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.


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    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.

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    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.

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    Beating Ploughs to Swords, Farmers to Warriors; Act II, Scene I - The Peasant's Revolt
    Topic Started: Sep 30 2014, 08:24 AM (594 Views)
    Juul Shaepah
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    | Spring, 8AR

    The village of Skepia was a hive of activity - under the clear sky, a trail of wagons came and went on the raddled dirt tracks. They brought people, and barrels of food and drink, and whatever hand-me-down weapons the populace of this fife could muster. Crowds thronged in the fields, labouring instensely under the afternoon sun, constructing trellises and turning over the soil in preparation for another yield. The fields had been extended, as far as the south-facing land would accommodate, for this harvest was not just to feed the peasants and their lord. In the coming months, this was to feed an army.

    Juul stood at the bustling centre square, watching the direction of the new arrivals. Once the hue and cry had been raised, of the so-called King of the West that was soon to be cracking the whip over them, many villages and hamlets had travelled to Skepia to join the resistance against him. The population had grown thrice, and those that could not be housed within the rough stockade had taken to living out of their wagons, or rough tents, north of the village. A camaraderie was in the air, as old friends were reunited, and new ones made, in an atmosphere of common cause. It brought a smile to the soldier's face, but she knew that the coming struggle would be bloody indeed. Many of the friendships she saw now would be doubtless severed by flashing steel or coughing sickness.

    The response had been good, in terms of manpower. In terms of weaponry it was awful; battered helmets, blunt swords and broken spears had been the order of the day. Juul had sent a contingent to the outskirts of Eth'netora, under the auspices of Yorrick the miller, where they had been instructed to cut long staves for pikes. The blacksmiths would then be at work, reforging the useless iron into points savage enough to take a charge. As for the recruits, she had taken up her drum and was drilling them daily - the march, the charge, the turn - in between their exhausting work tilling the earth, as well as schooling them a little on grappling. They were doughty and tough, with a little discipline they would be an effective force.

    The horses they had claimed from the brigands were being put to good use, given to the most able riders. Daffyd, one of the sellswords of their original coterie, and Alum, the smith's son, were among their number. Sinadryn had seemed a little perturbed by the formation of the rough army, and had volunteered to scout. She had sent Etherone with him - he was not a man who did well being idle. Had he stayed he would have doubtlessly caused trouble. Those four, and seven others, were probing for the advance camps of the enemy.

    She cast her eyes around the square, noticing a couple of recruits - Rudolf and Otto - lollygagging. They had arrived two days previously, from a nearby hamlet, and were a funny pair - the former incredibly tall and lanky, the latter being something of a squat brute. She approached them, eyes flashing, her mouth a leering grin.

    "'Ere, Rudolf, ye ent got work to do?"

    As he made to answer, she hit him on the chin with a jab, which was closely followed by a heavier right cross, before grabbing and pulling him to her. Her balance shifted, and she rolled him over her hip before releasing him, the man falling heavily on his shoulder with a dull thud. She wheeled, facing Otto, her teeth still glinting from between her chapped lips.

    "Too slow. He needs practice, so practice wi'him. Go!"

    The last word was a sharp bark, and catapulted the flinching man into action. He picked up his stunned comrade, and they limped off together, disappearing into milling wagons, horses and people. She turned once more, eying new recruits with a certain avarice. She did enjoy being the boss. After a minute or so of sharp observation, bathing somewhat in her authority, she eyed a number of figures that were obviously not locals coming in on the back of a wagon. She raised her arm, and hailed.

    "Hail! Get 'ere so I can 'ave a look at ye!"
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Sep 30 2014, 02:02 PM.
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    Viktor
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    "You didn't have to come, you know" Vik grumbled, lazing in the back of wagon, his head on his elaborate cape (it was merely purple without silver, after all, he was travelling light) facing up to the sky whilst the said person who did not have to come drove.

    The wagons driver was... Of complicated relation to him. Legally his Auntie, although in reality a very distance cousin of his age that his grandparents had adopted after tragedy befell her birth family. She was one of his best friends since childhood but... She was very much herself. He was not sure how to describe it.

    "I go where you go" Ceiwyn Zauber responded, her voice soft, but with real force behind it. She looked almost dainty, in a way. A simple blouse and trousers, tough boots and a functional cloak. All of them in muted colours. Her black hair was hewn short, just above the neck, but she looked so... Dispassionate. Not uninterested, but she always seemed to have the appearance of someone who had just received bad news. When she had heard about how Vik and Eva had almost died at the hands of a bunch of giants she had become very protective of both of them, although mainly Viktor.

    In the back Vik was dressed in what he assumed was how travellers actually dressed. Purple cloak, changes of clothes and a generous amount of personal spending money. He also had let his wand rest by Cei's sword. He had left his wand aside because it was uncomfortable in his cloak. Cei her sword because the multiple blades she could lock onto her rapier meant the hilt and scabbard were a little bulky.

    "I can look after myself" the young man grumbled, although under his breath enough that Cei would not hear him.

    They had gone to Morrim- Well, Vik had gone to Morrim and Cei had appointed herself bodyguard- mostly because Ashoka seemed dangerous and the Zauber's happened to a major family within Soto. To Viktor travel still had a sense of romanticism, adventure and discovery. The fact he had enough of his familys money to buy his way out from hunger, and if needed could be home within the day because of the flying dragon/ carriage hybrid back home did not, to him, diminish this in the slightest.

    It was this outlook which caused a cry of:

    "Hail! Get 'ere so I can 'ave a look at ye!"


    To be a cause of excitement, as oppose to worry. Almost as quickly as Ceiwyn had glowered at the woman challenging them he had jumped to his feet, the cloak swinging back into place.

    "Good day villagers!
    "

    He called with a bow that oozed showmanship

    "We are but simple performers following the traffic to ply our trade!"

    With a hop Viktor leapt from the side of the wagon, managing to land in a gymnastically impressive manner, pausing before clapping twice, using his magic to make his clothes all turn a vibrant shade of pink on the first clap, and then back again on the second.

    He held for applause.
    Edited by Viktor, Oct 1 2014, 03:31 PM.
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    Nakara Besschentyil
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    @$^#$^%!!!!!

    By the time Viktor Zauber had sprung from the back of his wagon, Nakara was just pulling up in her own. She had come from a different direction, away from main roads, and her own transport was slightly larger and the back was laden with crates, the strong horse drawing it beginning to tire from the long journey.

    Due to her own mental instability she had up to this point refrained from taking part in such civil rebellion, but recently she had met some people who were so inspiring it likely would have been a great dishonour to hide any longer. Or something. It sounded like something Olaf would say, bless his iron backbone. She smiled and tapped out a cigarette she'd been nursing, eyeing the proceedings with barely disguised amusement. An illusionist..?

    "Hail! Get 'ere so I can 'ave a look at ye!"

    "Aye." The sorceress murmured under her breath with a smirk. She had lived with a militant family long enough to know when to get down and follow the damned orders, even if she did have a natural problem with authority. She drew the reins in and swung down from her seat, a sleek silent figure in dark leathers and tarnished steel pieces, long silvered sabre at her side: a staple of the Naumenko family, each warrior in the family had one, no pommel, traditional and wyrm-hilted. Her deadly gauntlets were beneath the wagon seat, and she saw no need to break them out or even show her magics at the moment. In fact, it was probably best she didn't show it until she had established some kind of trust between herself and whoever her commanding officer would be. Probably this redheaded soldier. Nakara sized the person up, not knowing or caring for the gender: they looked tough as nails, moulded for the task. Her smile curved sharply, appreciative.

    As the young illusionist performed his talents, Nakara drew her messy hair back away from her face and pinned it there, circling her wagon and checking her crates to make sure they were all in good shape and order. They were.

    Good. While the training and crafting she could see and hear around her sounded promising, they'd need the contents of these crates. Badly.
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    Juul Shaepah
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    The soldier stiffened, her back straightening, her posture erect. Her eyes were narrowed slightly, against the high sun, as she watched the first of the foreign wagons pull in, the lady driver glowering at her. A top lip curled upwards in half a sneer in response, as a gregarious young man appeared from behind the driver, full of a flamboyant air, his regal cloak sweeping with his exaggerated movements. Her lip receded as he bowed theatrically, and leaped to land before her - the gallery touch of shifting hues at the sound of clapping provoking only a single raised eyebrow from her.

    She hawked loudly, and spat, the blob of frothy sputum landing between the pair. She hadn't much room in her heart for magickers - and the difference in their attire provided a convenient symbol for her. The contrast between her rough trews and gambeson, with the worn leather of her boots and belt and scabbard contrasted with their simple, yet impeccably made clothes. Her lips pressed together, before spearating quickly with a kissing smack, her eyes narrow with a definite suspicion on the pair as she spoke.

    "Aye? So, ye jugglers or summin?" she said, one eye squiniting as she gave a mocking half smile. "Ye might provide a welcome show fr'us. I'll warn ye, though - I don' think the flow of traffic is a true shepherd to ye, in these parts. There's a promise o' bloody days this summer, an' work enough t'split hard calluses."

    Her eyes shifted from the ebullient man before her as a second wagon pulled up, a leather clad figure, unmistakeably feminine, emerging. A quiet confidence animated her slightly swaying gait, and she raised her voice as she continued, cutting through the hubbub that surrounded them - half so the newcomers could hear her proclamation, half to remind the busied villagers of the dangers they faced.

    "A tyrant, fat with plunder, sits as a birthing sow on the fiefs north o' here, the threat o' terrible conquest set to spill forth from 'is foul womb. He calls 'imself King o' th' West, and seeks to make slaves of us all, and all Morrim if he's half a mind fr'it. Th'lord o' this fief is worse than nothin, and he's posted no stewards or knights t'resist. So, we are rallying the stout Morrimian, the tillers an' shepherds, seeking our own recourse t'wicked tyranny."

    Her eyes shifted between the eldritch pair, and the approaching woman, her features now revealed beneath a restrained wildland of hair. Sunlight glinted from the hilt of her sabre, and the soldier looked beyond, to the stacked crates that fattened her wagon. Her scarred features broke into a wolfish grin, and she gave an exaggerated wink and a click of the tongue.

    "Ah! A woman after me own heart, f'sure. What yer cargo?"

    She stepped back, her posture bolt upright, her left hand resting lightly on the pommell of her scabbarded sword. She looked at the trio, keeping her feral grin, and introduced herself.

    "The name's Juul Shaepah, an' I'm the half-willing captain o' this lollygaggin' rabble. When the day's work is done, ye should meet th'elders o' th' villages, but for now ye deal wi'me."
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Oct 8 2014, 09:39 PM.
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    Artorias
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    A dusty, sun-seared breeze swept the valley, throwing what sparse vegetation dared grow on such a barren, field. Raising an armored appendage, Artorias glared up in mild displeasure as the sun reappeared from atop a cloud. The heat was blistering, enough to make a normal man run for cover and laze about in the shade. Such a life, or even such thoughts, however, had little to no place amongst his ilk. With a light rasp and the crunch of plated metal on gravel, he found himself stopping to gather his bearings. While not directionally challenged, he had little desire to get lost, and even less so the the time to work his way back around should such an occasion arise. Caravans and wagons had been passing him almost by the minute, most running full tilt to get... Somewhere. The swordsman knew little of this area of the world, and could only assume there was fancy-to-do further down the road. Or he was close to reaching his destination.

    One might guess, then, that he was following this now deserted path out of pure curiosity. This couldn't be further from the truth. Many leagues back, he had been tracked down by a messenger and given a folded scroll. Refusing any questions and jetting off faster than he'd care to admit, said carrier was long gone before he could ask for a whom or what. Not one to suffer fools, he simply passed it off as fright, as if he was sent to track him, he must surely be aware of exactly who he was. After much deliberation, he ended up not simply tossing the document, opting to open and read its contents instead. What he found was a ludicrous request, the very nature of which challenged what little sanity he retained. He was to fight in yet another skirmish, something about farmers and a king, and win the war for their side.

    Once again fighting the urge to simply toss the bothersome thing aside, he then reached the bottom, where a bold, underlined warning foretold of veteran warriors on the opposing side. Without so much as second proof-read he was off, setting a ridiculous, exhaustion inducing pace to Skepia. Now, approximately a week later, he had all but arrived, weary and in quite an irritable mood. The blazing star above had left him with little reprieve as he traveled, attempting everything in its considerable power to fry him from within his armored shell. It had failed, but only just, and the endeavor had all but consumed Artorias' patience. A glint ricocheted into his eye, drawing the entirety of his focus for but a moment. While not overly likely in such an area, he had been the victim of ambushes before, and a glint was usually the only warning one received. Instead he was gifted the sight of some of the worst swordplay he'd ever laid eyes upon.

    Two men, each or a large, bulky build, were slamming their ancient, horribly maintained weaponry against one another with reckless abandon, screaming as they overextended and wasted countless amounts of energy repeatedly. With an unseen scowl he found himself moving on, eyebrows pursed together in a curious mix of embarrassment, irritation, and utter bewilderment. In all of his years, he had never seen such horrible handling of any tool, much less one designed for the battlefield. Rising over the next crest, his mood worsened considerably. His destination lay before him, the very landscape masked by wagons, tents, and even lean-to's. While the crowd meant easier access to certain areas, the very scope of the sparring before him was staggering. And, for the most part, it was horrendous. If he had been a General, and this his army, he'd have sent them home and fought the opposition himself.

    Cracking his neck in undue bother, he set off again, mind set on simply finding the contact known to him only as "Flame Mane". An odd name to be certain, one which had left him bewildered upon first thought. Red hair, however wasn't particularly popular as a whole, and should prove easy to find when paired with a position of power. "Hail! Get 'ere so I can 'ave a look at ye!" Well, that was certainly robust. Even still, he'd only just heard over the roar of the crowd. Adjacent to his current position, just to his Nine O-Clock lie exactly what he'd been searching for. Her attire was the bare essentials, littered with naught but a tunic and trousers. Hanging from her hip, yet within an unquestionably familiar grasp lie a short blade, the quality of which was hidden from his eye. And yet he had little doubt as to it's fine make, should it belong to such a person. She was indeed a woman, if her voice was anything to go by, yet her posture deemed her a soldier, nothing more and nothing less.

    Hair of a flaming quality sprouted from her scalp, stopping just shy of her nape, and laying shorter at the front for increased peripheral vision. Brown eyes, currently shining in the wake of a rather feral, minimalistic grin, analyzed the small gathering of characters before her. With their backs to him, Artorias could see very little of them, especially at such a distance. Making his way through the throngs of farmers, blacksmiths, and wanna-be warriors, he stopped just shy of her position, keeping a good fifteen feet of space between them. Trust was earned not given. "The name's Juul Shaepah, an' I'm the half-willing captain o' this lollygaggin' rabble. When the day's work is done, ye should meet th'elders o' th' villages, but for now ye deal wi'me." Perfect. Ignoring the rather... Flamboyant man to his right, he nodded his head slightly, speaking out in his booming baritone as he addressed this 'Juul'.

    " I am Artorias Verlassen. A mutual benefactor requested I impart my services unto you. What do you require of me, Commander?"

    Even as his name whisked out from betwixt his lips, a few civilians nearby gasped, some looking on with a mixture of fear and anticipation, as if excited by the idea of his presence amongst their side. A common occurrence, to be certain, but decidedly not preferred. Still, he could only hope Juul knew little to nothing of his reputation. Everything would be much simpler that way, and he had no desire, or patience to wade through a political minefield while fighting a war.
    Edited by Artorias, Oct 11 2014, 06:26 PM.
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    Viktor
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    "A juggler? You wound me" Vik took mock offence, placing a hand of his heart, but the woman turned to address another cart before he could continue.

    It seems what he thought had been exactly right. A corrupt lord leading a little violent something or other, he looked to Cei. "No" she told him, eyes narrowing "We should go home" added quickly, before Viktor could object "You gain nothing here. We can only be hurt".

    Vik shook his head, he knew Cei would not understand but... "These are people killing people!" he tried to explain to her. What else did he need to say? Humans were... Human. No person deserved to die. People were giving, and nurturing and full of life and goodness. He had heard of what was going on, it was why he had accidentally ended up here (when Cei tagged along he knew coming here on purpose would never have worked) and it made him feel, well, angry. Anger was the word. He wanted to find this lord and grab and yell why? Why would you do this? Make him be better, be human. Understand what it was that he, and all those following him were doing.

    He span on his heel back to face the warrior woman "I-mmf" he was cut off as with lightning speed Cei had jumped off the cart and placed her hand over his mouth. "I do not want to see anything hurt you" she told him, whispered "Live".

    Her grip loosened slightly, and he whispered back "Being the person who could ignore this is no life." Her grip loosened, and slowly withdrew until she was clinging softly onto his sleeve. There was fire in her eyes, the sort that made him not even consider telling her to go home, but whatever it was driving her seemed to have relented. For now. "I'll help" he declared "By my family's standard I may not be much of a mage, but" he shrugged "Hell, I was attacked by an island full of Giants a month ago" he felt Cei's grip stiffen "Making a few people see sense should be no big".

    "Do not be impressed. He did little to fight the giants himself and survived mostly through the intervention of others and luck. His direct combat skills are below par at best and in the right circumstances." Cei spoke clearly and strongly as Vik turned and got in a state of stunned disbelief.

    Sure, she was right but you did not just go out and say things like that! It was like she wanted him to be- Ah. That was it. For her tendency to be quiet, and cold to anyone but him, Eva and their grandparents it was easy to forget she usually was very quick at coming up with little plans like that. But he was still amazed that she was so willing to let such things happen to other people.

    ---


    She did not want Vik here. There was dangerous, and she had almost lost him and Eva so recently. Eva had always taken her magical studies seriously, and tended not to jump into things the way Viktor did. That had been why she insisted on coming with. She would protect him, because he had a good heart, but he was weak. She was strong, but that strength meant nothing it she could not keep her small world together. She had long ago learnt how harsh the world was. Everything could end in an instant for anyone, so she clung onto those she loved tightly. People died all the time, it was natural. The world had so much chaos it was foolish to try and stand against it. If she had here way there would only be her, Vik, Eva, Grandmother and Grandfather. If everyone else died, so be it. She would protect what was important to her... Even if he insisted on charging into the maw of danger. Her grip on his sleeve was iron. She did not trust him not to run and do something foolish. Why did he want to be involved in all this, was life not enough? People died all the time, to intervene... She just wanted to hold him close to her until everything else went away,
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    Nakara Besschentyil
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    @$^#$^%!!!!!

    With a smirk and a proffered hand for shaking, she decided immediately that she liked this Juul. Straightforward, strong. Practical. "Nakara Besschentyil, I'm representing someone who wants to see the underdog kick the ass and get the girl. Cargo is a gift of good faith, from him to you, that you will surely do so."

    She had only drafted the introduction when the time came for it, so it lacked some of the panache and charisma her adoptive father would probably have preferred. But at some point the gloves came off, the mud kicked up, and people had to get dirty. This little dispute was one of those points. She hefted a crowbar from the back and wrenched one of the crates open with it.

    "Bolts." And another. "Crossbows." Another. "Mix-n-match armor, mostly plate and leather, but there's some chain in there. Oh, you get me too." Her grin flashed like the blade at her side. "There's more supplies like this if you need them, I've got a carrier can take your request like the wind. Though my employer would like to remain anonymous."

    From inside, Vannevar craned her neck to look at the newcomer, a fearsome-looking monster of a man (if he even was that). Her eyes narrowed slightly, both with the invasion if her bodily control and the chill the new guy added to it. If Vannevar was interested, he was probably bad news -- she turned away to watch the young illusionist and the woman with him.

    Perhaps it was the lack of alcohol in her system for the last week, but the show of smothering love rather tugged at the heart strings of Nakara, who valued freedom above all things. She spoke up -- though it was probably a bad idea.

    "He won't be alone, ma'am. If he doesn't do what he thinks is right he'll live his whole life regretting it. Uh, sorry for telling you how to raise your son."

    She lit up another cigarette. Damn, she needed a drink to deal with all these people around her...
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    Juul Shaepah
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    The soldier remained passive as she faced the eddying currents of movements before her, like a solitary rock out at sea, standing erect against the flow of the tides. There was a speedy flurry, as the glowering driver dove from her position to half-smother the ebullient man - The Juggler, as Juul now knew him in her mind - along with the gentle, swaying grace of the approaching woman. Her ears seemed almost to lean forward, as she struggled to hear both the frantic protestations of the pair and the lilting, lazy tone of the smoking woman. Juul blinked languidly, before she made a reply, turning her head first to the struggling pair.

    "Ye strong enough t'brace a pike, lad? Yer... wife... looks th'part but I need no weak links i'th'chain I'm forging here. This'll be no play, wi'the terrifyin' villain safely contained t'the stage. He's real, an' could be mustering his soldiers as we speak - to resist means fire, an' blood, an' singin' steel. If ye have the guts for it, yer welcome - but know tha' this is serious." she spoke well, her tone almost cordial despite her narrowed eyes, she then looked to the other, the lone woman, as he hefted an iron and cracked open a crate - with some glee, she noticed.

    "Oeh, a shadowy benefactor have we? Crossbows are welcome, f'sure. Easy to train an' effective against all comers. An' we are in sore need of armour, these fellers think a breastplate should bemade o' fleece." she flashed a grin again, her thumb idly tapping the pommel of her sword "An' you as well, Knick-Knack? Vespasian smiles on me today, f'sure. If ye use tha' blade as well as ye look t'be able to, we've more than a force t'match what we face."

    She turned to the left, eyes trailing the limping pair she had harangued earlier. Suddenly, she cupped her hands about her mouth, her voice erupting from her like a savage bark in the dead of night, cutting through the general hubbub that surrounded them.

    "Otto, drop 'im an' find ten men to unload this wagon, will ye?" she waved briskly at Nakara's transport "Take 'em to the granary an' break 'em open, an' ye best be smilin' when ye see wha's inside!"

    She shifted her gaze back to the assembled coterie, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw an armoured figure approaching. He looked far more ragged than when she had first clapped eyes on him, yet the resemblance sang clear to her through the halls of her memory. Five years ago, in the initial advance of Andromalius, in wetlands of Loniar. An endless rain, and a hard slog through the swamp, fighting off cunning ambushes from vicious tribesmen. The surviving columns had joined together circled in a wall of shields and swords and spear, surrounded by a baying, ululating enemy. Their fallen comrades had been nailed to trees, screaming awfully for their lives. Morale had hit rock bottom, and the assembled mercs had resolved to go down fighting. Juul herself, soaked to the skin and govered with much and gore, braced behind her shield with gritted teeth.

    Until one of their number had charged forth, an ornate sword flashing as he leapt into the shrieking enemy. He cut left and right, cutting warcries into blood-choked screams, his steel inflicting awful wounds into their cloth-armoured foe. The column had followed, brought out of their doomed somnolence, and driven them off. Even as the man's deep voice spoke, heavy and slightly metllic from his helm, she knew his name.

    She took two steps forward, forcefully grabbing the man's right arm in the warrior's grip - wrist to wrist. She bared her teeth a little as the flesh of her battered hands pressed sharply against his armoured gauntlet. With that, she stepped back once more, and spoke.

    "Artorias Verlassen. I marched wi'ye through Loniar, some five year ago. Ye cut a path through the Ashokans, an' we followed ye wi'glee." she bared her teeth in another grin, tongue brushing her incisors, before she continued "It seems we're attractin' quite a few o' these shadowy brokers. I've not a clear thought why..."

    She clapped her hands, almost to bring herself back to the present, her mind racing with what next to do. She raised her hand, and beckoned briskly for the group to follow her, as she turned on her heel and set off in her mile-eating soldier's stride, towards the western entrance of the stockade. The working crowds, going to and fro, seemed to part for her approach, and she called back to them over her shoulder.

    "Follow! I'll take ye to some vantage, an'I can tell ye whats afoot an' where t'go."
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Oct 13 2014, 05:40 AM.
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    Artorias
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    A sharp ring emanated throughout the area, the unmistakeable sound of flesh meeting metal meeting the ears of all nearby. The very force behind the shake was strong enough to override the sounds of mock battle just yonder, drowning it out completely as forearm clasped forearm in a chillingly familiar shake. There was only one such soldier who would dare grasp him so familiarly, and her feral grin left no doubt in his mind. Ashoka, Loniar, the marsh. So much death, so many lives lost. Artorias, for his part, remained stoic as possible, adrenaline rising as his memory shot him nearly five years into the past. It had been a routine job; Flush out the outlanders, drive them back from whence they came, and then collect his pay.

    If only it had been so simple. A week-long campaign had rapidly transformed into a living hell, stretching an entire month with no surefire end in sight. For every one troop they lost, they took at least two, but numbers meant for nothing in the swamp. Between the ambushes, quicksand, and the demented crucifixion of captured soldiers, the overall moral had all but fallen to its knees. The day of reckoning arrived that next dawn, all but a handful of the once mighty mercenary army left standing in the face of two hundred natives. Going down fighting seemed to be the one unanimous thought shared within their company, and many were already resigned to dying that day. Save two. Artorias himself, and a stout, hardy redhead, everything from her shield to her clothing soaked in the gore of her vanquished enemies. The look in her eyes said it all; She would not die that day.

    Gambling it all, Artorias yelled over that he would cut a path through the enemy, giving them time to regroup and slaughter whatever wasn't caught up in his distraction. With a leap and a roar he charged, giving them no time to argue before cleaving through ten, then twenty, then thirty, until he could no longer had time to think of anything but the next attack. True to their part, the mercs behind him annihilated all that came for them. Before the days end, they stood upon the hill of bodies victorious. With a full body shudder he was back in the present, body tensed and heart threatening to destroy his ribcage with its incessant, rough beating. Still arm in arm with his Commander, he grasped back hard as she spoke. "Artorias Verlassen. I marched wi'ye through Loniar, some five year ago. Ye cut a path through the Ashokans, an' we followed ye wi'glee." Another grin, tongue brushing her incisors, cam to bear before she spoke again. "It seems we're attractin' quite a few o' these shadowy brokers. I've not a clear thought why..."

    The large man could only assume she meant to stragglers to either side of him, each currently caught up in their own devices. One, a rather pale woman, was unloading crate upon open crate of military grade weapons, armor, and gear en mass. Her appearance, if one were to put it in a word, was dark. Skin, a dark, olive assortment, rang true against her dark, abyss-black to chestnut-brown lochs, the wild mane setting her small, angled face in an almost animal-esq, and mildly intimidating frame. To be fair, Artorias had very little knowledge in the area of beauty, and yet, even he could call her attractive, in a demure, non-aggressive way. But it was not her looks that garnered his attention, it was her frame. At least six feet in height and moderately muscled, he could only assume that she embodied the phrase "Toned". She looked to have seen her fair share of battles, and he had no qualms with standing beside her on the field of war.

    His next target on the other hand... With a disapproving glance, he not-so-subtly took in the physicality of the magician and his sidekick. Even if they had pooled their collective experience together, he doubted there was much combat knowledge between them. That said, he would rather not have a trickster mucking about and making the battlefield a clutter with his tricks and tactics. Soft bodied men don't belong in war, for in such a game, only the mightiest survive. Cowards and tricksters were usually the first to go, and all the more gruesome for it. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to his Commander, awaiting her orders and opting to ignore the squabbling of the couple indefinitely. Without warning the redhead spun on her heal, tearing off at a very soldeir-esq pace. "Follow! I'll take ye to some vantage, an'I can tell ye whats afoot an' where t'go." Three steps later and he was right on her heels, matching her pace.
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    Viktor
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    Vik spluttered. His wife? He glanced back at Cei, who had turned her head away no doubt out of embarrassment. Although it was tough to explain what relation she was. A distant one, who had been adopted by his grandparents after something happened to her own mother and father. He was not sure, what, it never felt right to ask about it.

    "She's a..." he trialled off "sort of my sister?" was the best he could come up with. Cei did not seem to want to offer any explanation. He did not quite understand her sometimes, mainly her apathy. How could she be so concerned about protecting him, and not anyone else?

    "He cannot use a pike" Cei cut in, the red now having left her cheeks "I will not let you put him in harms way"

    She had almost finished speaking when Vik shook himself free. "I may not be able to use a pike, but I can make anything stronger or more brittle, lighter of heavier at a distance. If this other person has mage's I can neutralise them as well, without needing to hurt anyone" he felt somewhat like he needed to stake his claim. "And Cei can-"

    "I protect you. Nothing more." she cut in immediately, her hand on the hilt of her rapier.

    "Fine, but a Zau- mmmf!" he glared back at Cei, who had placed her hand over his mouth again. She mouthed a word at him. Annoyed, whatever romantic idealism Vik held, she did not doubt that they may choose to ransom him if they knew who he was, and his family name. She did not think she could take all of them and get him free, especially as she would need to kill. She did not want to do that, Vik very much hated the idea of killing anyone. His idealism was... It made her want to smile. But it was naive. This world was too cruel, and he seemed oblivious to it. You could not save anyone. It was not even killing ten to save a hundred, you found what was important to you and damn the rest. Conflict was inevitable, as they ate animals, humanity would devour each other to gain what it wanted. She was going to say something, but Vik began to walk away, following the redhead. She hurried after him, keeping pace easily.

    Still, that determination in his eyes to save everyone, it was so...

    "I think I know roughly what is going on" Vik explained, just keeping up, although not with Cei's ease "It's a power grab, and this man needs to see sense before anyone else gets hurt, no?"

    Nobody needed to die. He did not care who it was, not one person. Until they sank to that monstrous level when they were no longer truly people, they deserved life. He had been born rich and talented, and he had wasted that talent, his grandmother and Eva told him. Why should anyone else be denied the chance to? Or why should a mistake damn them?

    He was going to save everyone.
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    Nakara Besschentyil
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    @$^#$^%!!!!!

    Nakara did not speak much after that -- in fact she said very little at all, simply watching the proceedings and listening silently, prepared to speak only if she was spoken to. The strong bond between old war buddies was not lost on her, and she looked away unable to stand it. Suddenly the world turned dingy and disgusting and she hated it.

    It was hard to frame her feelings with words, not because of their origins but because they were so powerful: guilt, scalding hot and bitter in her entire body, self-reproach, an overwhelming urge to either grip a bottle and bring it to her face or grip a knife and bring it to her face. No, she hadn't fit well in the army at all. Not then, not now. Did she even fit here? What right did she have to be here, playing soldier when she'd never done it honestly before?

    She wasn't like these people. She had never been young and full of idyllic zeal like the illusionist, never protective like his sort-of sister. Never commanding respect or taking things seriously like the dark warrior, never sure of herself and full of gritty experience like her new commanding officer. No, when the chance had come and gone for Nakara Besschentyil to prove she was a proper human being when she had been needed, she'd already been piss drunk, half-dead on cigarettes, wasting her youth, kicked out of the military, of all things: the place a lot of parents might send their kids to straighten out, had rejected her.

    But did she really blame them? Always skittering around orders to do things her own way, talking back, causing fights. Full not with ideals and high aspirations, but a shitty attitude, and a blatant lack of empathy. She'd been unreasonable, wanting the world to shape itself to fit her, wanting it to fix the shit it had done to her, never thinking that maybe she wasn't the only one suffering. There were countless people suffering -- it wasn't until recently that she had begun to realize this, and she realized it with the same hot-faced shame that plagued her the moment Juul and Artorias gripped arms. She raised her narrow eyes to them once more, hiding the look beneath her short lashes.

    You can be proud. Nakara had told herself then, viewing the same bond. Then, she had been walking away from it. Now she eyed it like a hungry kitten. Proud that you're smarter than all of them.

    The grip fell, and so did her eyes. A bare snarl crossed her features and accidentally lit upon one of the young idiots opening the crates on her wagon. She snuffed out her smoke and tossed it aside like she wished she could make a crater with it. Right dead smack in the middle of her life. Well, maybe she'd get to die in battle anyway, she thought as she followed the others, expression now deadpan and unbetraying of her true feelings on the entire matter. She felt like a wrinkled turd following these people, taking up the rear, saying nothing. Pretending to be a good person. Another cigarette clenched between shaking fingers came to her lips when no one was looking. Her free hand curved, mimicking the familiar shape of the bottle she'd been hiding in for most of her life.

    I'm not so proud.

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    Juul Shaepah
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    The soldier marched onward, keen ears picking up the cacophony of the different gaits that followed in her wake. The ambling - half rushed struggles of the Juggler and his bodyguard; the heavy, rhythmic steps punctuated with the clink of metal and leather that belonged to Verlassen; the light, swaying step of Besschentyil, her leather creaking with movement. The village was full of sweating men, women and children, going to and fro in their labours - some retrieving tools and materials to construct their rough shelters, others taking water and rations to those labouring in the fields, still others coming back to break from their nascent combat training. All seemed to part unconciously at the advance to the group, and she just caught Viktor's idealistic exclamation.

    "Eh? Before anyone gets hurt?" she turned to glance at the following pair, one eye squinted with utter disapproval "People are dead already, ye eejit. Th'man's been sending reavers to break th'morale o'th fief, an' heads have rolled an' purses emptied. Th'only way that this tyrant's gon' see sense is if't happens to be in his guts when I cut'em from 'im. This s'war."

    She clicked her tongue from between her teeth, half pushing past a trio of shawled priests - conspicuous in their lack of ornamentation, the only thing identfying them as acolytes of Vespasian being the plain black shawls over their heasds. They seemed to be conspiring in half-whispers, but Juul didn't care overmuch - prayers were good for morale, gave the blessing of divine ordinance to the proceedings. At last, they came to the western entrance, and moved out onto the muddy track running through the high grasses. moving past incoming wagons. By Vespasian there were a lot of people!

    "We'll go to th' hill o'er yonder," she motioned at a fair incline ahead and to their right, her voice losing the bark it had needed to cut through the previous hubbub, taking on a more conciliatory tone "Then ye can see the layout o'th' place. If there's room, I'll billet ye i' th' mill wi'me. If not, ye might have t'slum it in yer wagons Not that the mill's much better, mind.."

    She marched up the slope, the hard leather of her boots creating swish through the knee-high grasses, scattering dandelions to the winds and trampling thistles underfoot. She took a deep breath as the group crested the hill, turning to face them, her eyes raking their assembly. Ceiwyn still glowered, and Viktor's eyes still seemed bright with questions and possibilities. Artorias was impossible to read past his armour, and Nakara seemed as though a cloud had settled over her, almost as if she was folding in on herself. Almost like Neveni, moon-eyed as they sheltered from the storm.

    Juul blinked, banishing thoughts of that sweet woman from her - she would only get sad, and soft. Right now, she needed to be a piece of iron, a terrible bludgeon. She motioned at the village, the fields and the temporary camp - the layout of which was clear as a bell now. She made to speak, but was interrupted by the chattering bleat of a goat - she had forgotten they liked the elevation and the tough grasses here. She cleared her throat, before her voice rang out.

    "Alright. To th' south's the fields, an' unless ye know how t'till the ground ye should stay away. We're growin' every day, an' we don' know if the harvest will stretch. An army marches on it's stomach. To th'north is the temporary camp, where the new arrivals an' their families are billeted. There's latrine trenches dug, so use 'em if ye stay there. We don' need a disease decimatin' us. To th'east is th' training ground." she motioned to where eighty or so men were being drilled in the march, the turn and the run by Callum, a belligerent sellsword from the initial discovery of the brigands. Though their movements were a little clumsy, they were markedly better than they had been a week ago.

    "Tha's where ye'll be spendin' most o' ye time here. Marchin' in formation, and simple combat skills - grapplin an' now target practice thanks t'Knick-Knack here. When we get the pikes goin', we can have fully armed drills, but f'now tha's wha' we got. Any questions?"
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Oct 15 2014, 01:14 AM.
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    Viktor
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    Oh you better believe he was going to furrow his brow. Yup, that was furrowed alright. If someone he was pretty sure would not retaliate was here he would also have wagged his finger at them and then they would have got what for. By which he meant he would of get Cei to beat them up or something.

    "Nobody else dies" he muttered, half under his breath "I detest all wastes of life. Although" he paused "Some people really have a lot to learn. If everyone was just more... Better at being human, this kinda thing would not be a problem"

    He looked around as they walked, mostly interested and curious. This was a life he had never had anything at all like. He did not even have schooling, it had been him, Eva and Cei all taught together by his family, better tutors than money could buy. Once or twice an apprentice of some came by, or some sort of guild member.

    Which meant this was really weird. And dull. He made a goat turn orange with pink spots to amuse himself.

    "I have questions!" his hand shot up after he finished changing his clothes to fit in, colour wise, with the surrounding area. "Do we have any scotch?"

    It was part serious, part a joke. But mostly his way of making sure nobody took him seriously and made him do combat drills. Or farming. In his mind he would hang out, muck around magically to make everyone else more effective in combat and then go home,. Once home Eva would be so turned on by his success they would have wild monkey sex for like, a month. Heroic!

    Cei shook her head "I will guard Viktor, nothing else", to which she added when Viktor nudged her in the ribs "I can manipulate water to an extent. I could do some purification" she looked slightly put out.

    "We are so much less useful than the others" Viktor mused "Oh! I do Magic! I can make armour stronger, or lighter. Magic! Shazam!" he threw his hands in the air and sparks flew out of his fingers. "Pretty amazing, huh? Armour as light as clothing and as tough as plate? Boom!" at which a small dove flew from his hands, and looked unimpressed.

    Okay, he was exaggerating. What? It was not like he felt inferior or anything.
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    Artorias
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    "Raaaggghh!" The rather boisterous cry resounded off the nearby buildings, drawing naught but a single solitary glance from within the crowds. Artorias, still idly making his way out of the square, could only watch with furrowed brows as the militia continued to "Spar", if one dared to call such sloppy brawling even a mockery of training. A rather uncustomary scowl graced his features as yet another blow swung wide, missing his target by a minimum of two feet. To make matters worse, it seemed his opponant was equally as green, missing not only his opportunity to counter, but entirely fumbling the attempt altogether by overextending and ending up face-first in the dirt. A rather pointed, if unintentionally hidden glare crossed his visage, every fiber in his being screaming to forcibly disarm the two before they hurt themselves or their comrades. With a sigh, however, he turned about, opting to ignore it and focus solely on his Commander.

    It was this point she spoke up, her rather eccentric alto resounding through the area and garnering attention from all nearby. "We'll go to th' hill o'er yonder," she stated pointedly, eyes and fingers locked onto a small hill not far to the groups right "Then ye can see the layout o'th' place. If there's room, I'll billet ye i' th' mill wi'me. If not, ye might have t'slum it in yer wagons Not that the mill's much better, mind.." With a discreet nod he continued forward, eyes scanning the horizon even as the sounds of movement met his ears. It was difficult to make out individual sounds in such a place, made all the more arduous by the mages incessant ramblings. Regardless, the trip to the crest was short, and he found the scale of the militant town refreshing. As if reading his mind, Juul spoke up on the matter not seconds later.

    "Alright. To th' south's the fields, an' unless ye know how t'till the ground ye should stay away. We're growin' every day, an' we don' know if the harvest will stretch. An army marches on it's stomach. To th'north is the temporary camp, where the new arrivals an' their families are billeted. There's latrine trenches dug, so use 'em if ye stay there. We don' need a disease decimatin' us. To th'east is th' training ground."
    Tracing her movement found him gazing upon a rather green platoon in the midst of a march, surrounded on all sides by many, many more militia fighters. While they were no regime, they would do in a pinch, and Artorias was certain that, if nothing else, they would be efficient canon fodder until one of the bigger swingers arrived. It was in the midst of said thought that, once again, the words of Juul alighted upon his ears."Tha's where ye'll be spendin' most o' ye time here. Marchin' in formation, and simple combat skills - grapplin an' now target practice thanks t'Knick-Knack here. When we get the pikes goin', we can have fully armed drills, but f'now tha's wha' we got. Any questions?"

    Artorias had nary a chance to speak, the magician captured his commanders attention with a rather ludicrous claim."Oh! I do Magic! I can make armour stronger, or lighter. Magic! Shazam!" Petty sparks, the same as one would expect of a blade and flint, flew from his fingertips in a rather lackluster display of "Magic". "Pretty amazing, huh? Armour as light as clothing and as tough as plate? Boom!" A small white bird, a dove if he were to hazard a guess, ambled from betwixt his hands with a rather dull flap of its wings. Artorias outwardly scoffed, the harsh, deep sound resonating off the interior of his armor and ending in an even louder, metallic ring. "Cloth as strong as steel? Might I test this enchantment of yours, mage?" All but spitting the last word, he crossed his arms, purposely facing away from the small man, as if daring him to speak up. While not precisely fond of magic as a whole, Artorias simply despised braggarts, and the man had done nothing to earn his favor. Such claims would only cause a shortage in moral later should the exaggerations not hold true.

    With an already staggering deficit in both manpower, equipment, and experience, he would not allow for any additional harm to their already otherworldly disadvantage. Without waiting for any form of response, he found himself focusing back on a mane of crimson flame. "I await your orders Juul. What do you require of the Abyss Walker?" Scarlet eyes bore into the surrounding area, finding nothing of interest as his mind remained elsewhere. An uncomfortable shiver wormed it's way up his spine, settling in his dominant, left hand. The bloodlust was getting to him again, and, unlike usual, he had no immediate outlet upon which to sate himself. While not inherently a sadist, he had found that only battle would scratch such an itch. Steeling himself, he shook the cloud from his mind and returned to his surroundings, hoping his assignment wouldn't be overly mundane or tedious.
    Edited by Artorias, Nov 7 2014, 03:27 AM.
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    Nakara Besschentyil
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    @$^#$^%!!!!!

    The shadow kept its claim upon Nakara's features for most of the exposition, and she paid enough attention to know where and what everything was, though she had no idea when she was supposed to do anything, or if those orders were yet to come. Her sudden feeling of idiocy compounded with her shame and she bit her tongue so hard and viciously she tasted copper after.

    But the perching wolf upon the darkened back of her pysche let up mersilessly enough that she managed to string a few words together in a question. She seemed neither to have heard the young magician, nor Cei, nor Artorias. She was jonesing, she was blocking pressure upon a magma mound so tightly wound she could feel it twitching spastically through her nerves, but her body and face were as deadpan composed as could be. "Any manual labor to do?"

    Because Gods if she could do anything other than drink right now it was to shred her muscles or pulverize her fists on something.
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    Juul Shaepah
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    The wind picked up slightly, rustling the grasses and unsettling the exposed hair of the coterie. Juul's eyes narrowed at the flamboyant magics of the Juggler, as he discoloured random goats and himself. The villagers were sure to steer clear of that particular one. Those brown eyes narrowed still further, until they were almost black slits at his further flippant words. Juul distrusted magic, thought conjurors and illusionists spoiled children playing with things that they shouldn't - and the less said about necromancers the better. Where she was from, things were real, they were made of wood and metal, and they bled when they were cut.

    Her sentiments seemed echoed by Artorias, who seemed to pour scorn on the abilties on the man. His imposing stature made the atmosp[here almost tense, and she was waiting for the Juggler's Almost-Aunt to react. She had proven quite the battleaxe so far. The soldier's features softened - what the man said was true, he could prove invaluable. He could weigh down the armour and weapons of the peasants as they trained and marched, and lighten it before they actually began the campaign proper. Pikes that wouldn't break, and cloth armour that was as steel... her mind whirled with the possible applications of such a power. If he even had the ability to do so! He seemed like quite the braggart to her eyes.

    "Let's not be testy, no' jus' yet." she spoke loudly, unwrapping a long rag that had bound up a shallow cut on her forearm "Alright Juggler, turn this t'steel and hurl it to th'air. We'll see if th'valiant Verlassen can cleave it in twain."

    She walked three steps and roughly handed him the rag, stained with muck and blood. Without a pause, she moved to Nakara, who seemed to be smouldering under some weight. Her face had seemed quite bright, if a little rough, before - but now it had turned to iron scowls and melancholic eyes. As Juul marched towards her, Nakara's eyes seemed to gleam dully behind the mask, and she spoke softly, but with a fair amount of force.

    "Any manual labor to do?"

    Juul gave a dry cackle, and clapped the woman on the arm. There would be work to do soon, but of course. Her cunning mind was even now thinking up a devious traning regimen that would involve the collective skills of the three. The peasants would not know what had hit them. They would sweat and grunt and cry and fail, but afterward a few months they would be as tempered steel, poised to cut the heart from their northern neighbour.

    "Aye, there's more'n enough o' that t'go round, Knick-Knack. Ye look as if somethin's eatin at ye. But I'd wait first, an' let these two put on a little display fr'us in the meantime. If this Juggler here is good t'his word, he won' mind puttin' his skills to test. An' who better t'test 'em, than Artorias Verlassen himself?"

    She gestured vaguely, a spiteful glint entering her eye as she bared her teeth, as a wolf might.

    "G'wan then, lads. We're waitin'."
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    Viktor
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    "Not mage, Wizard" Vik corrected "My family did not go through- mmph!"

    Once again he was cut off as Cei punched him in the side, almost knocking him from his feet. She had that look on her face that was almost like she was bored, but he knew it was something else entirely. He was sure he could even predict what she would say, if they were the only ones around.

    If they were the only ones. That seemed very Cei, really. She said she just wanted to protect those close to her, but she really did not seem to care about anyone else. In her mind was it really just a small circle she desperately fought to separate from the world? Did she not see what they were missing, how large and marvellous the world was, so full of people! Wonderful people, kind, giving, nurturing. Even when they disliked him, Vik could really feel much of the same back. Even the brutes and killers, they needed to see senses, to realise. It almost made him angry, how some people could miss what the point of being a person was. But the very fact there was this group showed him ultimately, people will always chose the path of compassion. It could be deep down, but at heart, he honestly thought everyone had good in them. Although from what he had heard this Lothair person was pretty deep down. Even in the dark conquest had not the conqueror vanished, saw sense and realised who he was? The fact freedom and love and life required such dedicated opposition to remain suppressed in Ashoka further proved his point.

    Still, at the moment this situation was not fair, not equal and certainly not what would happen if everyone came to their senses.

    He coughed a little. "Good hit" he spoke softly and smiled at her, although for a moment she looked like she might hit him again. He was so tempted to say out loud he would not tell anyone his surname, just to mess with her. She may be worried that he could be ransomed for enough to pay for a small army, because hey, maybe he could, but Cei would also surely be aware that would require Auntie Mo to do nothing, and Grandfather to just accept it, and for Grandmother not to infect everyone with bone rot or something from her armchair.

    That last thought was uncomfortable because he remembered it happening. He had led him, Eva and Cei to town one day, sneaking out of lessons. Cei had not wanted to go, Eva had been as curious as he about... About what? He could barely even remember. They had been recognised, and Vik had purposely tripped as so to let the girls get away. They had tried to hold a knife to his neck and demand money. Then... Then... He remembered hugging tightly to Auntie Mo's leg when she arrived to pick him up, tears running down his face. The retaliation shocked him more the threat to himself. He had wanted to visit the man, to see how his recovery was going. Grandmother had not allowed it, and told him not to mention anything to Eva and Cei. They had just been children.

    Still, he had been given a test"Floaty steel cloth, sure" he commented and grabbed the cloth "Although I doubt anything this thin would get quite that strong, close though" He took his wand from his holster and ignored Cei's glower.

    He knew as well as she did he had been exaggerating. Then again, she did not know that he did not exactly plan to play fair. Which felt right, seeing as he had met a lot of hostility to the magical arts. I bet none of them complained when the land was healed though. I bet if he got... Well, he was not sure of the relation, but he called him Uncle Iosef, down here with his spells to assist with agriculture they would be happy. Maybe if they could heal illness, mend wounds, build houses? Magic could do all of this. Of course, some small minded people tried to insist on some crazy martial prowess thing. Just as stupid as believing magic was better than a sword in a fight. Swords, wands, pitchforks, arrows, all of them were but tools for human hands.

    "Ready?" he asked, looking to the armoured man and giving a few seconds for him to draw a sword. And then he threw the cloth into the air, with a wave pointing his wand at it. For the first couple of second after it left his hand there were eight pieces of cloth, all of rapidly changing colour, however when they reached the top of their throw, well above everyone's head he had the colour return to normal, and the illusions vanish. He meant the showmanship to confuse and add a millisecond of doubt, for the actual test he did not want there to be any accusations of cheating. Besides, he did not trust these... Well, it seemed borderline bigots were magic was involved- to actually let him enchant anything. So the half a second of time to do so was something he felt the need to buy himself.

    He first of all made the cloth as tough as he could, which was short of plate armour, true, but would easily be as tough as the light armour most scout sorts used. He also made the cutting edge of the sword slightly less tough, so it would have trouble cutting. Only a little, and he did nothing to change the weight or balance at all. He did, however, make ready to make a minor change to the weight of the cloth just before the sword hit it. By doing so it would fall at a different speed and the swordsman would not get so clean a hit. Combined with the fact the cloth was tougher, the sword less deadly and the cloth would be lighter (he was going lighter) all that should happen would be that the cloth wrapped around the blade.

    Of course, the other man could bring his own odd skills out to play, but if they were going to do that then it was not exactly a fair contest. Putting one skill (which he had been limited to) against any number of unknowns, not the simple sword swing he had been told to prepare for.

    Sure, he was nice and he knew his willingness to look for the best in people could be a little too much to some eyes, but that did not mean he had to be meek, or naive. Also, he did have the Zauber family name to live up to. Sort of. He wondered if Cei was going to hit him for thinking the name. Her hand was far away from her sword, but he recognised that she was ready to use magic. Was she expecting them to turn on him?

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    Artorias
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    Unfocused gaze leveled upon the comings and goings of the militia down below, it came as no surprise when the small man behind him responded to his verbal jab with an indignant reply of his own. "Wizard, not mage. My family did not go through- mmph!" Form still as stone, he remained facing away, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as his female "companion", once again, stepped in to stop his verbal deluge. With a snort he returned his full attention to more pressing matters, namely the suppression of the unusually active energies within him. Whilst not inherently easy to control or even subdue, unless in actual life threatening situations, or when exposed to unfamiliar magics, Artorias had found it possible to tame the beast through sheer will alone. One of the many roadblocks, however, was that the power, just as the name subtly implies, is rather malleable, and uses it to throw him off guard during said process at every opportunity. Of course, he could simply release the pent up force all at once and let it burn of naturally. Sadly, such a things was not an option when non-combatives were within the vicinity.

    Fists clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and his entire body tensed as one, the level of his focus apparent, if only, in his body language alone. For what seemed like hours he fought the tide swelling within his, pushing and pulling the waves of "magic" back down despite their most damnable efforts to the contrary. Rocking a quarter of an inch of balance shocked him out of his state, legs locking into place so abruptly their collective joints cracked in distress. Weakness was something Artorias could not stand, and refused to show under any circumstances. Still, it was not an easy fight by any means, and the aftermath left him bereft of anything but a deep seated urge to break something. Or someone. It was at that very moment that his Commander spoke up, ears perking up as he listened in on her plan of action.

    "Let's not be testy, no' jus' yet." she spoke loudly, unwrapping a long rag that had bound up a shallow cut on her forearm "Alright Juggler, turn this t'steel and hurl it to th'air. We'll see if th'valiant Verlassen can cleave it in twain." Balanced shifted to the ball of his left leg, Artorias spun around fast enough to unsettle sword in his scabbard, the metal blade vibrating violently against its hard leather case. Crimson orbs bore into the rich brown of his commanding officers with what could only be described as what stood for a warning," Juul, this is not wise." At that very moment it returned, surging into his with the power of a Tsunami, and three times as unrelenting. The bloodlust, the unscratched itch that pulsed violently from his twisted core. A solitary eyelid twitched, the only physical response garnered from said attack as he willed the feeling down once more. Luckily or not, depend upon your point of view, it went unnoticed by all, the miniscule man before him grasping the dirtied, blood-ridden rag.

    "Floaty steel cloth, sure." he commented with a hint of nervousness. "Although I doubt anything this thin would get quite that strong. Close though." Quickly realizing his own part in this was steeled, he prepared himself. Whilst a master swordsman in his own right, and feared across the lands as a demon on the battlefield, Verlassen had never, not once in his adult life, held back on a swing of his blade. Current predicament haunting his thoughts he moved a armored gauntlet to the hilt of his blade, legs exasperating as his lower body tensed. 'I shall have to take care not to cleave him in twain.' Even such a thought sent shivers of excitement rocketing through his frame. Enamel wearing down at an alarming rate, the large man drew his full blade with one smooth, practiced motion, six feet of shimmering jet blade sliding into the unrelenting sunlight with the telltale rape of steel on leather.

    Sapphire lights danced over the surrounding area, dazzling shades of blue shimmering over the ground like so many stars in the night sky. And then, they were gone, replaced only by the striking visage of Artorias, blade balanced on his left shoulder and crouched near to touching the ground. "Ready?" This came from the "wizard", the smug grin having never left his face. Grunting an affirmative he readied himself, muscles taught and eyes locked onto the cloth with superhuman focus. All other distractions were eliminated, his entire being devoted to one cause, and one cause alone. Destroying that thrice damned strip of fabric. Suddenly it was airborne, completely at the mercy of the nigh on nonexistent breeze as it twirled. Yet there was no movement from the swordsman, not so much as a twitch. Not yet. Not until it reached its peak. Less variables, easier swing, cleaner kill.

    Hundreds of possibilities flowed through the towering mans head in an instant, and yet he remained still as the grave, even his breathing imperceptible to all but the most avid of watcher. Just as it leveled he began his wind up, all the tension within his coiled frame channeled, not released, into the form of one mighty blow as his sword began its arc. Suddenly there were eight pieces, all surrounding his initial target and nearly blinding him with a radiant display of colors and shades. It mattered naught. His swing was true, and his aim impeccable. Bruchigkeit to into the open air with alarming ease and and even more unsettling speed. Feet separated the fated combatants, then inches. It was then that the unthinkable happened. Chaos energies, as dark as sin and all the more apparent for it, surged down his arm and into the blade against his will. With rather abrupt SNAP the two magics met, ripping the oversized longsword from his grasp and sending it careening into the earth not five feet away, narrowly missing Juul in the process.

    With a roar of pain Artorias reeled backwards, clutching his left arm as the chaos energies recoiled violently before retreating quickly back into his form as if to take refuge. This was new to Verlassen, and he had no idea why it happened. He'd had magic thrown into, on, and against his sword innumerable times in the past and had never had an issue, yet now he found himself disarmed and on the losing end of war within his own body. Rage boiled to the surface immediately, swallowing his pain as if to fuel the fire burning within him. Standing he slowly, methodically paced over to his sword, the length of which was nearly buried four feet into the earth. Left hand robbed of all sensation he made sure to latch the appendage on with every ounce of his strength, the ground relinquishing its admittedly soft grasp on the weapon as he pulled it free with a flourish. Red hot anger still swept through him as he leveled the blade at eye level with the poncy mage, form nearly shaking from his self-restraint. "You...DARE to weave your trickery upon my blade, spell-slinger?"

    The backlash had, somehow, actually managed to wound the man, blood slowly dripping from within the confines of the plated glove only to be absorbed into the parched earth below. "Bequeath unto me your reasoning for such deception, lest I unleash my fury upon you." His emotional state in complete disarray, Artorias was in no mood for games. Every fiber in being screamed for him to rip, shred, eviscerate the cause of his misery, to cleave into him the lesson of crossing the Abyss Walker. Any mortal foolish enough to tempt him in such a state would pay, and pay dearly. Sun beating down upon the group with reckless abandon, nary a soul dared move, the tension palpable. The bloodied iris' of Artorias, however, never so much as blinked, the same form of concentration from earlier setting in as he stood stiffly, coiled and motionless before the others.
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    Nakara Besschentyil
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    @$^#$^%!!!!!

    She didn't want to stay and watch. She didn't want to watch, and she didn't want to talk. Already she was rethinking her decision to even recruit herself in the first place: she could have just delivered the goods and left -- she might have even hired a courier! There was that rather over-enthusiastic one she had met on the way here, or any number of other people she might have paid more, and trusted less. But no, here she was. She just had to do the right thing. Hate being nice, hate it hate it hate it. All she ever managed by being nice to others was being a burden to herself.

    Then the test began, and instinctively she watched the mag-- wizard, yeah, Nakara watched the wizard, and every Besschentyil in history craned their crooked necks within her blood to catch some glimpse of what he was doing. Her eyes drifted from the illusory cloths in the sky to the blade held by Artorias Verlassen. It was already fizzing in her mind's eye with energy from its master's skilled, plated hands, but then she thought she caught a glimpse of something happening at its edge. Not normally one to set much store by magic alone (she preferred a more tactile head-bashy approach), Nakara nonetheless took her smoke from her mouth, which gaped a bit.

    Oh.

    When all was said and done, she lifted the smoke back to her lips, watching quietly as Artorias raged in what she considered fabulous restraint, considering he'd been tricked. Her gaze flickered back to Viktor, approvingly.

    You clever son of a fuck... She thought about saying but thankfully did not. Instead, she grinned her approval, teeth sharp around her dying cigarette, and said: "I tell you one thing, the other guys'll never see shit like that coming." And laughed a bit in spite of herself. Was she high on the rage nearby? The smugness on the other? If nothing else it took her mind off her own problems.
    Edited by Nakara Besschentyil, Jan 19 2015, 03:04 PM.
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    Penemue
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    There was a calm western wind on which a winged one could easily glide on for many miles. Even from a distance, the sound of soldiers training as they prepared for battle was crisp. Ahead loomed a massive camp dotted with tents and soldiers beneath the great blue sky. Her bright and serious eyes were a lake of shining gold as she watched them from above. She flapped large royal blue wings, glorious and powerful things, glittering like a crystal gem as she flew underneath the sun.

    As she furled her wings and landed lithely on her toes, many stared in awe, as though they were watching nature's greatest scene. Penemue walked forward, and they gave her a wide berth as they parted for her, as though she were an elephant that had escaped from a circus. In turn, she looked at them as though they were a local attraction.

    Humans. They had such little power or will, and were far too easy to read. Penemue didn't even have to enter their minds to know what they were thinking: Why had this winged creature come? Why was she amongst the humans at a military camp? Was she there to join the good fight? Or was it something else? She chose not to worry about them or their simple-minded thoughts. It would take a vast number of them to pose any kind of threat. While such numbers were approaching, their appearance suggested they were a little wary, but hardly hostile.

    "Who are you?" The speaker was a thin, elderly soldier wearing worn out pieces of armor. A rusty old suit for a rusty old man. He was pointing at the Archangel. Penemue spoke in a calm but commanding voice: "I am Penemue. Take me to your leader." He hissed something to his neighbor, and she did the same. Soon, several dozen were whispering all around her. "Our Commander is busy, Penny. Taking care of business, and such..... What do you want?"

    To watch you die for calling me Penny.

    Penemue bit her tongue and suppressed the malicious thoughts that were beginning to boil in her mind. Although they were but larvae, now was not the time for staring petty quarrels with the elderly. If the fighting did not take him, his rapidly declining mortality most certainly could. Penemue needed to gain the favor of the humans, and what better way was there than by joining a 'good' cause and becoming a heroine of sorts in their eyes, gaining their trust and respect as she fought alongside them and protected them with her own power and might? She had come to realize that humans tended to appreciate such life-preserving gestures more than anything else in the world, especially during trifling times. Soon, she would be seen as 'one of them', making her mission that much easier.

    Penemue managed a smile which would come off as genuine in the eyes of the beholder.

    "I want the same thing as you do, old man," she said, holding up her gravity mace. "I want to fight."

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