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| Welcome to Elenlond, an original medieval fantasy forum! We're always looking for new, dedicated members. Elenlond is composed of two continents: Soare and Esiria. Esiria, a land now isolated due to the efforts of the last remaining Goddess, is inaccessible to all beings and lies in the east. Soare, a continent in the west, is composed of three distinct nations: Ashoka, Soto, and Morrim. Lying between the two major continents are the Scattered Isles. Since the dissolution of the pantheon and the fall of the gods, these countries have existed in relative peace and prosperity. But how long will that peace last? Enter Elenlond; Turn the pages and tell your own tale. If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Wrong Place, Right Time; For Alyth | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 5 2009, 03:07 PM (106 Views) | |
| Andromalius | Feb 5 2009, 03:07 PM Post #1 |
King of the Sexy Guys
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Walking through the streets of Orl'Kabbar, this city hadn't been here last he walked these grounds. Three-hundred years ago, the Obsidian Plains had been his stomping ground, known marked territory of the Black Mage. He could see, as he passed oblivious person after the next, that he had indeed been long forgotten. It was a shame, but acquiring a name for himself, as he recalled, had been enjoyable enough to do it again. After all, a life without fame isn't a life worth living, not for this spell-caster at least. What a rotten apple of a city this was. How wonderful. Screams were common, and any bits of joy and love that seeped through its cracks, like cockroaches, were smothered and destroyed. He decided to make this his capital city, that is, once he obtained the power to do so. Hopefully, it wouldn't be much longer, but he had never been trapped in a crystal of three-hundred years before, and his elementals hadn't gathered any useful information on that subject, so all he could do was boil in his impatience. As sight-seeing was enough to take him from his security, to personally view the modern world, he had another reason to be here, dirtying his feet among the pigs. His elementals had proven to be of little use in his current situation. He needed someone with a mind of their own to string up and play as his puppet, if only until they have met their potential. In a land of many curious figures, his own was blending in somewhat well. He assumed he had been getting the same treatment as all travelers. That would make the fourth time someone had attempted to pick his pocket, only to discover he possessed no pockets to pick, and nothing of value to steal. He was getting a name here, not Wicked, but instead 'that guy with no money'. Why on these black lands would he need such insignificant trinkets to weigh his graceful form down? He gradually noted the amount of eyes on him, more than he would like. A long, midnight blue cloak of satin concealed his body, swirling around his booted feet with every step. Its hood laid upon his head, deep, with a tail carrying down into a twist at the middle of his back. Set within the hood was a face, but an inorganic one made of porcelain depicting a man with heavy Greek influences, the face of a cherub, white and pure. The eyes set within the holes of it were sharp and penetrating, even as he took as much edge off of them as he possibly could force himself to. A white face and a contrasting clean, dark cloak, however, did well to pick him out of the gobs of people against the muddy, dull backdrop of this Babylonian metropolis. No doubt it was more than time for someone to approach him with the intent of taking advantage. The tall, mysterious figure was followed into a back ally, where everything goes wrong. The mage glanced up at the bricked dead end that presented itself in his way. Soon, something so simple would be irrelevant, but not today. Today, he would not get by. When he turned to correct his directional mistake, he considered the three men in front of him, all whom bared knives the size of cleavers. "I have no money. Ask your thieves," he commented dully, but the men didn't seem to lose their interest. "We're here to give ye a grand guide to tha city, Traveler," one spoke in a smoldering tone that failed to leave any room to the imagination as to what they were planning on doing. "Fer starters, never go down a deserted back ally... Heheh... Some folks 'round here take heads for trophies... and I'd say yers would be a fine addition ta any collection..." They advanced slowly, like panthers zeroing in on prey. Andromalius took a hesitant step back, drawing half of his cloak open to free his left hand, black taloned fingernails at the tips of the fingers which he stretched. "I implore you to reconsider this decision." "Ya, well we implore you to scream as loud as you want..." "That is another very bad decision." |
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| Alyth | Feb 5 2009, 08:19 PM Post #2 |
Muse Faucet
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Swamps were often terrible and disgusting places, full of pitfalls, swarms of insects, and stagnant air. Enchanted swamps, however, were worse still. Those that traveled through enchanted swamps learned to avoid the malnourished trees whose vines were razor sharp and mobile. They learned to stick to the driest ground possible and not follow strange lights which would keep pace with you until you drowned. They would not touch the flowers or go anywhere near them, and would heed the advice of transformed frogs. Most importantly, and most sensibly of all, one learned never to drink the water A steady squelching noise pervaded the air. Every few seconds small gas bubbles quickly filled up the prints left behind by a weary traveler. She had been in the wetland for several days, lost now by the incongruous terrain. Without stars or a horizon she could only guess at daylight by the vague shafts of light filtered through the trees. It seemed to be around noon based on the golden quality of the wetland and her growling stomach. The traveler paused to rest, nearly exhausted by this point. Her normally round cheeks had taken on a sharper, slightly whiter pallor. Her rough tongue listed vicariously from her mouth in a small effort to cool her down. Her effort was made wasteful by the pack she carried on her back and heavy leather armor. She felt dizzy and sick from being dehydrated and endlessly hunting for small beasts. All the water there was stagnant at best, half-poisoned from the strange plants that grew there. She could no sooner drink the water than bathe in it, not that she cared to bathe in it even if it were clear. Despite having a higher affinity for bathing than most of her kind, she hated the idea of starting into the water. It scared her to not know how deep she was going or what might happen if her essence was washed away with the grime. Better to be thought smelly and feral than lose a piece of yourself. With a heavy groan she continued on for a couple more days. Gradually the daylight dimmed until shadows deepened through the trees. Then finally the light ebbed away all together and darkness embraced the land. The young woman noted the change after a while. It made her feel uneasy, in case she was going crazy. Time must be slowed down for me...what is happening? Soon the land began to change and her paws tread on truly solid ground. The weight felt surreal, as if she were still slogging through mire. She came out into a small plain that ran through a rocky valley into a city. The city was a bustling, dark place full of crime and decay. Her tattered clothing fit in surprisingly well, mud-caked as it was, though the lithe form beneath it and lack of escort gained a few derisory jeers. Overall she was relieved to be out of the swamp, though no less comfortable in her surroundings. Nice work, Alyth. Out of the pot and into the fire. To escape the crowd she scaled the back of someone's house, leaping from a wagon cart to claw her way up to the gables. There she perched, tail flickering slowly and ears perked to the bustling city noise. The smell of the sewers was heavy in her nostrils and she longed to close her eyes and shut it all out. Slowly her head listen in exhaustion as she plotted what to do next. Her ears flickered once, giving just enough warning for her to wheel sideways, black-furred paws hitting the roof at unnatural angles. Three men surrounded her in an instant, one landing a blow to her face as she dodged the first. The half-cat's claws unvelveted and streaked out with surprising agility for one so weakened and she caught the man a swift slash to the chest. His cries were lost to her as the other two men seized her and threw her off the building into the alley below. Alyth landed on all fours, but lost her footing and rolled to a stop in the middle of another confrontation. Slowly she staggered upright, eyes flickering as her swimming vision focused on the men before her. Her claws were still unvelveted and her long wavy whitish/silver hair was plastered in part to her sweaty body. A large, reddish-purple bruise was already forming on the right side of her face, curling up her neck and along her jaw. It looked as if she'd been kissed by death, and as if the thief men were just waiting for her to fall into its unforgiving embrace. |
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| Andromalius | Feb 5 2009, 09:35 PM Post #3 |
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King of the Sexy Guys
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As he found his back pressed against the wall, forbidding him to move save for into the direct eye of the storm, the sound of shifting and scuttles drifted past his hood and into his ears. It was just in time as he curtly stepped aside, just barely missing a falling body. It moved, still alive, and twisted to discover itself between the wary mage and his assailants. "Ronie got 'nother one," the dimwit on the left turned his attention to the men on the roof. "Yeaaah well he missed 'is chance, din' he? Now we'll have two pretty heads..." a choir of ill tune in the form of deep chuckles flitted into the cramped ally space. They began their advance once more. The mage's attention remained on the girl, however, indifferent to his attackers. Their ego would be their downfall. All this time laughing it up could have been spent killing, which is why they were, and always will be, wasted flesh. He would feel no hesitation to end their lives. "Hello there," he cooed from his stance behind her, his right hand slithering out from beneath the folds of the cloak, rolling onto its back to where he offered her his palm. The digits that surround the offered were akin to the curling legs of a spider at its end. "Would you like some help?" Finally, his free left hand, the one he had been preparing, shot out and clapped against the wall. From the point of pressure, the wall began to rot, falling into itself, revealing a black hole of nothingness beyond. When he removed the hand, six eyes lit up the darkness beyond, glowing with hunger and rage. One by one, living shadows oozed from the gateway until three stood, intimidating in both muscle and height, flexing their jaws and hissing in anticipation. "Kill the three men before us," Andromalius commanded. The elementals would comply. Now that that was taken care of, he was certain he wasn't out of the clear yet. Her fall had not been a mistake. Surely the men on the roof would soon join the frey. "Come. We need to take care of the men who follow you." (( SEE! I can has short. =D )) |
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| Alyth | Feb 17 2009, 12:55 PM Post #4 |
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Muse Faucet
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Her dulled mind sought to assess the situation. She noted the brutish men with their dangerously casual postures and arrogant tones. They seemed to fit in too well with the city's air of shiftiness and dank depression. She also denied the proffered hand, unsure of who to trust. Any contact, no matter how slight, could mean an instant disadvantage. Nose wrinkling in disgust, she set her footpaws apart a bit more. To the unwary observer it might seem like she did this to stay propped up. In actuality she was preparing for what might happen next. Instinct forced the half-feline into a crouch, hissing in surprise as the wall behind her decayed. Unwisely she took a step backward, bumping into a brute behind her. Fortunately he seemed as surprised as she was by the appearance of shadow-like forms springing forth from the wall. A sudden surge jolted through her body, one of empowerment and elation. The new feeling lent her strength which she put to use by re-climbing up to the gables. Paw over paw she climbed with all the swiftness of a wildcat, and bounded onto the unstable roof. The first man came at her with a knife, thrusting it toward her aggressively. She grabbed his wrist and threw her body forward while pulling. The sudden movement sent him hurtling over the roof with a yelp of shock. The second she caught by surprise; Leaping onto him with unvelveted claws, the half-feline pinned him down. The skinny man flailed in her grasp like a mouse and she reacted inctinctively, biting deeply into his neck. She held him in that fashion until his struggles were muted to dull twitching. Slowly she let him go. Her strangely colored eyes watched his twitching with unusual fascination. The brief pause cost her dearly. One last man had thoughtfully strung a bow to cover the men below. In the initial battle he had cowered out of sight. Seeking his chance for freedom the man popped out of hiding and let loose an arrow. With a dull thud shaft sank itself into the woman's leg. Her small frame buckled instantly under the impact, allowing the man to make his escape. The already dark impression of the world around the young-looking woman slipped into a smudgy haze. She could make out the thick wooden shaft sticking from her leg and the rooftops listing crazily into each other several blocks down. Was it just her or were the sounds of carthorses below muffled? She felt sick to her stomach which seemed to be boiling and writhing in on itself. I have not eaten but...but...my..stomach...should not eat itself. As her dulled mind tried to grapple with this she leaned over the edge of the building and threw up. ((Bah...sorry for taking so long and lack of creativity. I took liberties with NPC, let me know if I should change that.)) |
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| Andromalius | Feb 17 2009, 02:07 PM Post #5 |
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King of the Sexy Guys
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When he realized that this girl wouldn't simply follow his commands, he retrieved his mind and drew it back to its more calmed state. Although he did handle the men easily, his dead heart had been beating rapidly with fear, the fear of his weakness betraying him. Such was the risk of stepping outside of his sanctuary, but keep in mind, he would have never risen to his former power without sick recklessness. Leaps needed to be made in order to obtain one's desires. Weight was shifted to his other foot while his attention shifted from the crazy girl on the roof to the men being slaughtered by his elementals. When they had been properly disposed of, a simple non-nonchalant wave of his hand melted them all away back into the abyss from which they had sprung. The mage tucked his arms into his cloak and turned his head up-wards with time enough to spot the arrow darting down, as well as the aftermath. A small side-step took him from the destination of the up-chuck, but regrettably, he failed to miss all of it. What hit the ground splattered back up, very subtly catching his cloak, and even a bit of his mask. The eyes beyond the mask's holes rolled. The arms that had vanished re-appeared, pulling the hood off of his head. The garment around him was shrugged off. Beneath, a black leather chest piece was worn, riddled with curious symbols. The neck was high, trimmed with silver, as were the armholes. The arms which came through were bare and paper white, save a pair of black, fingerless gloves which began just shy of his elbows, appearing to be the same as his chest piece, ancient letters scribed into them, edged by silver. Around his waist was a long black sash, tied at his side, flowing down to his calves. It held the white pants he wore, which were somewhat simple, save the unruly stitches. At his feet, his pants were tucked into thin boots which laced up his shin. Finally, his taloned hand, nails painted snow, plucked the mask from his face, revealing a ghostly visage of an inhuman creature. True, he had a nose, eyes, and a mouth in all the correct places, but something was amiss, as if he didn't belong here on this world. His hair was pulled up into a half-tail, his bangs freely framing his face and the rest beneath flowing and spreading over his shoulders as if it were attempting to replace the garment he had just shed, which the mask had joined on the filthy ground, never to be touched by him again. Andromalius heaved a sigh and stared upwards at the wounded one. She could have a bow and ribbon tied around her and it wouldn't make the situation any more perfect. Keeping an eye out for any more of the assailants' buddies, he made his way around until he found a place to climb up. Doing so felt very awkward - if he had his powers, he would be able to simply teleport. Arriving on the roof, he made his way over until he stood above her, his hair gently slithering along the breeze. He nudged her gently with the toe of his boot to examine how far gone she was. "My name is Andromalius," he told her. "I am going to pick you up and take you with me to a carriage. From there, I will take care of you until we arrive in a sanctuary a few days from here. I am genuinely concerned for your well-being. I will not rob you, or try to kill you. Is that understood? Will you comply?" |
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| Alyth | Jul 29 2009, 08:28 PM Post #6 |
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Muse Faucet
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As the boot gently nudged her small frame the half-feline hissed warningly, swiping a paw in his general direction. The movement caused her to wince, narrowing her already failing vision. Little tremors ran through her body and she looked downward, cupping a free paw firmly around the arrow. She inspected the wound carefully and did not like what she found. A slightly green tinge was starting to spread outward from the puncture like the veins of a leaf. "P-poison..." she coughed quietly. What am I to do about this? I cannot snap the shaft off as it did not go all the way through. Still, if I do not get this out... Hesitantly her grip hardened. "My name is Alyth, " she replied, as if the answer might be enough. Her golden eyes stared at him under thick strands of white hair, enraptured. There was something altogether powerful and beautiful about the man. She found her will bending to his, falling into the deceit of his soft voice and the depths of his treacherous eyes. She had a fleeting image of him grasping her in his arms and whisking her away over the tops of the buildings, as light of build and dark of shade as those he commanded. Yet something held her back...some inner instinct that froze her breath and made the fur of her tail stand on end. Or was that the poison? Summoning the last of her strength in response to some inner calling, Alyth pulled the arrow out. Her scream was piercing but brief as she slumped downward again. Blood tinged a sickening green seeped from the wound even as she held it closed. A wild euphoria crushed her body as shock set in and she leaped up haphazardly. She darted past the man, likely knocking into him on the way, and stumbled over the body of one of the thugs. As her body collided with that of the thug a deep crack appeared in the weak roof and both Alyth and the thug fell through it to the room below. They fell into a scene of chaos. Nearly the whole roof collapsed with them in a cascade of thatched rushes. The rushes and the body provided a soft fall but Alyth was too weak to stand. She lay there breathing heavily, disoriented, confused, and afraid. A few of the people that were in the room rushed out and several more ran in. There was a bunch of shouting and cursing and much rough movement as broken tables and chairs were knocked aside. A young-looking woman lying sprawled in the middle of it all atop a dead body was not unnoticed. Thick limbs seized her and dragged her shrieking from the building. Vainly she attempted to struggle again but one came up behind her and knocked her over the head with a broken spar of wood. Instantly her thin frame crumpled. She was grabbed and thrown over someone's shoulder and the men disappeared quickly into the bustling streets. Things like this happened in Orl' Kabbar. Many might have heard the commotion but none would come to help. Such was the way of the filthy city, which was a home to the most destitute and evil minded. With luck Alyth would be bundled off to some exotic city to be sold on a slave block to wealthier people. If her luck ran out she would become the prize meat in a never ending cycle of darkness. Hope was a curse in such days. |
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