SUMMER

Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Extremely hot and dry. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please direct them to DaringRaven! As for the rest of the announcements, including a season change, you can find them over here at the following link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


WHAT IS ELENLOND?

Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


QUICK TIDBITS

  • We accept any member who wants to RP here;
  • We are an intermediate-level RPG;
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  • CURRENT EVENTS

    Angkar: To honour the reinvigoration of the ancient city of Mondrágon, the majestic Queen Eulalia has permitted the opening of a Coliseum where people from around the world and all walks of life can test their combat skills against one another. Many have already done battle in search of honour, glory, prizes and money.

    Ashoka: In an otherwise peaceful times, Ashokans are beset with the relatively minor inconveniences of wandering undead and occasionally-aggressive giant rock worms. There has also been some controversy over the recent re-legalisation of human sacrifice.

    Morrim: Rumour has it that Emperor Leofric de Hollemark is mustering forces for a war. Though the threat from Soto’s forests has passed, the forces previously employed in watching the forest now linger at the border. Rumours also circulate of a small group that has been dispatched to make contact with the tribes of the Do’suul Mountains.

    Soto: The Sotoans have defeated the fey and liberated themselves from Méadaigh’s oppression! Preliminary efforts have been made at rebuilding the city of Madrid, which had been captured at the beginning of the war. However, the Sotoans are hindered from recovery famine. Méadaigh’s magic caused summer to persist in the Erth’netora Forest through the winter. Her power has been withdrawn and the plants die as if preparing for winter – even though it is now summer. The Sotoans must sustain off what food they can get, what creatures they can kill and what can be imported into the city from Morrim and Angkar.

    For a fuller description of our most recent events, check out our most recent edition of The Town Crier!

    daringraven
    Administrator
    Qayin Graves
    SHADOW
    Supporting Admin.

    Kestrel Sumner (Shadow)
    Kindle Blackheath
    Orion de Lacey
    Sinadryn Arsydian
    Welcome to our home, a world in which anything can happen. From sprawling deserts and vast forests to massive volcanoes and luscious hot springs, Soare and the Scattered Isles are beautiful places just waiting to be explored. For the brave and the bold or the cautious and the wary, creatures of all kinds roam the earth, looking for adventure or for a place to call their own. Species of all kinds - the well-known and the unknown - thrive here, though not always in harmony.

    Elenlond is an original medieval fantasy RPG with a world that's as broad as it is unique. Calling on characters of all kinds, the sky's the limit in a world where boundaries are blurred and the imagination runs rampant. Restrictions are limited and members are encouraged to embrace their creativity, to see where they can go and what they can do. It's no longer just text on a page - it becomes real.

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    • 1
    Silvertongue - So That's Really How You Feel?!; Qayin vs. Phaedrus vs Shell vs Mairead vs Rolande vs Meriele vs Warden vs Ravanna
    Topic Started: Aug 14 2017, 01:38 PM (746 Views)
    Qayin
    Member Avatar
    Desert Wraith

    "IN A TWIST OF FATE, THE COMBATANTS HAVE DECIDED TO AVOID ACTUAL COMBAT!"

    Jeering and confused whispers ran through the crowd as the two competitors sauntered into the arena. They reached the center, and with the click of metal, a platform rose up from underneath them.

    'INSTEAD, THE TWO INTEND TO FIGHT IT OUT WITH WORDS! STICKS AND STONES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BUT YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ANYTHING YET!"

    Qayin smirked, looking his opponent directly in the eyes.

    "So, we finally get to say what we've been thinking since we first met. Let's get this started then, I've waited long enough!"
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    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    He’d dressed for the occasion.

    Phaedrus sauntered into the stadium, hair braided and flung over one shoulder; he twirled it over his lilac tunic, ignoring the fresh hiss of boos and incredulous yells as the announcer bellowed above. He didn’t care for the rabble; his only attention was on his roguish opponent, and he narrowed his yellow eyes, trained on Qayin as he stepped into the center of the stadium.

    Click, it went, and suddenly metal lofted; it was just them, staring eye to eye. The crowd faded, became senseless noise. There were two more series of clicks as holes opened up in the platform, and two orbs floated out of them. As it was a battle of words, the crowd needed to hear everything; the orbs would amplify their voices, filling the stadium with their words.

    Phaedrus gave a close-lipped smile at Qayin that didn’t touch his eyes, gaze glittering. The necromancer put a hand on his hip and shifted his weight to one leg, waiting for him to finish speaking. Devils, but the man looked worse off than the first time they met. Seemed he hadn’t bothered cutting his hair for years — or washing it, even — and the necromancer’s mouth popped open, brow raising critically.

    Phaedrus twirled the tip of his braid in one finger, lips pursed, then took the orb.

    "Yes, very well. I’m charmed to see you again.” He cleared his throat, canting his head. The necromancer lifted the amplifying orb in a pale white hand, speaking into it. His voice filled the stadium, drawling and droll. The voice of a cat playing with a mouse. "I’m surprised you made it here at all... how do you see through that unwashed mop on your head?” The necromancer narrowed his eyes at the man’s tangled hair, shrugging. Cheap, but it was a starting bit, he supposed.

    Some people snickered in the crowd. But the response was still sullen and negative; they wanted blood. Well, they’d get it.

    "If you put some eyes on it and go on all fours, maybe you can pretend to be a vagrant dog. You certainly have the stench for it.” Phaedrus circled the necromancer like a prowling cat, tossing his hand. After a moment he stopped, facing the man.

    “You know— I heard the Coliseum sets hideous monsters after their fighters, but…” He paused, eyes flicking over him top to bottom. “Well. I didn’t expect to fight a talking pig trough."
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Shell
    Member Avatar
    From Theon Greyjoy to Reek in under 3 seconds

    Ordinarily she would be the one in the ring, but every so often it was healthy to sit in the audience: it allowed one to remember who was actually running the money show, and it also afforded an excellent opportunity to learn from potential future opponents.

    But this match was not the kind of match she was expecting to spectate. A battle of words? She'd shifted, unsure, with the rest of the audience at first, but when she saw who'd come out onto the field of play her heart leapt up in her throat and she jumped up to cheer with those who were familiar with the Queenslayer -- but the pride was all hers, because she knew just how good he was at this sort of thing and was delighted to be able to simply watch him work.

    "Give 'em hell, Qayin!" She shouted before taking her seat again. An older, well-dressed lady seated behind her left shoulder leaned down and tapped for her attention. She looked around. "O-oh, hello. I'm sorry for just jumping up like that."

    "Pah, nevermind about that. That your man there?"

    Shell sputtered. "U-um! Not... really, no...."

    "Not really? Maybe you'd better convince yourself, but I suppose it doesn't matter. I was thinking of rooting for the fop, myself."

    Shell blinked. "The fop?"

    The woman pointed just as the audience erupted into a confused flurry of booing and shouting, and she followed the line of sight until she noticed....

    Oh.

    "Oh." Her heart sank.

    "I might change my vote though, that little jump of yours was just precious."

    "B-but..." Shell sputtered, hands spread in complete and utter dismay and confusion, glancing back and forth between dear, colorful Phaedrus and her sweet Qayin as though she was witnessing the last Angkarian elf bleed out in front of her. "They.... they can't do this..!"

    "You need to decide which one's the man, honey."

    "The dark-haired one!" She replied in explosive distress without even thinking, as though it was obvious, "But the other guy is my friend too!"

    Qayin made his introduction and Phaedrus replied cattily, with the careless ease he'd always seemed to possess on his better days -- but Shell did not like the careless ease or the introduction this time, and ran her hands down her face with a groan as Phaedrus went on.

    “You know— I heard the Coliseum sets hideous monsters after their fighters, but… well. I didn’t expect to fight a talking pig trough."

    The audience jeered with more laughter, stomping their approval, but Shell simply spread her hands again, crestfallen. She had no idea they knew each other, but according to Qayin this encounter had been a long time coming. It couldn't have been more dreadful.

    "They couldn't possibly hate each other! They have so much in common!"

    It had been meant simply as a personal protest but unfortunately she had been heard, and the area of audience immediately around her exploded in rich guffaws and she realized what she had said -- socially mortified and devastated at her mistake, she covered the lower half of her face and tried to look as small as possible.

    "Oh my god." She mumbled behind her hands, still glancing back and forth between necromancer and necromancer, this time apologetically. They would certainly hear about this after their match, and the audience would never let her forget it. "I am so, so sorry."
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    Qayin
    Member Avatar
    Desert Wraith

    "Give 'em hell, Qayin!"

    "Oh gods..." He recognized the voice. In much the same way Shell covered her own face out of embarrassment, Qayin slammed his own hand over his face. He'd had the sense to purchase a pair of gloves to somewhat disguise the finger he had taken from the Councillor Galena, but was now realizing it didn't match with the rest of his look. Perhaps after this, he and Juran could go-

    “You know— I heard the Coliseum sets hideous monsters after their fighters, but… well. I didn’t expect to fight a talking pig trough." Realizing there was no clean way out of this, Qayin snapped back up, brushing his long hair backward as though it would help.

    "It was all for you, I know your eating habits are terrible, so I was hoping whatever I caught in my hair would be a better option for you." Internally, he winced at the incompetence in his wording. Insults were surprisingly not his forte: the usually quick-witted mage was slow when it came to verbally attacking someone.

    Physical wounds, terrible magic-based violence, sure, but words were much more difficult to walk off. It didn't help that he usually just willed someone to go away if they were irritating him, his experience in mockery was as low as any schoolchild. The crowd seemed entertained enough, but that would not last long if things continued as they had. Running through the list of things he knew about the creature standing before him, he finally got something.

    "Ah, you had cats if I recall, yes? I haven't seen them recently, did your diet require you to eat them?" He knew this would be moderately upsetting, but he sauntered around in an odd sort of showmanship. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Qayin turned and locked eyes with Phaedrus.

    "The saddest part about that situation is your awful cooking. They didn't even receive a proper goodbye, only a horribly dry roast and a few surprisingly moist cat cubes. Gods only know what you did to them for dessert, I shudder to think about it."

    "OOH, HE BROUGHT HIS FAMOUSLY BAD COOKING INTO THE FIGHT, IS NOTHING SACRED?!"

    "One more thing in regards to the cats, is that what your tunic is made out of? That putrid purple looks just the right tone to be the inside of the cat skins, if you were being smart and using everything you could. What, did you forget which direction the fur was supposed to go when you made it?" The slight curl of disgust told Qayin that he had struck a nerve, but nothing could prepare him for what the Vermillion Harpy had in store in response.
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    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.


    Give 'em hell, Qayin!

    The sweet, fluting voice rose above the screams of the crowd; it sounded familiar, and belatedly he realized it was —

    Shell…?

    But the crowd was a sea of faces, too lofty and mottled to make out the speaker. The necromancer tore his eyes off the stands and back to his opponent, who looked like a beet with hair — and was currently covering his face in —

    Shame?

    His eyes bounced back to the stands, then back to Qayin.

    Was this the fellow that Shell had mumbled her fancies about?

    This—

    Fellow?

    This —


    Back, forth, back, forth, and he could not make the puzzle fit together.

    Why the devil would she waste herself on someone so — so —

    So very…

    Phaedrus stared at Qayin, lips parted, brows raised.

    So very….

    Plenty of unfortunate adjectives came to mind, and he saved them as ammunition. It took him a moment to recover from the unmasking of Shell’s mysterious love interest, and of a sudden he felt the urge to protect her from herself. Devils! Him! No! Why? She deserved so much better!

    He listened to the necromancer’s vapid insult about his eating, brows climbing up his face. Going after his figure, ah! How very new! Devils, tickle him with more fat jokes! As if he hadn’t heard a thousand of t—

    But then it nose-dived, barreled right back into the speaker.

    Whatever… I… caught in my hair?

    A disbelieving little giggle escaped him. It was almost magical. Gods, did the man just insult himself? His eyes twinkled with malice, heart filing with delight.

    “I’ve never met a man so eager to dig his own grave,” the necromancer cut, looking up at the crowd and gesturing. “You came here knowing I would kill you, hm?"

    I don’t even have to say a word. I can just stand here and let you eviscerate yourself.

    Now he went on some insane tangent about — his cats? A diet? The necromancer stared at him and put a hand on his hip, trying to understand what the devil he was trying to pass off as a fumbling, nonsensical insult. Now he was on about his cooking? Eating his cats? Phaedrus sucked in his lips, brow crinkling in confusion. And he went on, and on!

    My cooking isn’t terrible, you swine. His nostrils flared ever so delicately — a severely plucked brow arched up his face, lips twitching in disgust. At last that catastrophe of an insult came to a shambling close; his pale fingers fiddled on the orb.

    “Ahhh.” The necromancer clucked, kicking a bit of gravel with his boot. He looked up, clearing his throat. "I’ve figured out why you reek so much. It’s all the shit that spews out of your mouth.” He raised his brows aggressively, fanning out a hand. “Explains why your face looks like a battered arse, too.”

    He chewed the inside of his cheek a moment before breaking his stare with Qayin, fiddling with his tunic.

    “But— yes, you’re right,” Phaedrus sighed, shrugging his shoulders and hanging his head in mocking concession. He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I did eat pussy last night,” the necromancer threw a hand out, as if ashamed; the crowd roared and stomped with laughter above them.

    “Not that you’d know anything about that,” he continued nastily, lifting his face up with a predatory smile. He resumed circling Qayin like a vulture. “With a stench like that, not even a two-penny whore would touch you. Don’t despair, though. Both of your feet are crammed so far down your throat, you could suck your own cock.”

    OHHHHHH!” The narrator bellowed above, voice rising over the gasps and clamor. “BY THE GODS! IT’S GETTING NASTY IN HERE, FOLKS!

    Phaedrus flipped his hair, and shot a dazzling smile at Qayin.
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    Qayin
    Member Avatar
    Desert Wraith

    The insults seemed to pour from his mouth like a fountain burbling up from some deep pocket of water. It seemed as though catty insults were second nature to Phaedrus: perhaps it was even his first one. Qayin did not take the words to heart, (he had been on the receiving end of far worse), but he remembered that this was happening on a stage. Worse still, Juran was in the stands watching this occur.

    “I’ve never met a man so eager to dig his own grave.”

    "Heh, that's kind of amusing, coming from you."

    Is it better to take the insults here, or should I-

    Phaedrus droned on, shrieking in a tone that communicated his offense, even though his words tried to convince others he had not been offended. Resolving himself, Qayin walked towards the man with a grin on his face. The other necromancer seemed to recognize something was about to happen, and the speech momentarily subsided.

    "Hey!" He turned to the announcer, the grin spreading even further over his face.

    "I forfeit!"

    Bam!

    With a sudden move, Qayin swung his fist towards the shocked face of the other man. It connected, catching him off guard. With an almost comedic wobble, the carrot-headed man found himself toppling over the edge. Shouting, Qayin lept down after him, grin growing even wider.

    "Looks like it's not just my grave that they'll be digging tonight!"
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    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    And the crowd oohed.

    He basked it in a moment, his smile tight and pressed, not reaching the cruel slants of his eyes. The necromancer returned his own grin, apparently unfazed — I wonder what new garbage he’ll regurgitate at me? — and waited for the man to volley a response back, but he didn’t — kept getting closer — the necromancer’s smile faded some, turned into a squint of suspicion—

    I forfeit!

    Wha—

    A fist connected with his jaw. It caught him utterly off-guard; one moment he was on the platform, the next his arms pinwheeled uselessly, guts flipping with the sudden terror of a free fall.

    He shrieked like a harpy.

    "OH MY GODS!” The narrator shrieked. The crowd lost their minds, roaring and stamping. "I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS! THERE’S GONNA BE BLOOD, PEOPLE!

    The ground came up suddenly, jarring his back and winding him a bit; Phaedrus rolled over, still stunned, and looked up to see the dog jump down from the stage, a shit-eating grin on his face.

    You bitch!” All the rage exploded from him in piercing screech. The necromancer recoiled off the ground like a snake and got back on his feet, eyes burning with hatred. His jaw throbbed, but he hardly felt it; all the pain was pushed out by the font of anger that had just boiled up inside of him, coursing through his veins, filling every bit of him with hatred—

    “I heard your girl’s in the crowd,” Phaedrus snarled malevolently, a smile carving up his face like someone cut his lips with a dagger. He raised his hands, spitting the rest of his words. “Why don’t you show off for her?

    Two whipping black hands exploded from the ground; they seized Qayin’s belt, fingers whipping, and pulled down his pants.

    The crowd roared.
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    Shell
    Member Avatar
    From Theon Greyjoy to Reek in under 3 seconds

    The words kept flying, getting worse and more confused, and Shell sank further into her seat.

    Clearly Phaedrus had had a much longer time in his life to think of horrible things to say to people, but Qayin certainly tried. It was, however, probably the first time she had seen him bested by anyone in the arena of wits, and she was suddenly glad that both of them were her friends.

    Now, if only they could just get along with one another.

    "You pick some weird friends, honey," Said the lady behind her, fanning herself. "Your man isn't doing too good, is he?"

    "He'll come around," She replied without really thinking. "He always figures these things out."

    The match didn't last for very long at all, and before she knew it Qayin was crossing the floor.

    Wait -- is he really throwing in the towel..?

    She hadn't expected it of him, though admittedly, this was not the sort of altercation that she was accustomed to seeing him totally own. She sat upright in her seat and leaned forward slightly, expecting.... something, although she was unsure exactly what.

    And then, he forfeited.

    And then, he punched Phaedrus in the face.

    Shell's jaw dropped as the paler necromancer went flying off the podium and Qayin went after him.

    Nice hit, She couldn't help but think, and she also couldn't help but find him physically duking it out to be somewhat attractive -- she certainly would have dived right into it and lapped it up like milk, if it weren't for the fact that the person he was fighting was another very dear friend.

    The audience had leaped up in a cheering eruption and tiny Shell was forced to stand on her own seat to see over them, worried that if she missed even a few seconds that something really bad might happen to them.

    Phaedrus spat his outrage, and she was forced to admit that he too was quite frightening when mad -- but then he grinned, and two spectral hands came forth from the ground on either side of Qayin, and--

    Oh.

    Oh my.

    The crowd jeered and exploded, and helplessly, with all the rest of them, her eyes went down.

    If her blood ran, she would have turned positively pink.

    "I take it back," The lady behind her said through her first grin of the day, "Your man is very good."

    Shell bit her lower lip and hid it behind her hand, smiling, a little too pleased. He was bone-thin, tall, maybe even somewhat lanky, but she had already found all of that rather attractive. And now?

    "Looks like Orionopolis isn't the only big thing coming out of Ashoka."
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Meriele Logala


    Meriele showed up late to the Arena, having slept late after partying early into the morning. She didn't like showing up on time anyways, late ones always got the best seats when those disappointed with the matches left anyways. She was just walking to a seat left vacant near the bottom row when one of the two pompous fops insulted the other's cooking.

    "Good gods, I came here to see a bloodbath, not some bullshit insults.... This better get more interesting or I'm making my own fun."

    After a few insults from the carrot topped fop, the other one strode across the field and forfeited... right before turning and socking the fop across the jaw! Meriele started losing it, laughing in the crowd and slapping the shoulder of anyone nearby. She watched with deep interest when the one who threw the punch jumped down off the stand to follow his victim. Not a second later, the little fop shouted about the big fops girl being in the crowd.

    "Oh boy. You never go there... I wouldn't even go there..."

    And it got worse...

    "Why don't you show off for her?" And with that, the tall fop's pants hit the floor, victims to a pair of whip-like black hands sprouting from the ground, revealing a very large endowment, and Meriele couldn't help but stare for a moment and lick her lips. The crowd absolutely lost it at this point, jumping up and erupting in jeers and cheers, catcalls and howls. Meri cheered along with them until an elbow connected with her face, knocking her back. The man in the seat next to her had gotten to excited in his revelry, and Meriele wasn't going to stand for it.

    "Oy, you arse! Watch where the bloody hell you're throwing your elbow!"

    And with that, she promptly swung her fist into the man's throat, her other hand reaching over and grabbing his shirt. Once her fist connected with the poor arse's throat, she promptly grabbed the man's throat and lifted him off his feet, tossing him forward, hitting several other men in the process with his frame. The man landed hard in the sand of the arena, Meriele left in a crowd of angry Angakrians and other Arena-goers.

    And she relished it. Gathering her voice and letting out a battle-screech, she jumped into the fray with demonic abandon.

    "MOB FIIIIIIGHT!"
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Rolande
    Member Avatar


    Today she had decided to view a fight instead of participating on one. Rolande had found that taking a break by traveling to the arena was a nice way to escape all the trouble back home. She had enjoyed some success in the ring, but all the fighting was starting to wear her down. In the hopes of enjoying something different, the younger woman had come to view an event listed as being rather different than the rest.

    "These jokes are just mean!" When she had heard it was comedic, she pictured those traveling entertainers that journeyed around the valley back home. This was something entirely different. The red haired one was being especially mean to the other man, throwing out insults. It annoyed her immensely. There was a woman in the crowd that seemed especially upset, a black haired woman who seemed particularly attached to the one wearing the darker robes. As they continued to verbally spar, she felt as though she needed to do something. A few of those in the crowd seemed to notice her irritation. One man, a darker fellow with silver hair and scarred skin, nudged his friends and hollered at Rolande as things progressed, trying to catch her attention.

    "Hey, blonde haired girl down there! Enjoying the show?" She ignored him, watching the fight intently. He grew somewhat belligerent, his shouting growing more annoyed as time went by. Suddenly he stood up, sauntering down the aisle towards her. The girl did not notice this until he was practically on top of her. His friends called for him to come back, but the now visibly intoxicated man didn't listen.

    "Hey, how about we spend some time in the town? I could buy you all sorts of pretty things if you did, I'm mostly gentle." The words floated to her ears, causing her to sit up and look at him in astonishment. This was nothing at all like what she had experienced back home. The scent of alcohol soaked the area, causing a few of those nearby to gag and move a little distance away. This left the two of them relatively isolated. Realizing the situation she was in, she adopted a more innocent tone in the hopes of getting the man to underestimate him.

    "What are ya asking me exactly, sir?"

    "So proper for a mountain girl, I like that! I just think you're pretty, is all." He was uncomfortably close now, his face inches from hers. Pushing him back slowly with one arm, the Morrimian smiled.

    "Well, thank you! I don't think now would be a good time for that, maybe when y'all are sobered up!"

    "But, I'm completely-" A couple of his friends arrived, pulling the protesting figure back to where he had been seated before.

    "Sorry miss, he's usually a nice guy! We'll keep a tighter leash on him next time, guy's just out of it right now!" She nodded understandingly, though sighing in relief once he had been returned to his spot.

    "Well, it was bound to happen someday", she spoke softly to herself. Shrugging, she returned her focus back to the arena, just in time to catch the man who'd been taking the brunt of the insults shout "I forfeit", then punch the other figure in the face. She jumped up laughing, clapping her hands together once involuntarily.

    "Whoo! Go get him, guy!" They went down to the ground, the darker figure grinning as he did so. It wasn't long until the other one was on his feet screeching like some sort of bird. It was then that the unthinkable happened: magic was used, and the man's pants were on the ground. She averted her eyes, but not before noticing what everyone else was taking him. Stifling a laugh, she blushed in sympathy for the gifted individual. She could not imagine herself in his place, as humiliating as the situation seemed.

    The woman who had spoken earlier said something about big things coming out of Ashoka, and Rolande burst into laughter, unable to keep it in any longer. Her merriment was cut short, however, when a woman was elbowed by the silver-haired man from earlier. He looked back at her in an attempt to apologize, clearly feeling sorry, but she was having none of it.

    With a swift punch and an even faster toss, the figure had been discarded onto the arena floor below them. Rushing to the front of the seating area, Rolande looked down to see if the man was alright. He groaned, gurgling slightly from the punch. Otherwise, he seemed to be in one piece. Angrily, she stormed up to the woman, reaching back and slapping her across the face out of irritation. All of her politeness was tossed out the door as she yelled at the woman angrily.

    "He didn't do it on purpose, you can't just do that, you... you horrible woman!" The crowd had erupted into chaos, with even the announcer leaving his post to go find something to drink. Realizing what was about to happen, Rolande picked up a solid wood bench and put it on its end, letting it lean on her shoulder. With a smirk that rivaled the mage in the arena's, she spoke firmly over the crowd.

    "Don't get involved, I'm gonna teach this bully a lesson!" The friends of the silver-haired man whooped in excitement, laughing at the situation unfolding.

    "Man, seems he was right about you! Get 'em, mountain girl!"
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    Qayin
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    Desert Wraith

    In a single moment, the entire mood shifted. His weight also shifted, unencumbered as it was by the dry fabric holding it at bay. Momentarily stunned, the mage looked down, and then back up at the glowering form of his fellow necromancer.

    "What?! Did you really just-" A cool breeze ran over his thighs. It was a distracting sensation that cut into his words, (and also into other unmentionable aspects of himself). He realized the position he was in, and began evaluating that entire region of his body. The primary focus was of course the front, there could be no question of that. It had always overshadowed his rear, as thin and unexciting as it was. There was hardly any form to it, though he could at least say he was free of any scars or other disfigurements he had heard were commonplace in such areas.

    The whooping from the crowd was embarrassing, but not to such a level that Qayin was unable to enjoy the shocked look that had sprung involuntarily to Phaedrus' face. Using his fog to drain the "life" from the hands that held onto his pants, Qayin spun his pelvis mockingly before pulling them back up. They sat far looser than before, possibly caused by tearing that had occurred as they had been removed. Considering what had just happened, Qayin's devilish grin grew even wider. It was not something he had ever put much thought into, but judging by the reactions of everyone, he had a gift.

    "I don't believe that could have gone any better for me, or any worse for you. I'm sure Shell enjoyed it, at the least." He was not sure she truly had, but some part of him imagined that to be the case. For a moment, his attention was drawn to some commotion in the crowd.

    His eyes darted around at the spectacle surrounding him, and suddenly he couldn't contain his mirth any further. He started laughing, the air rushing out of him like a tsunami. For a few moments, he was unable to do anything other than giggle like a small child. After some time, the necromancer recovered slightly, standing back up.

    "Hoo, I'm sorry! I'm not sure I'm angry enough to fight you anymore! This was just the most beautiful thing-" He wheezed again, doubling over as the tears flooded his eyes. It was because of those tears that he was unable to see the indignant form of Phaedrus as he prepared to make his next move.
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    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... UM.... I'M SHOCKED... I'M OUT OF WORDS... YOU CAN SAY A PIRATE'S ENTERED THE ARENA, CUZ LOOK AT THAT PEGLEG!"

    Phaedrus stared at Qayin, the nasty triumph fading from his expression. It froze instead, as his eyes trickled down to--

    By all the gods.

    That was --


    The necromancer ripped his gaze away from it, open-mouthed, and slowly looked up at Qayin. His red eyebrows crept up nearly to his hair, hands wedged at his hips, and he had the look of someone perhaps reconsidering ones opinion of another man.

    But frankly, a good cock wasn't enough when the man attached to it was such -- a --

    I don't believe that could have gone any better for me, or any worse for you. His sniveling, arrogant little voice quickly shattered whatever appeal his gift might have had, much like Modeste's endless stutter had ruined his beautiful face, and the entirety of Marcel's being ruined his fine body.

    How was it possible for someone to be so infuriating simply by talking? Breathing? Being alive?

    Qayin whirled his -- staff mockingly at him, brandishing it like a stick at a dog. A gloating smile spread across the taller man's face, and it was flint to his anger, sending it blazing under his skin.

    A horrible, horrible, blood-chilling devil's grin crept across his face.

    "So that's why she likes you," Phaedrus breathed, his face giving poor indication of the murder simmering inches below the surface. "It couldn't have been your pretty face or wits, because you have neither."

    The rabble was roaring above -- some had begun a chant of Pegleg, Pegleg, and were cheering and whooping like animals. But it all dimmed to a senseless noise. All he could hear was the necromancer's laughter, and all he he could see was the three-legged man's beet-red face and the tears rimming the corners of his eyes.

    "AAAAND THE RED DEVIL'S PLANS WERE FOILED, FOLKS! LOOKS LIKE OUR SWORD-WEILDING SLAYER JUST MURDERED ANOTHER QUEEN!"

    Laughter roared up from the stands.

    Hoo, I'm sorry! I'm not sure I'm angry enough to fight you anymore! This was just the most beautiful thing--

    "Perhaps we can come to a truce, then," Phaedrus said good-naturedly.

    Too good-naturedly.

    A heartbeat later, his face contorted into the mask of a specter of wrath, eyes blazing with the fires of hell.

    He was too angry to be clever. He just wanted blood.

    Phaedrus leapt forward like a howling cat, all claws and screech, and tackled him.

    The necromancer used his shorter height to slam Qayin's chest with his shoulder and grapple his midsection, putting all the weight of his body behind it and hoping to knock him to the ground. As they tumbled, his pale fist shot out wildly, trying to connect with something, anything -- his face, teeth, a nose, a neck...

    A pegleg.


    While one half of the arena erupted into a fight, the other half roared and screamed above, taking different sides and chanting.

    "Peg-leg! Peg-leg--! PEG-LEG!"

    "Red-Queen, Red-Queen, RED-QUEEN!"
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    Mairead
    Member Avatar
    I reject your reality and substitute my own.

    He had lost it. He had clearly lost it. Mairead had not intended to interfere. She had paced the stands anxiously, white fingers clawed her ashen cheeks, past the frown on her pallid lips. As she watched the exchange, her heart had beat like a drum to the strides of her footfalls, and gradually outpaced her feet. Eventually it ran full gallop, when Phaedrus lunged at Mr Graves.

    It was not that Phaedrus could kill the Ashokan, it was that he could kill him in a hundred and one ways using only the least of his spells. You are better than this! Her mind roiled in distress. Kind, helpful, protective, good Phaedrus. She saw none of that in those maddened yellow eyes now, and it frightened her.

    She felt it keenly. His humiliation. The stinging mockery of his culinary skills. The further mockery supplied by the crowd; so many eyes, so many hundred laughing mouths; all judged him. Perhaps, she sensed too, tinges of jealousy that had spiked now and again, unspoken, yet ... His pain was hers.

    Losing not a second more, and with a leap, her feet pushed mightily against the torch bearing pillar. The Dragon Wings took her airborne flying her into the ring. She tumbled at the red-haired man’s feet. Rising, she hooked her arms around his waist and tried to pull him away from the Ashokan.

    “Anger, it leads to downfall,” wheezed the enchanter at Phaedrus’ ear. “Calm … calm down.”

    She pressed a palm on his chest as she hugged him from the back.
    Edited by Mairead, Aug 22 2017, 06:52 AM.
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    Shell
    Member Avatar
    From Theon Greyjoy to Reek in under 3 seconds

    Things had gone from wild to bad in a matter of moments. Qayin's showmanship was too much, and as soon as he started waving his hips around Shell threw her head back and lost it, a long, loud laugh escaping her. It had been the last thing she'd expected to see from him but it was also quite possibly the best laugh she'd had in over a century.

    Well he deals with it well.

    By the time she composed herself, wiping the tears from her eyes and standing back on her toes, it seemed that all hell had broken loose: someone was flung into the arena by another in the audience, somewhere far below her, and another person seemed to have barreled through in the thrower's direction.

    There was shouting about fights: people in the crowd started manhandling and punching at one another, and there was a mighty scuffle going on below. Phaedrus had lost his shit, it seemed, and was now diving on top of Qayin, held at bay only by....

    Mairead!

    That was it. There were too many people down there that she knew, and too much going on in this audience.

    Shell shoved her way through the throng, hopping over seats and hunched and seated people alike like a grasshopper on the move, making her way down the stepped rows and busting through a fight--

    "Don't get involved, I'm gonna teach this bully a lesson!"

    A flash of blonde, a flash of crimson -- and Shell vaulted the outer wall, landing lightly on her feet in the field of play. Dust puffed up around her feet as she ran towards the three, and as Mairead held Phaedrus from behind, Shell pushed her way between the apparent Pegleg and the apparent Red Queen, an arm out over Qayin and a hand carefully holding Phaedrus's opposite shoulder.

    "Looks like we get to lay smackdown together again, huh?" She said to Mairead, smiling only slightly -- she wanted to grin, but it felt somehow innappropriate. "Come on boys, can't you just write long, scathing poems or.... or hold up protest signs..?"

    And still, she could not get over the fact that her two best male friends hated each other.

    "This is the point where people say we can't have nice things."
    Edited by Shell, Aug 22 2017, 03:33 PM.
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    Meriele Logala


    Meriele reeled slightly from the slap from this mountain-woman, just slightly shorter than herself, blond, and more muscular it seemed. Ah well, she's got just the type of spirit that egged Meri on. A fighter. Not many have the nerve to slap a demon-girl. Ah well. Just more fun for her that way.

    "Don't get involved, I'm gonna teach this bully a lesson!"

    With a swish of her tail, a crack of her neck, and a moment to crack each knuckle on her hand, Meriele stepped up to mountain-girl, just about nose to nose. Wrapping an arm around her, Meriele looked her over, and smiled.

    "Now dear, bully is such a strong word for someone you don't even know. And calling me a horrible woman, I resent that, I really do. I reacted in the moment, little woman like me can't be too careful."

    Gently pushing the bench away from the mountain girl as she speaks, Meriele laced as much charm as she could manage into her next words.

    "Now, that man had been pretty pushy with you, he was drunk, and he elbowed me in the side of the face. You can't possibly expect a little girl like me to sit around and wait for what could've happened, could you? And besides, I don't want to mar that pretty face of yours in a fight."

    Merielse stepped back a step from the woman, and hoped at the very least the bench was removed from the story, and at the best she could avoid hurting this pretty girl. If not, then there are always the claws. They tend to be pretty persuasive...

    "Come on now, put down the bench and relax dear, a pretty face like yours shouldn't be marred fighting a demon-child. You saw how that man was. And besides, you don't have anything you could possibly teach me," pausing her speech to flick her tail and smile seductively at this mountain-woman, Meriele continued before a moment had passed, "but there is plenty that I could teach you."
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    Phaedrus
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    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    Cw: foul language.

    He had him. The necromancer relished the look of surprise on Qayin’s face — the flash of horse-eyes, white with sudden horror, felt his fist land — where? He didn’t care, he just knew it had — and all propriety and dignity left him. He had half a mind to strangle him—

    And then someone grabbed him from behind. Yelling, he almost elbowed them in the face, twisting and lashing like a wild animal out of instinct. The horrible memory of restraint flashed through his mind. Ameliorate Ordos, mental ward, being drugged out of his mind— It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice and soft words that he stopped struggling, struck dumb. Phaedrus twisted his head at an awkward ankle, lip curled, only able to see her from his periphery.

    Mairead? How? Why—

    "WHAT A TWIST FOLKS! IT'S AN ANGEL WITH A DEVIL'S WINGS, SWOOPING DOWN TO TAME THE BEAST! WILL SHE SUCCEED? IS THIS THE VERMILLION HARPY'S LADY LOVE?

    “Oh, fuck off, you omniscient cunt," Phaedrus exploded at the narrator. The bit of the crowd that wasn’t beating each other to a pulp gave an ohhhh of shock.

    Lady love! Ha! An insane smile almost ripped over Phaedrus' face at the thought.

    Bast wouldn't be hugging him. Bast would be on Qayin in a heartbeat, punching his face into mashed potatoes and setting him on fire. Good gods. If she was here, he couldn't bear the utter humiliation of her having witnessed this. It felt like he was the one who'd been caught with his pants down, not --

    But there was very little he could do with Mairead hugging him. He was furious at her for declawing him, robbing him of the law-sanctioned chance to rip the man's eyes out; the crowd exploded into boos above them, jerking their thumbs down and stamping their feet angrily at the display of pacifism.

    Animals.

    If he had a heart it would be pounding furiously, hot with rage. But he did not. And so it left only an empty throbbing in his chest and head, a pulse of cold sludge.

    Phaedrus wilted a bit in the enchanter's arms, awkwardly held there like a cat torn apart from a dog. He still trembled with rage, eyes seething with hatred, but he pushed it down. As much as he loathed that smug sack of shit, he did not want to risk injuring Mairead with a missed punch or spell. Particularly when he had done him and Soto such a favor. Stilling his breathing, the necromancer shot Qayin another putrid look, lips ironed to a white line. His movement was limited, his options curtaining, but he could do one thing.

    "Eat your mother's cunt, you son of a whore," he swore in perfect, rolling Ashokan, wrenching off his shoe with the toe of his other boot and kicking it right off towards Qayin's crotch. Whether it hit its mark didn't matter.

    He knew exactly what it meant, and he meant it exactly.

    Perhaps it was fortunate, then, that Shell arrived at that moment. She appeared in a blur and rustle of silks, and suddenly her cool hand pressed into his shoulder, creating what would have seemed like an absurd barricade if he did not know that she could break all of their arms in a heartbeat.

    At her words he could only snort, baffled by the ludicrousness of it all. He hadn’t really paid attention to her exchange with Mairead — still looking past the pale girl and at Qayin, wary to keep his eyes off of him.

    “Funny,” he snapped, too much vitriol in his voice; he did not intend it towards Shell, but still it vomited from him. “That was precisely what we were going to do. Have a civilized battle of words,” the necromancer raised his brows accusingly at Qayin, sneering. He wanted to spit, but didn’t want to get it on Shell, and so he settled on blinking overmuch.

    Just because your mouth can’t form a proper sentence doesn’t mean you ought to punch mine.” Phaedrus snapped in Ashokan to spare Shell the indignity of hearing another insult, spat it like a curse. “I’ve had better repartee from a tea kettle."
    Edited by Phaedrus, Aug 22 2017, 07:28 PM.
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    Qayin
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    Desert Wraith

    Several of Phaedrus' blows had landed in exactly the place everyone one assumed they would. Like a tree that was on top of a landslide, Qayin crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain as he clutched pointlessly at his nether regions.

    The world around him was no longer any concern to him. There were several uniquely terrible levels of pain coursing through his body, all impacting him in various ways. The sharp jabbing pain of the immediate impact was soon replaced with a deep throbbing that shot up through the nerves, entering his pelvis and remaining within there as some sort of unwanted guest. Everything else around there burned, pulsing along with his heart as blood continued on its merry way through his system.

    "G-gods Phaedrus." It was all he could muster amongst the more animalistic groans that involuntarily escaped from his lips. Shell was there as well, though she seemed uninterested in his plight, at least less interested in him than in stopping the fight. Mairead was holding Phaedrus back, something Qayin was grateful for, at least at the moment. The world was red and dark for a time. Finally, the necromancer felt it slowly subside, and he cautiously moved himself into a seated position. There were mild twinges of pain that continued, but finally it was over. Sighing with relief, he stood again.

    The other man was swearing at him in his parent's native tongue, a language the younger of the two was well versed in. The mood of feeling sorry for himself had ended, and anger rushed in to fill its place. In an outburst of disgust, Qayin spouted out a expletive laden sentence in Ashokan.

    "Leave my mother out of this, you dust-skinned, red-molded, rotted husk of a half fu-" He caught himself, realizing the company present. He was unsure whether Shell spoke native Ashokan or not, but he would not be surprised given her history. Trying to regain composure, he breathed in.

    "Yes, we did agree to a battle of words. I- apologize for the punch." Absentmindedly, he grimaced as one of the final waves of pain washed over him. There was much more he wished to say to the man, but it felt somehow wrong to do it when Shell was around. He knew the apology would not mean much, and braced himself for another barrage of insults.

    He was still furious, barely holding it together. Perhaps it would only take a little more for him and Phaedrus to rush one another again, mutual relations be damned.
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    Shell
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    From Theon Greyjoy to Reek in under 3 seconds

    She winced visibly when the boot flew and hit and Qayin went down, and she settled a hand on his shoulder in a poor attempt to provide some sort of moral support. Of course she didn't know what it felt like, exactly, but she'd heard plenty enough stories and seen plenty enough reactions to know that it was likely the most unpleasant part of being male.

    She frowned between the two of them, waiting a few moments until Qayin interrupted himself. She looked Phaedrus's way.

    "I can understand you. You started this thing out insulting each other in Common, why change it now?" Her accent was not perfect, and she clearly had not used it in years, but she'd done her best to remember the things Lazar had taught her without the notes she had taken at the time. The swears were the first things he'd taught her, of course.

    They were both lit, that much was obvious: the air between them bristled and it made her jitter inwardly with anxiety, and somehow she was afraid to be inbetween them like this.

    "Look," She said, trying to stay even. "You've both gotten too deep into this. It's not even a match anymore. I don't know what the hell happened between you two, but I think it's time you guys cooled yourselves off, or someone's gonna get punched -- and it's going to be my fist."

    Qayin had started the physical altercation, of course, but Phaedrus was clearly taking it very personally and looked ready to slay him. If anyone was going to get a punch from her it was likely him, but Shell didn't relish the idea of dragging either of them off the field.

    "After this is over I am going to be talking to both of you and one of you is going to tell me how this whole stupid thing started."
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    Mairead
    Member Avatar
    I reject your reality and substitute my own.

    Never meddle in the affairs of necromancers, for they are subtle and quick to blow each other’s effing brains out, thought Mairead. Her arm ached holding her fop friend back. When Qayin laid on more insults, her face grew longer. Her lips thinned.

    “Mr Graves,” wheezed the enchanter. “I hardly think it is the time to continue antagonizing poor Phaedrus further. In fact, I do think you ought to make yourself scarce this instant. Or I shall let him have at it with you. I have seen his powers in my Coin, and I do think none of us shall ever find your remains.”

    Her tone had been cross, if not civil, but she glared daggers at Qayin, mentally daring him to breathe another word.

    She looked at Shell, but the small woman could not smile through the strain of holding the man back, and returned what had to be a grimace. She nodded at Shell's next words, however. Perhaps they ought to settle this all privately...
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    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    It hit.

    The man crumpled like paper, and a hideous sneer split the necromancer’s face. That’s right. Writhe, you worm. He stared down with unbridled malice, relishing the twist of pain on Qayin’s face and his helpless groans. A thin, close-lipped smile twisted his lips, eyes narrowing with a glint of mirth.

    G-gods Phaedrus.

    “Oops,” he jeered cattily, relaxing a bit in Mairead’s arms. But as all good things, this too had to come to an end. Eventually the necromancer recovered and stood on unsteady legs, shooting him a glare that could pierce armor. Phaedrus devoured it, the faintest quirk of his lip suggesting go on, then.

    It got to him.

    Leave my mother out of this, you dust-skinned, red-molded, rotted husk of a half fu-

    Mairead held him back as he leaned forward, eyes narrowed in anticipation. But the greasy necromancer didn’t get to finish his insult — Shell had jumped in, surprising him with her fluency in Ashokan. What—? It distracted him a moment, bow-lips popping open in surprise as he blinked at the girl.

    “I wondered if he was wretched at insults in other languages, too.” By all accounts, he seems to be… what a disappointment.

    Yes, we did agree to a battle of words. His brow arched at Qayin’s apology, nose wrinkling like he smelled a waft of shit. A moment later, his mouth twisted in a sneer.

    “Bit late for that, isn’t it,” Phaedrus snapped nastily, watching the anger twitching in the man’s face and smoldering behind his eyes. At any moment the fuse might spark again, and they’d be at each other’s throats. For a moment he felt placated by the man’s continuing grimace, some of his hatred simmering down at the joy of getting a final punch in. Even while being held back by two women.

    Shell continued to act as a barrier between them, her words coming careful and measured. At one point she threatened to punch them, a thing that gave him pause; the last man he saw get on the wrong end of her fists… didn’t make it out well.

    Her next words almost made him bark with mirthless laughter. How this whole stupid thing started, indeed!

    Phaedrus jerked his chin aggressively at Qayin.

    “It’s rather simple, really. He stole a soul-stone from a girl, nearly killed her—“ and he rose his brows for emphasis, “—and left me to clean up the shit.” Scowling, the necromancer narrowed his eyes at him before sliding them towards Shell. “But I don’t suppose he told you that, did he?” Oh, no. What a convenient thing to leave out. A malicious little titter left him; his attention refocused on Qayin. "And did you have a reason? Hardly. At first I thought it was out of malice—something premeditated, perhaps. But I was wrong. No: it was just your crippling stupidity,” he drawled at the necromancer. "You’re a living miracle. It's a wonder that you remember to breathe.

    “But go ahead and antagonize me,” Phaedrus continued dramatically, tossing his hair like a martyred saint. “Devils forbid I’m angry that you could’ve killed someone. Do you know many arrogant, incompetent shits like you I've dealt with?” He felt a strange deja vu, as though it wasn’t the first time he’d snapped at Qayin about it. Gods, but he was blindingly drunk that night. Like every night of his life. “If you put your brain in a bird it’d fly backwards. If you have one,” he scoffed.

    Really, he didn’t know.

    The necromancer wormed his way out of Mairead’s grip, shaking his head and scoffing at the enchanter’s comment. He put a hand on his hip, raising a brow.

    “I wouldn’t waste a breath on him,” Phaedrus assured her, tossing a hand. You are right, Ms. De Latte. They would never find his remains. He would have no remains to be found. No matter how cross he got — if he used his powers to kill the undeserving, then he would be truly lost. They were not at war, and—presumably—Qayin was not trafficking slaves or torturing people with necromancy.

    He did, however, have an insufferable face and personality. But then, he’d be a serial murderer if he killed everyone that rubbed him the wrong way.

    The necromancer clasped his hands together, his face still curdled like milk. He forced himself to say perhaps the nicest thing he could ever utter to the other sorcerer.

    “You might be an insufferable prick, but I don’t want you dead.”

    Or, rather, I don’t want to be convicted of murder in front of hundreds of people.
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    Warden


    Ω hadn't given Warden anything to really do here on Elenlond, other than help where he could. Unlike Ω, Warden was pretty limited to what he could do. Not many ways to travel when you're a 7,500 pound construct, but he would take his master's instructions to heart nonetheless. Of course, Ω hadn't given him any warning about where he would be set down either. Warning would be nice... dropping into a battlefield wouldn't be very fun after all. Swords and arrows wouldn't hurt much, but catapults... now those would pack a punch.

    Luckily, when Warden looked down, it wasn't a battlefield greeting him, instead it was what appeared to be a large theatre. Less luckily, Warden apparently didn't materialize on solid ground, instead appearing roughly 10 feet above the roof of what must've been an announcer's box of sorts. Weighing as he did, 10 feet was more than enough for him to gain enough speed to crash through the roof, landing in a chair, and promptly snapping it under his wait, landing on his rear on the floor, a few floorboards creaking and moaning under his weight. As the dust settled, Warden looked around, and upon seeing a man sitting not 2 feet away from him, quickly greeted him in the friendliest voice he could manage.

    "Why hello there good sir! I apologize for crashing into your room, but I don't suppose I could inquire where exactly I am? As you can see, I'm not from around here."

    With that, Warden did his best to stand, ducking his head so as not to hit the ceiling, and pulled his shield and mace off his back, gripping each in one hand.

    "It is much easier to carry these in hand than on the back. What is this going on down there?"
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    Rolande
    Member Avatar


    The woman was making excuses for her actions, putting the blame on the man, on society, everything but herself. Hands tightening on the bench’s sides, Rolande took a swing at her. It was a warning. There was no way in which she would be willing to aim the entirety of her strength at the concubus —it would likely kill her— but she would make sure she would at least remember this day. With a flourish she had practiced, based on the old tales of heroes the storytellers would speak of, she looked at the woman and bellowed forth in the mightiest voice she could muster.

    “It is a sign of moral weakness to deflect your problems onto others! That man was a fool, there’s no question of that...” The friends of the man laughed, a couple returning from lifting the man up to where they stood.

    “You’re right about that one, he was being a jerk!”

    “He was a fool, but he did not deserve the level of violence you aimed towards him! Let the punishment”, she said, jumping forward and aiming a swipe of the bench at the feet of the woman, “fit the crime!” Those watching cheered, though whether it was for her speech or for the entertainment value of the match-up, she did not know. Grinning with an energy that shuddered through her, she shouted again just as the blow began to connect.

    “I am the Courier Rolande! Let those who strike down the weak beware, for I am the hammer of their justice!” She was quite pleased with the manner in which she had been able to mimic the heroes of old in her speech and presence, and felt her excitement growing even faster. This would be her introduction to the world outside of the Do’Suul mountains, and Rolande intended to have them all remember her name.
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    Qayin
    Member Avatar
    Desert Wraith

    It took everything he had not to continue the argument. The words were starting to get to him, as difficult as it was for them to do so. With a deep sigh, he turned and began to walk away, just marching towards the nearest wall of the arena. He needed to leave, get out of there before things went even crazier than they had. Shouting up at the outcropping that held the announcer, he tried to get his attention.

    "Hello, I already forfeited! We can end this now, correct?" He saw the glint of something large and metallic, but there was no response that he could hear. The doors were locked shut, and the walls seemed to tower far higher than they ever did before. With an exasperated sigh, he leaned against the wall as he had done many times before. It was his preferred method of resting, mostly because it gave him the ability to see everything that could approach him, and allowed him to move quickly if need be. His eyes looked towards the others, all standing there in various states of annoyance. Off in the stands opposite him, he noticed the skirmishing of two figures.

    "Well, I suppose someone's having a fight worth watching." In a twist to rival the best mystery plays, a body fell from the stands above him. Then another. He turned just in time to see an entire swath of the crowd leaping down on top of him. Eyes widening, he struggled to leap out of the way, but to no avail. The necromancer was forced to push his way through the pile of people, desperately moving his way through the tangled mass of angered combatants. He finally escaped, leaping backwards a few times as the crowd began to stand up.

    "What... what is happening?!' It was all he could muster at the madness unfolding in front of him. A voice rang out from the crowd, bitter and shrill.

    "The fight's boring, you two've wasted our time! We've gotta get the entertainment somehow, and it looks like we know just how to do it. We're gonna to beat the hell out of you two until it stops being funny!" In a flash, Qayin took off running. He was not sitting around for them to grab him once again, not when the entire group was focused on harming him. He managed to get close to the others, shouting as he felt the earth shake behind him.

    "They want to kill us or something! Or worse!" In his panic, he was unable to muster his mental powers forth. The concentration needed to overwhelm this many people would be impossible, given the time. he looked around, eyes looking for a way out. They quickly fell back downwards to Shell as the grumbling horde drew closer.

    "Get out of here if it comes to it, okay?" He turned to face their attackers and glowered.

    "What an idiotic way to die."
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    Shell
    Member Avatar
    From Theon Greyjoy to Reek in under 3 seconds

    He... stole from someone? A soul-stone, of all things...? She did not know exactly what such a stone would entail but she could not imagine it being too much different from a Pearl, and in this new light she could not imagine Qayin, who had before heard her story with great sympathy, would have done such a thing with the full knowledge of whatever potential consequences such a theft would have had for the stone's owner.

    All the same it gave her a painful, knotting anxiety, a stinging confused disappointment. She knew her instincts had to have had it wrong -- he was such a dear friend -- but the assosication was too close, and her stance faltered and she fell silent all the same.

    The fights in the stands continued and she didn't bother trying to listen in on them this time. Qayin was leaving, and she turned to Phaedrus and Mairead, placing one fist into the palm of the other hand and bowing her apologies. It was an oddly formal gesture to be using with either of them at this point, but Phaedrus and the girl who had apparently been stolen from had been slighted, whether someone had meant to do so or not, and she could see that Mairead was close with them, at least. But, she had heard this side of the story, and it was time to learn the rest of it. She turned on her heel and made to follow Qayin out, but stopped in sudden surprise.

    People had dropped into the ring from the stands and were beginning to swarm him, all of them looking either manic or wholly displeased. Her eyes widened, alarmed: she picked up the pace and jogged quickly towards the scene of trouble, picking up the tail-end of the verbal exchange as she neared, not that they were very hard to hear.

    "...beat the hell out of you two until it stops being funny!"

    Oh, no.

    Qayin managed to get closer to her and the others and made eye contact with her, telling her to get out if she needed to.

    Oh, hell no.

    Between the chaos in the crowds, the nature of the fight, its emotional repercussions, the idea of her dearest friend stealing something uncomfortably close to a Pearl in its essence, and the now-compromised safety of her friends, she'd had enough. Though she clearly did not need to, she raised both fists and cracked her knuckles.

    "Are you sure?" She sing-songed, and the outer edge of the crowd turned to glance at her half-excited, half-furious twist of a grin. Several of them gesticulated their retorts, and one of them snarled, spitting on the ground in front of him.

    "An' why the hell not? There's an hundred of us, and only one o' you, bigshot! Do yer worst!"

    "Heh.... heheheheheh...!" Her laughter was too genuine. His snarl deepened.

    "What the 'ell's so funny?"

    "That's why you should never rush these things."

    She dove full-force into them, bulldozing through them in an effort to carve a path to Qayin so she could shield him if need be, but also taking down whoever she could on the way: bones snapped, tendons and pressure points were nailed and jarred, and then the fists and feet started reaching her.

    For several moments she could only see through the haze of her emotion, but with the increased threats, her mind forced itself to focus, and it seemed as though the horde was moving more slowly: she intercepted blows, turned them against their owners, kicked out ankles and twisted wrists, caved in noses, knocked the air out of lungs...

    Eventually her small fram disappeared in the crowd, only to resurface at odd times, but the sounds of her conquest did not. Part of the horde formed a large circle around her, attempting to corral her into a miniature arena of their own design -- a fighting ring that sometimes formed in the streets of places like Orl'kabbar -- but she kept diving into the main crowd, apparently determined to wreck as many of the attackers she could possibly lay her hands on. The circle would adjust then, forming around her anew, and it would remain this way for a few seconds before she broke it again. After several minutes she was covered in dirt and dust and bruises, scuff-marks and small lesions, but her fury never faded and the bodies continued to drop, unconscious, or groaning with their hands over their faces or cradling their busted legs and arms. Members of the horde fell, but Shell showed no signs of stopping.

    They had asked for it, she was angry, and damn if she was going to let them hurt any of her friends without at least hurting them back.
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    Meriele Logala


    Meriele saw the bench coming, had expected it, but this woman's sheer ferocity caught her slightly off guard, leaving only enough time to get out of the way of the majority of the blow. She caught what force was left with her left shoulder before ducking under the rest of the bench, and driving a knee towards the mountain-woman's abdomen, putting enough strength behind the blow to hopefully put her down for the moment.

    "So rude to a lady, tsk tsk. All I tried to do was compliment you and explain what I did.

    At that, hoping her knee connected, Meriele slid under her legs and sprinted down the rows of seating, heading directly for what was quickly becoming a mob. As she did, she looked upon the mob just in time to see some woman dressed in exotic robes crash her way through the horde, leaving nothing but screams and agony in her wake. Seeing that, she looked up towards the woman who had just bruised her shoulder.

    "Hey sweet-cheeks, you called me a jerk for hitting that guy, what've you got to say about that she-devil down below?"
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