwalkis with dagger like fingers.

Cornwalkis dodged the first few swipes but the creature attacked with a strength the likes of which hadn’t ever faced. The creature rose up to take what would be a fatal strike but it gave Cornwalkis the opportunity to dive between its legs evading what would’ve likely ended his life. The creature kept its attention on him and attempted to stomp him with its clawed feet. Cornwalkis found himself rolling from left to right to try and evade before swiping at the back of its legs with his sword.

Cornwalkis’ sword bit into the creature's leg, forcing a painful howl. While the beast roared in anger, Aristal grew closer to the cloth, realizing the size of whatever was underneath was as tall as herself. Pulling the blanket back she gasped as a mighty axe, etched in runes unknown laid waiting. It’s metal was unknown to her, and it’s use was worn proudly on it’s shaft and blade. It was clearly a blade of a veteran fighter and has seen more battles than she has stars. Yet despite its clearly worn appearance, it still glimmered, as sharp as a newborn edge. She reached out to touch it, and as her finger touched the surprisingly warm metal of the blade, a massive bolt of fire came roaring out.

The ball of blame crashed into the creature, and sent it flying out of the hallway and into the atrium where a bright flash of yellow exploded. Black chitin was sent back into the hallway as shrapnel, covered in a gory mess. Aristal stood in complete shock and surprise, eyes as wide as saucers.

Cornwalkis crawled slowly towards a wall before pulling himself upright, His clothing, now covered in blood and pieces of the now very dead creatures scales. “What…” he said, confused and surprised. His gaze shifted from the bloody heap of the creature that moments ago had him at wits end, to young Aristal and said something he hadn’t in a long time, “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes,” Aristal shook her head, snapping back into reality, “that… was incredible.” She leaned backwards onto the altar, making sure not to touch the axe again. Instead her fingers fell onto the bare copper top of the alabaster podium, feeling the bumps and ridges of more Sondoper writing. She turned to words and squinted to read them.

Cornwalkis made his way to her, choosing to lean over and examine the words as well. Like before, there was no translation in his mind. “Tell me Aristal, what does it say.”

She looked confused as she began to read directly from the characters, “Arise Harnian and retake your axe. The time has come once again.”

Suddenly the hallway began to shake, the vibrations cutting through the pairs chests. Aristal was bursting with adrenaline and shock as the wave formed a headache in her mind, her eyes being forced closed. Suddenly a loud thunderous clap sounded and all she saw was the pink of a flash behind her eyelids and then, a deep throated voice yelled, calling forth her attention.

Her eyes shot open at the words, “YORTORG, HINAN!”

She fell to her knees and clapped her hands over her mouth. Where the altar stood, now stood a being of both man and bull, holding the massive axe over its shoulder. The great bullman stood at least twelve feet tall, and was as wide as he was clearly and proportionally muscular. Grey hairs grizzled an otherwise dark brown bovine coat, giving his face that of an old bull. Wise eyes rested above his snout and a grim what could only be called a bull’s attempt at a frown was worn below. Clothed in chain links of metal, straps of leather, and a massive book the size of a small human chained to his back, the bull man didn’t seem amused at all, yet ready for anything.

“What… what are you?!” Cornwalkis said, consumed by confusion and awe at the sight infront of him. He began to edge closer to Aristal, who was the closest thing to an ally he had, who in the shock of the moment seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“I am Harnian, hinan, I am Freg Gerntef,” The bullman spoke from his throat, “we have much to discuss.”

YES AGAIN

It’s like he loves/hates her.. Like, a douche but caring boyfriend lol
Meanwhile Aristal is like https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4cWUcoGJ8g

XD
-
Suddenly the beast let out a scream that sounded too human and charged at Cornwalkis, its clawed feet scraping against the alabaster floor of the hallway as it launched itself through the door at Cornwalkis.

Cornwalkis activated the console, placing in the codes for god-mode. As the beast clawed and bit at him, he could only laugh before bunny hopping like a boss around the creature. Then, using console cheats again, he spawned a cannon. Firing at the beasts face, killing it in an impressive display of fire and gore
-
“So if I kill it, I get its power?!” Cornwalkis’ epitaph. :D lmao

()

Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

@Everyone:

It shall be noted that @Sigma, @Goldeagle1221 and myself are currently at working creating an IC Post. I will also begin work on my own independent IC post and probably update my sheets military section later.

How is everyone going with their sheets and IC posts?

@Serpentine88

WOOLOLOLOOOO WOOLOOOLOOO

Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

People I need to collab/discuss story with:

@Darkspleen You know
@Monkeypants THE ULTIMATE QUEST MUST BEGIN MASTER CORNWALKIS

Legend of the Silver Legion (A Fantasy RP)

SAKABANATU

The hot desert sun burned savagely over the running boy. Clouds of sand shot out from under his sandaled feet with each kick, and his ragged breath sucked in the hot wind. Scarlet blood caked his face, hands and down his torn linen tunic, cut off at the knees. Each pounding step caused his heart to shake and lungs rebuke the hot sandy air. His legs burned and his ribs hurt, each thud of his sandals causing a piercing pain.

Above him the sky was a cool blue, cloudless and taunting. Looking up from the endless dunes the boy felt his mind longing for the sky to fall on him, and wash him away in it’s infinite blue. He let his crusty eyes close for a moment, sinking into thought as his legs pumped his ragged body on its doomed journey. He tried to imagine water, rest, but all he could gather was the feeling of his parched throat and cracked lips.

His ear jerked at the sound of a horse galloping. They had caught up to him, his heart hurt as it bounced against his chest. He didn’t want to look, he couldn’t. Looking up to the sky he pleaded, his lips whispering prayers. The horse whinnied and he was cut short in his tracks as the slim desert beast turned into his path.

Skidding he nearly crashed into the beast. Without the momentum of his run, his knees buckled and he collapsed to them. The sand sear his bare skin, but his body ached too greatly for him to noticed as his chin dipped downwards, his neck failing to look up.

“Brother,” a voice called to him, sandals falling from the horse and planting next to him. The boy turned to the legs sprouting from the sandals and let his forehead rest on the shin. The man who called out to him knelt down and grabbed the boy by the shoulders, shaking him gently, “brother!”

The boy felt his brothers arms snaked under his armpits. He felt his body leave the sand as he was picked up and placed on the horse. He laid sprawled out on the tiny horse. His brother worked quickly to secure him. Pressing his forehead to the boys he spoke, but his words were muddled as the boy’s mind began to close. His brother looked frustrated, mad even. There were yells, and galloping hooves in the distance, then one loud crack as his brother slapped the horse’s rump. The desert wind returned as the horse escaped the scene, boy atop.

The boys eyes drifted in and out of conscience, and it was at this point that he wished he had let his exhaustion conquer him, but he didn’t. Struggling to sit up in the saddle, he turned to look at his brother. The wind screamed in his ear as he turned, and in the distance he saw his brother, laid in a heap in the sand, three riders standing over his corpse. Blackness.

A sudden splash woke the boy up, his body has slipped from the horse and into a shallow canal that cut through the unforgiving desert. He rolled out, letting his body soak as he laid back on the dreaded sand, the lukewarm water offering some coolness to the heat. He rolled on his side, his eyes drifted over his brothers horse. It was a strong beast yet small, a pouch fat with bread was tied to its rump.
The boys eyes focused underneath the belly of the horse, in the distance, across the canal, a being stared back at him. The being was slender and tall, the sun seemed to avoid it, caressing its body instead of beating down on it. It was unnatural how relaxed it looked, how it’s shadow grew from its figure, almost ghostly, yet very corporeal. Intricate blue lines segmented and decorated its body in between strange tufts of long and colorful feathers. The boy squinted to see the creature better, but as his eyes narrowed the sand erupted around the feather cuffed entity and it was swallowed by the desert.

Rollin on his other side the boy laid there, eyes wide and thoughts traumatized by everything that had happened. He was so much in shock he didn’t register the roguish looking character approach him, knife drawn.

“Is this your horse,” the rogue said, but the boy didn’t answer. A few more questions rang, each more aggressive than the last, but the boy could only watch as the man drew closer, knife threatening him. As the man grew into a few feet away, the sand erupted once more and the tall figure across the canal shot out of the desert itself.

The rogue thrusted his knife but the creature side stepped, gliding on the desert breeze. It’s feathered cuffed arm shot out and snatched the man’s hand, a sudden spin and the other feathered arm bent at the elbow and smashed into the rogue’s arm, breaking it backwards. The rogue screamed and the creature suddenly spun, its legs sweeping down, and ankle shooting out, swiping the rogues own legs from underneath him. As his body fell horizontally, the feathered leg shot straight up and quickly fell back down to the desert, its heel planting into the temple of the rogue. Soft, pain filled breaths was the only response the laid out rogue returned, consciousness long lost.

The desert creature approached the boy, and the boy reeled in fright. His eyes scanned the face of the entity, but what he saw was indescribable, yet unforgettable. This was a ghost of Sondoper. It’s hand shot out towards the boy before softly laying a palm on his head. A sudden burn seared across the boy’s skull and very mind. He tried to struggle but the strength of the hand holding him was unbelievably steady. He couldn’t move as his mind was set on fire, his very thoughts an erupting volcano. Then suddenly, cool drips of knowledge fell onto the fire in his mind, and with each drop, a new thing learned. The drops formed rivulets and before he knew it there was a chilling cascade of information flooding his mind. His breath retreated and as the hand left his head, a scar the shape of the palm burned into his scalp, he felt the blackness conquer him once again. His eyes slid closed and he collapsed back to the sand. His mind slipped into the void of dreams, eventually finding the darkness of subconscious.

The boy, now a man, convulsed violently in his sleep, a dark haired woman shaking him roughly. His eyes opened wide, two pools of silver under dark eyebrows and an eerie scar the shape of a hand.

“Mozkurtuta! Mozkurtuta!” The woman leaning above him whispered harshly. Mozkurtuta’s arms flailed, “wha wha where am I!” His eyes narrowed on the woman, confused, “Emagaldu?”

Emagaldu pursed her lips, “you stumbled into my yurt in a drunken stupor again.” She answered, seemingly used to the scenario. Mozkurtuta sat up, a thin linen blanket falling off of his bare chest. Looking around the yurt, everything was toppled over or misplaced. It looked as if there was a massive fist fight in the tiny leather yurt, even the bed of furs he laid in was strewn about carelessly.

“Looks like we did more than stumbling,” He looked back at her, but was met with a unamused frown. Before she could answer the flap to the yurt was thrown aside and a burly man dressed in red scarves and a white skirted tunic came roaring in, “EMAGALDU!”

“H-husband,” the woman quickly stepped away from the side of the bed, revealing the naked Mozkurtuta.

Emagaldu’s husband looked his wife up and down. She looked fine, her curly hair tightly braided and her long brown dress and cloak unwrinkled, but looking to Mazkurtuta’s all he saw was a naked slob with a messy beard, bald and scarred head accompanied with the stench of alcohol. The scene was up to interpretation, and the bull headed husband was quick to see an opportunity a lot of men in the tribe had been looking for, his wife be damned.

Pointed a hairy knuckled finger he shouted, “Adulterer!”

Emagaldu screeched, “WHAT?”

Mazkurtuta burped.

“Muda, Husband, what is this nonsense?”

“Quiet, adulterer, speak only before the council of our elders, I shall see to it that justice is served,” Muda spat into the yurt, ignoring that it was he who owned it. Turning he let loose a shark’s smile as he left the yurt.

“MAZ!” Emagaldu whacked the drunk upside the head, “go settle this and tell him what really happened.”

Mazkurtuta looked up at her, “I mean I would but I can’t remember the last two days as it is, no thanks to you,” He rubbed his head, ”Besides it is in the elder’s hands, they will see the truth.”

“Drunken idiot.”

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------------------

(Got lazy, made it a two parter, sue me)