It's open for one more person. We're willing to have three people for this. Can you elaborate on your second question?
Does it need to be a fellow rebel? Or could it be as far off as like a night time security guard working at a shopping center? Is there anything you're looking for in particular?
All my writing powers...EUGH! *Pees pants.* Two posts...in twenty four hours...AUGH! *Farts a little.* And also, even though it doesn't mean a whole lot from me, to Dark Jack and Ashgan, those where some pretty solid initial posts. I just sorta feel like I dumped my shit all over them.
Riley had been shuffling along the walkway for a good...actually he couldn't quite recall. Had it been mere minutes or hours, his head turned towards the sun. Its position told that almost no time had gone by since he'd begun his trek. This could not be right, his legs spoke another story, they where tired and his feet where sore. The sweat he had produced had already soaked through to his...tunic...where was his tunic? Slowly he looked down and felt about his torso with his free right hand, as if it was simply now transparent.
Gradually he came to the conclusion,"Musta' never even had a tunic.", he nodded, "Would've done me no sort of good anyhow.", and continued with his linear shuffle across the decrepit boarding.
Slowly but surely he began to lose himself in thought again, he started to bob his head to the rhythm of the creaks below him, which fell in cadence with each step he took. His mind wandered about a muddled coagulation of distant memories and ideas that seemed to swirl about without order or reason. Abruptly, he was called back to reality by the sound of water bubbling to either side of him. He swiveled about in attempt to identify the source of it, when he realized the entire swamp appeared to be boiling, harsh steam rising to greet his skin. All the dead trees where alight, burning with a sort passionate rage, and the wood of the walkway followed suit, quickly engulfing his entirety in the intense heat. There was no time to scream, to panic or think, all he could do was resign himself to this fate. He let himself fall into the fiery bosom of eternity so that he may be cleansed of his wron--- *thump*-as soon as he had hit the wood, the world returned to as it was and as it had been. Nothing was on fire...nothing was boiling, it was simply the same bog he had been traversing since the morning.
He propped himself up and felt around his waist for a sword, that had never been there. "Right, aye, what would I be needing a sword for." He furrowed his brows in frustration with his own confusion. And what about his cloak? What cloak? Honestly he had not the slightest as to why he had his left arm poised like that, he chalked it up to the horrendous humidity toying with him. Upon his hands and knees still his ears picked up on a subtle noise behind him. A sort of angered shuffling, the rattling of chain-mail, the stomping of heavy boots, and something thin and metal being lugged behind.
"Oi, you little twiggy CUNT, you ran from fate."
Riley's breathing grew hoarse, his sweat stone cold. The world shifted beneath him as he responded in a tone just above a whisper, "...yo-y-y-you didn't have to go in there...we could've left...", he shut his eyes and barred his teeth as if about to receive a blow, still planked on all fours.
"You KNEW WHAT WE WHERE WE DOING! YOU KNEW WHAT IT MEANT! WE WHERE TO BURN!
He panicked turning about to face the voice coming towards him. Upon his feet he stumbled backwards, the world pulled away and his vision narrowed as he stared longways down the path into the mist. Only a few feet backwards he pressed up against something solid, the scene about him changed.
Riley Dempsey stood within a courtyard connecting two wings of the St. Alexanders Cathedral, within the Southern Muerice trades town of Hobbleston. Outside it was mid-afternoon, a slight breeze brought a chill to the region, the sun was intermittently hidden by passing storm clouds. It was the last days of the winter season. Younger now he was, a man of twenty and three, a boy he was. Clad in black and brown studded-leathers, a broad sword held in his right. There was blood streaked across his trousers. At this moment Riley did not so much roam through his memory of free will, he was bound by what had already occurred, a helpless onlooker.
He made way for the small wooden door and pressed it open. Inside a voice challenged his entry. "Oi, oi whose that there?", it demanded.
"Dempsey lad." He responded as he continued into the small hallway. Closing the door behind himself.
The southerly man, a bit taller and thicker than Riley but adorned in a similar fashion, exhaled in happy relief. "Dempsey I-I uh I'm glad ya made it 'ere.", the other relaxed slightly.
Already sharing the same thought Riley spoke quickly and surely, "We're going to get out of here, this place will be crumbling down soon with the flames spreading as they are. Where are the rest?"
Instantly his comrade responded, "The four ar' already a' the southern wing. But Gerskie he...he's still causin' chaos in there. I think 'e doesn't plan...", Riley cut him off with a raised hand.
He then nodded to the double doors behind the man, "Is he through there?".
The mans right arm lifted slightly towards the entrance and he nodded only saying, "Aye.".
Riley quickly strode past the other on his way to the door, saying only, "I've got him don't worry. Just wait here for me...I'll be back soon.". As Riley shoved open the double doors the memory grew hazy, occluded by the smoke. He only heard some of the conversation that took place.
"We've done enough, we've made our statement. We can go."
"WE AREN'T FOR ANYTHING ELSE DEMPSEY, THIS IS OUR END."
And then he found himself dropping, the grating in the back of his mind was excruciating, water washed over him and he sank into the black. If he had the mind to think about, he would've thought about how much he had been tripping backwards lately. Beneath the black water, it was empty, not murky, there simply was nothing to be observed. Luckily he did know how to swim and made for the surface. He broke the water finding himself only a stones throw from the shore of this swamp. Quickly he stroked to the bank, stomped up through the mud all whilst slipping about, and found his balance leaning up against a small tree. Riley's vision swayed left and right, his reality was waved about uncertainly as he slowly shuffled further inland occasionally sinking into mud puddles. In his disoriented state he never saw them approach, not until he lifted his head did he see the tall white figures. Four, as best as he could discern, encircled him. Tall cloaked figures, each wore the hollow head of some kind of moose like creature with large tangling antlers protruding out. All had a small piece of parchment, they where taking notes as they observed him...judged him. Riley's confusion turned to anger.
"WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME!?", he lashed out, scrunching up his face in a snarl. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM!", he lurched about throwing his arms in an aggressive manner.
The abominations scribbled furiously fueling his rage against them, "THEY ABANDONED ME!!! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW!".
And then it was done, the swamp was gone, he realized he was no longer wet, bone dry actually, and no mud was caked over his body. He turned in every direction, the mist was gone, Riley stood now in the center of a clearing, patches of dry grass clung to hard and gravelly dirt. Around the opening was a sparse forest of dried out trees. All his possessions where still gone...he made a shamble northward into the woods eventually reaching the treeline. From there a small hill led down to the northwest leading into rolling hills. His head swiveled left, to the north east a rocky plains stretched on into eternity. And far far far out north a massive and foreboding mountain stood over the lands. Without another word he began trudging into the foothills in the vague hope of finding water. He really was quite parched.
Thanks, and it's all pretty new to me. This is really the first site I've come too...I guess for "official" RPing anyway. I used to mess around other places, but nothing serious or involved.
The surrounding bog was a frightful venture, black and wicked trees sprouted above the waters surface, twisting and turning in unreal fashions. A low-lying mist coated the waters surface restricting the ordinary persons vision to about 10 meters. The water itself was lifeless, not a thing daring to disturb its surface. It was the small wooden catwalk which held the audacity to disrupt the emptiness, and even it was equally dull. Truly the whole place would immediately be recognized as unsettling, if it could even be seen, but the current and only onlooker's eyesight had been stunted by a severe lacking in light. For Riley, at the present, everything was pitch black, having trouble seeing his own hands. At that moment he was seated in what he had guessed to be the center of the walk way, leaning on a sheathed short sword gripped by both hands at the pommel. The blades masked tip pressed against the old wood. His plan was to wait out the darkness in favor of sunlight, he would wait for a few hours and once he could get his bearings, he could then proceed to march through in order to find civilization or at the least people. All in all he conceded that it was a good plan, save for the waiting part, which was proving near unbearable.
"C'mon....c'mon....", he muttered as he fidgeted with the sword. Gripping it that much tighter.
Riley considered himself a fairly patient person, but it was the absolute silence and stillness of the night putting him on edge. No wildlife to croak or chirp, no splashes or crickets. His eyes rolled about, dodging from left to right nervously, without reason. His ears were on full alert and where ready to have him jump at the slightest plop. Sweat had started to cling to his brow, either due to his own anxiety or the humidity, he pinned it to both. An idle hand was occasionally raised to deal with the offending perspiration.
In adapting to his new situation the rouge had rolled up both sleeves to his shoulders and removed the cloak, figuring it wouldn't make good water weight or help stave off the humidity. The cloak had taken on a new roll of cushioning his sore ass. Besides, the extra cover wasn't necessary being that there seemed to be no pests or bug life of any sort to keep away.
He began weakly uttering a tune to himself to calm the nerves,"And if he goes...let the dogs out back...let the widow dress in black...for she knows he's never marching home...", and it went on like that as he slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, lulling about where he was seated.
"Aye? You see that? We aren't gonna be havin' any more of that now are we? Soon there'll only be friendly men with swords, and not so friendly ones aye?"
A few hours later his head lurched back up to find the place illuminated by the early morning rays. Looking over himself he found that the death grip on the hilt had held even throughout his napping, and that he had sweated a good deal. Riley turned his gaze to meet the pale light, squinting at its intensity. At his initial attempt to rise he fell back, reaching both arms behind himself to catch his body. The second time he enlisted the help of all four appendages and rose without a hitch. He bent down a snatched up his re purposed garment, folding it up and hanging it over his left forearm. As he began moving about, the wood beneath him creaked and groaned softly, as if in weak protest to the shift in weight. He stood straight up with all his belonging in hand and surveyed the environment.
Regarding the sun, which was roughly at the catwalks three o' clock to his right, he noted, "Heuh...'spose this path runs just about straight North an' South from here...", he trailed off.
To this thought his brows rose and he nodded slightly in an off hand approval of that being the case. "Guess that may make things a touch simpler..."
Though the place still made him tense, he was simply glad to have endured and left the night behind. With the advent of morning he would hopefully be able to escape this wasteland.
Given Title: Riley Dempsey- ~ "I 'spose I'm lucky fer tha'. Most discarded babes woul' nary be dubbed some kinda worthy of receivin' a full title. Well, one they ha' not given 'imselves anyway."
Appearance: He stands at a stocky 5'8", weighs in at 164 lbs. His pupils are a dull mixture of green and blue. Fairly broad shoulders that are indicative of an active life style. His hair, a dirty-blond that leans towards dirty on the surface, is kept short in the front and on the sides, and is pulled back into a short/sloppy ponytail in the rear end of his head. While two symmetric sideburns run down his face to his jawline where they have been prevented from further expanding. His face usually carries a stern and vigilant look, furrowed brows, squinted lids, a mouth bent in a subtle downward arch. His skin is fair with few portions darkened by the sun, as his career has little use for daylight or any revealing illumination, but it's probably just in his genes to look pale anyway. His physique serves a fairly robust life suited, namely, for endurance (Getting to and fro/running away.), agility (Climbing around/jumping about/running away.), and dexterity (Stabbing or slicing others/running away.), all attributing to a lanky yet lean/wiry build.~ "I rarely cross the though' of me own looks...nah alot ah people are really 'spose tah see me anyhow, yah know?"
Equipment: In terms of weaponry he holsters a slightly dull short sword, forged of a crude steel, and two much sharper gnarly looking daggers, sheathed and placed criss-crossing one another on the small of his back.~"Aye, daggers are nice whe' no ones paid yah mind, buh when yer on ah one tah one tussle an' bein' able tah reach 'is veins is all that'll really concern. Always pack an alternative."~Clothing wise he wears a dark-green long-sleeved lace up padded over by a tunic made out of a dark-brown hard leather. His gauntlets hold the same consitency as the tunic and match its hue, reaching about three-fourths the way up his arm and are secured snugly against the skin. The trousers are a somewhat baggy pair of thick, dull milky-white fabrics. They drop halfway past the knees until being tucked away into a pair of ragged and scuffed black leather boots. Topping it all off an equally dull dark-brown cloak which droops over the shoulders, enveloping most his entirety save for his head.~"Ah-gain. The worry is in NOT bein' seen."~Has a tiny gourd with half a pint of fresh water in it.
Memories:~"Aye uhhh...it uh...by the Good Lords it was something else. Whatever sorts of fields I was in they where of another kind. All dead and quiet out there save fer some infernal scratching...far off in the back of the head it felt like. Dead was the word for it, all gravel and ashes. The sky blotted out making the daylight faint. Was something burning off in the distance, far far away but it was coming I knew it in me gut. The thing sat in front of me and I in front of it, was...was a real tall and long boy. He was tan, and was wearing real nice and fancy stuffs, all smudged and stained in soot, didn't fit him proper...all too small. He was looking at me, didn't have no brows but had a bushy black mess of hair, and an equally messy beard...his face tense, tan like the rest, is eyes huge and full of black with a little red dot dancing about in each. He had his mouth real odd like, for my life I wouldn't be able to tell if he was grinning or snarling, his mouth was open real wide. He didn't breathe or nothing nah really make a sound. The both of us just sat there...wasn't afraid nah, just sad I-I guess, but soon the scratching felt deeper an' harder, I couldn't breathe it all just slipped away as everything burned...it was all just real sad."
~"My first time out amongst other warriors...the sargeant at arms held me back. Our troop was held at the small bridge of St. Elienees, crossing the Murky Water Stream. We had about forty of us in count, a quarter slewn upon that wood. We where chasing down the raiding tribes come off the northern mountains, we gotten 'em past the bridge. It was there they held out with five and ten on the opposing side, and sent out a champion amongst them to greet us. He was to hold us there so they could regroup and overtake us in full force, we had to get by otherwise the small towns within the valley would be torn asunder...burned and pillaged. Ten of our group he had cut down, a massive beast who held a tower shield left and a heavy hatchet right. The sargeant, pressed by time and necessity, besmirched his honor and sent me under the bridge spear in hand. I clambered up the supports till I found myself right below the gap in the wood exposing the monster of the man in full to me. Our sargeant met the man there and gave him two choices; stand down and allow us passage or face certain death. In response the beast jeered and mocked, two stomps from the sargeant and I thrust my spear upwards through one gap and into another. Four drops of blood scraped onto my cheek, I pushed the lance and twisted a bit...more blood dripped down. The tribe's men cheering died away, and my sargeant apologized to the fearsome warrior before sliding steel into his collarbone. Overhead an angry charge burst across, our troop fueled by rage and vengeance, trailed over tracking down and slaughtering the remaining tribesmen. A show of blood and sorrow it was, and I only ever struck one man that day. He never even knew I was there."
~"A few years into my life, I had experienced bloodshed and killed a handful of the Lord's children. I thought myself steely, hollow, empty, I thought it was my calling, and I would never be right for anything else. In my naivety I began a career as a cloak and dagger. Within the capital I struck my first and only contract with the ruling church. Within these city walls I was told of a whore, the church deemed her a heretic, a gross smudge upon its character. She had come from the east and held a different set of beliefs and values. That was unacceptable; she was to die bleeding upon the cold ground. It was my duty to uphold this fate...in all honesty I considered this just and proper at the time. The night was starless and the moon was obscured behind a curtain of clouds, the only source of light within the back-end walkways where the few torches and lanterns that where occasionally donned upon the walls. It was well past final prayer and the blackness pervaded and masked all the evils of that time. I stepped behind her, one level above on a parallel rise looking down upon the woman, silently and without notice. She had full black and curly hair, a mess tied back in a large bun, her dress a short cut red, she walked cautiously and purposefully. I stepped without a sound down to her level. She noted my presence far too late, I spun her around and pressed my gloved arm to her mouth, throwing her against a wall back first. The iron dagger, I was provided, slid under her rib cage, and then I looked to her face. The fear and sickness was instantaneous, her eyes were squezed in pain as tears poured out, sliding down to my hand. The fear in those eyes...brown pupils distorted by water. Muffled and shaky breathes tried to escape, blocked by my grasp. She was pleading silently with me for forgiveness, mercy. Bile rose and was promptly swallowed back down my gullet. The adrenaline died away, turning to a shaky sick kind of despair. I rose again putting my hands out almost grasping her, as the dagger slipped away to the ground, iron ringing out. There was nothing I could do for her...I almost said begged for forgiveness. This was not the killing I had known, I hadn't realized what it meant till now. The few I had struck down were in the heat and confusion of battle, it was survival. This was murder, I stole away her life, her story, her precious memories. I was sweating now, looking about frantically from her back to my surroundings. She had slid to the ground sobbing and holding herself as blood streamed freely to the Earth. I ran away, my legs were shaky as my head grew dizzy. I thought all the windows to be looking right at me silently judging me as I took off into the night. A short time later I found myself within the safe house, a kind of barren and abandoned building, there for the first time in what seemed a decade about, I wept silently like a babe newborn. I wept for the woman, I wept in the vain of innocence lost. I was no killer, just a boy of nine and ten who had let silver speak for him. That next morning, after first prayer, I left the city with my payment already in hand. I had done the job and there was no need for further talk, the business was done."~
Awakening: Riley Dempsey, a knife for hire, found him self planted on the ground midst a field of ash and gravel. He was upright hugging his legs to his chest the cloak splayed about him. Eyes met eyes, a silent conversation of sweet nothings was underway, the man across from him didn't let a breath get away, but told him everything he should know. The being in question was quite tall, long, and had well tanned skin, he sported what had been a very nice blue and gold dress ware befitting royalty, but here it was much too small for the person it cloaked, covered by soot, black smudges streaked across the fibers. The mans face was adorned my a mess of pitch black hair, it jutted away from the cranium and face in a jagged fashion. The expression worn was something feral, showing anger and fear, his mouth stretched end to end pressing his gums and teeth out, creating a small ravine between the upper and lower lips. Eyes, black holes that seemed to take in everything as both the little flames fidgeted around inside. Riley didn't really mind, he just felt sad, but he wouldn't dare break the silence, that'd be rude. The scratching...the grating got louder, the flames on the horizon burned higher. Smoke billowed out of the odd mans openings as the end came. A pressure squeezed around Riley's torso letting the air out, it was really such a sad affair he thought, and than it all just seemed to just get away from him as he fell back into the heat.
A panicked awakening, frantically feeling around, eyes darting to take in everything, grabbing for a sword. Stop...slow down. He takes a moment to calm down and get a grip, this isn't his first nor will it be his last time getting lost. Slowly but silently he coaxes out the steel from its sheathe, as he does this he finds footing and rises, keeping an eye out. All senses are working overtime now, eyes continue to adjust, ears listen closely for any sound whatsoever. Nothing. But his skin tells him it's humid, his nose informs him that water is nearby. He takes a few steps and his boots respond with the clack of wood, some sort of wetland. "Smells like rot...", his hoarse voice croaks out.
Yes I quite literally just joined the RP Guild and without knowing anything about anything decided this looked cool and posted. Sorry about that it wasn't till after posting that I'd realized I'd messed up. Again sorry everyone.
