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What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

The Faraway Land: Knights vs Dragons (CLOSED)

@Darkwatck01

The hunter; a hound.
Tattoos branded the man as one of a few, and none of them would deserve her audience; best left to spymasters, taskers and executioners, such dealings were taboo for herself to handle. This was, however, an unusual circumstance that set the two in unfortunately like-minded company. Their foe was not one that could be overcome with whispers and subterfuge, and Kaitra was, in some ways, glad that their meeting could be so fortuitously opportune. It was...not her idea of an ideal meeting, however. The tattoos marred their face to the point of irrelevance and the princess felt only shame and a brief sting of contempt for the reminder of her heritage's sordid history.
Who this man used to be apparently no longer mattered, and his revealing only further disappointed Kaitra as they were not beyond admittance of their resolve; a weapon, a puppet of darkness, a slave to a twisted and shallow justice spoken only in brief reference as if names would evoke their wrath.

Kaitra's eyes narrowed, a nostril tilting as to accentuate the will to frown upon seeing Nebel's face. She had no knowledge of whom she looked upon, but lessons of the occult and slights in reference to Isparia's hidden methods looked her dead in the eye, and she could only oh-so-slightly wince at the ugly truth of the realism behind the hollow eyes that looked back.

Best friends...

It spoke and then so simply turned to walk off, letting their wake impose itself upon the managers of the establishment. Kaitra followed, already having much to hold the nameless hunter accountable for even before they entered the meeting room.

She waited at the threshold, hearing the man work until his efforts ceased.
Her brow lowered and an understanding determination compelling her to toe the line, Kaitra shook her arms in a nervous manner, not at all truly keen on entering this lion's den.
With herself not even being actually invited, walking into an obvious trap seemed all too quaint. This was not the rational thought that she should have had when she stepped in and flinched ever so slightly from the slamming door and silence that pervaded the room. It was not so much how their motions made no noise, but how the armature musicians and conversations abruptly cut out that Kaitra did suddenly find herself tensely locked in this exchange with the nameless hunter and their guest.
Strangely, the man began to part with their armor. Tradition as it may seem, as they specifically made an effort in a way that implied that the princess is encouraged to mirror their method, she did.

"Ich bin sehr daran interessiert, was mit deinen Spielsachen passieren wird, wenn ich dir den Hals brechen sollte," Kaitra slowly spoke, unbuckling the sides of her plate before pulling it off to the side in a swing, exposing the woven mithril surcoat which they unbuttoned as they hissed, "Ich hoffe du verstehst was ich vorhabe, falls du mich angreifst?"
She pulled the garment down enough to expose the mark on her shoulder as well as the left half of her bra in the process. A clean and straight scar ran from her shoulder to her collarbone, seeming recently healed.

"Dein Name, Jäger!" Kaitra barked, taking a step towards the man, "Dies ist der Punkt, an dem Sie mir Ihren Namen sagen oder Ihre Absichten, ein Attentäter zu sein, offenbaren!"

Trouble in Korthos

A lot happened in a very short amount of time.
I like my character and the setting, but I will be the first to admit that I may not return with the efforts that I've shown in my posts...if probably at at, at least in a practical timeframe.

The Faraway Land: Knights vs Dragons (CLOSED)

Their luxury of having a head-start somewhat paid off for Aark as Nebel had to reacquire their horse from the stables. 'Somewhat' being the term as the knight was fully conscious of every puddle or patch of dirt in the street that could potentially soil their freshly polished armor and boots. The initial vigor in their pace died out after a few blocks as the thoughts and perspective of the situation truly sank in. With the gift of the ring, they could presumably go anywhere of note in an instant, but they were a humble sort, wholly aware of what slim chance they had to stand against the goblinoid mob that no doubt desecrated and burned her estate every second she brooded, let alone the dragon presiding over the sordid affair.

Alone, they were just another suit of armor and a strong set of arms. A joke for Drakengard to run japes upon with their summons, getting her hopes up over nothing.

Aark's pace slowed as they walked past the first pub, catching a glance through a window of a game of 'knifey-fingers' while a fight broke out in the back. Hardly their taste, they continued walking, ignoring the muffled sound of smashing glass and shouts.
Their shadow soon caught up on their pale steed, a nagging reminder of the deal she'd made as they continued a short ways ahead to rest at a second establishment they seemed familiar with in their rehearsed motions of dismounting and entering.

With a sigh, the knight followed, somewhat content that the decision could be made for them. Soon after entering with their fellow Ispari brother in arms and objectively the closest thing Aark could equate to a 'best friend', they realized probably just how familiar not only their associate was with the tavern, but the patrons with him. Aark was hardly surprised, assuming the man to be of the grim sort who made their own name known as hushed whispers on fearful lips, having the reactions of the regulars only confirm this.
They made to take a step in before the hand of the bouncer reached out to stop them. "Ye can't bring tha blades in. Gotta leave 'em," they informed the knight who slowly and deliberately looked them over before wordlessly unclipping the custom scabbards from their armor and holding them out. The bouncer grabbed them and tried to pull them away, though Aark held firm for a moment, causing the man to raise an eyebrow as their owner implicatively stared in a direction supposedly through their eyes before gently releasing the weapons and turning to follow Nebel to the bar.

Kaitra paid no real attention to the drunk; a parody of her land's noble glory passing out drunk and delusional in some foreign land's coalitional mercenary dive. Mantling the stool beside Nebel, she reached up to her chin to begin undoing belting and fasteners intended to prevent the sallet from being knocked off from force. "Ich...kann deine Skepsis verstehen. Es gibt viele, die ihren Verstand mit der Asche eines zugefrorenen Landes ruhen lassen und nichts von seinem Erbe jenseits seiner Märchen und verblassenden Erinnerungen," she began, holding a hand up to hail the bartender, "Two pints ouf your richest stout, if you vould."
With the order, she continued ther work, dropping the deeper ambiguous tone for her otherwise light yet still strong voice, veiled with a tone of wear from the day's events, "Ich habe das Recht, in dieser Rüstung zu sterben, aber das Tragen ist etwas, das ich vorhatte...zumindest absichtlich," They sighed, pulling their helmet off and pulling back the mail and coif to shake their hair free. Holding the helmet in their lap, they stared into the visor with shadows under their eyes for a palpable pause, "Ich bin Kaitra Jatherine Elzbrn, die erste Tochter von Samael und Correldine, der Enkelin von Aarkenhan," before her eyes turned to glare at Nebel and add, "Sie kennen diesen Namen und Ihr Verhalten macht mir Sorgen."

There was only a small pause this time, not enough for Nebel to speak, but enough for the words and expression to seep in before posing a question, "Wo warst du, namenloser Jäger?"

Trouble in Korthos

Luciel's tail swished at Sev's response, their expression holding but losing some of its edge. "Fine, it is," They replied, slightly disappointed but understanding as they tilted their head to follow the man's mannerisms, noticing how their eyes looked seemingly everywhere or rather anywhere but down. Luciel could empathize...and then realized that he was probably staring, finding quick excuse to address his patient who thanked him. The tiefling offered a curtsey in response, "Ah, not at-taall. Given zee circumstances, iz zee least I could do. Alzough, I vould hope eit be a scarcity ouf my talents in zee future, ah?"
Though their grip on common slipped for a moment, the sentiment was a relatable one, phrased in a somewhat grimly knowing joke which roused a chuckle from them as they paced a few steps towards the hill before noticing Jeets returning down the hill.

Luciel offered a small wave as Jeets returned and offered all of them each the small vial of curious red liquid. Truly a rarity even for a vagabond like the performer, who'd seen such tinctures in windows or behind the glass of display cases at marketplace vendor stalls, to hold one, however? Their tail expressively coiled as they held the gift up to an eye, even using their other hand to lift their shaded spectacles up to gaze through the contents with an audible 'oooh'. "Szank you Jeets, I vill attempt to keep eit from goink to vaste," Luciel remarked with a small bow of their head, tucking the glass container into a pocket on their messenger bag, quickly catching up the group as he'd been distracted as the rest had started off while their guide had already began walking as they talked.

Entering the cave, it was not long before the tiefling took off their glasses, tucking them into their bag and blinking a few times with a sigh of relief. "Iz not a complaint, Jeets, but vould eit not haf been faster to travel overland?" Luciel asked after a minute, not entirely understanding why they were underground and whimsically hoping they were being lead to an underground city of sorts. Luci was...well, he was hardly one to stereotype, and merely had no clue what Jeets was and figuring it would be rude to ask. Dwarves, gnomes and halflings all looked so similar to him that he just stop asking as he was certainly one to talk when it came to racial disparity.
Seemingly in response Jeets stopped to direct their attention to two individuals in the middle of the tunnel. The others made it quite clear they had no intention of going with the two what with how Jeets and Sev readied themselves. In a slightly unexpected hustle of their hand to their pack, Luciel produced their own dagger.

"N-now zehn, I believe zeht your master has made quite zee mistake," Luciel began with a small nervous chuckle, tucking the scabbard back into his bag. Holding their hands and dagger close to themselves in an awkward attempt at a defensive stance, they continued, "I highly doubt eit vould be us you are seekink."
In a flourish, Luciel extended their right hand, catching the dagger it held on the rounded pommel to give it a spin on the back of their hand. "Vee ahr...how you say?" the previously meek tiefling cooed, bumping the blade into the air and catching it backwards with their left hand, their right swiftly drawing a small pinch of wool plucked from their bag in a slight of hand. How they held the clump of tangled fibers up, their lowered stance made it seem almost just as significant and threatening as the display and stance with which they clutched their weapon.

"New in town~"

In all hopefulness, Luciel prayed the 'razzle-dazzle' of their attempt at intimidation would at least throw the two accosting individuals off their game...and that they didn't know enough about bard magic to suss out the actual weightlessness in the brandishing of the clump of wool, significant only in its insignificance.

Trouble in Korthos

Oh jeez, its been my turn to post for a while!
I just hadn't noticed at all. I'll have something up, later. Sorry about that.

>_<;

EDIT: 'Give em the ol rAzZlE dAzZlE! RaZzLe DaZzLe em!'

Trouble in Korthos

I can dig it. To be wholly honest, I was kinda just stalling for time with the hope that more would show up.
;/

Trouble in Korthos

I'm fine with moving on if @Leo Khan doesn't have anything to say for Sev...or if everyone so far is fine with just leaving stuff up to a section at the beginning of a post with the assumption that we soon move on.