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Old September 28th, 2007 (11:06 AM).
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Alter Ego Alter Ego is offline
that evil mod from hell
 
Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: Touhou land, grazing danmaku all the way
Age: 27
Nature: Quirky
Posts: 5,776
OOC: Stupid question number two: are the characters in the discussion thingie approved? Because, you know, if not then I'll have to edit this post. :3

IC:

Faewyn's eyes widened at Reid's outburst, "You don't like Adela?" she inquired in a childishly innocent voice, tilting her head quizzically, "Then why are you marrying her, Reid?"

Apparently, she had never gotten acquainted with the concept of arranged marriage. The circumstances left very little room for explaining such things, however, as the room was suddenly assaulted by an individual so creepy that he made even Aertan look like a harmless little kitten in comparison. For a moment, Faewyn simply gaped, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the mahstion presence, and before she had even managed to reach for her weapon, both the guards in the room and commander Milo herself had been struck down and Rosaline had been captured, the stranger haughtily declaring that they had all been sentenced to die. Aertan and Adela immediately went for a counter-attack, and for the moment Faewyn chose not to interfere, even as she readied her staff, still set into crossbow mode. Her mahstion control may have been better than before, but with Rosaline there, she didn't dare fire one of her charged-up shots; one miscalculation and her friend would be torn to pieces by a maelstorm of splintered wood. No...she couldn't risk that, she just couldn't. With these thoughts in mind, Faewyn anxiously followed the scene, still clinging to her crossbow just in case this arrogant enemy would leave an opening.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, just outside the infirmary, another stranger had stopped to observe the scene, the gray, standard-issue military rain cloak hiding his features from view, save for a small bit of the bronze-colored face. In all honesty, said person had found the return to his hometown somewhat disappointing thus far. It wasn't the lack of a welcoming party or even an official escort of some sort, he could live with that. What really got him riled up was the weather.

"Rain..." he muttered for himself, trudging across the desolate courtyard, nothing spoiled a hero's return quite like rain. But there was something else too, a certain tension in the air, like a thunderstorm just waiting to burst out. On one hand, he found the prospect invigorating, but on the other...this wasn't just your average adrenaline-inducing trouble; no, this felt more...sinister.

It was then that the surge of mahstion erupted, ringing every warning bell in the stranger's mind. He didn't waste any time, immediately breaking into a run.

"Hey, you!" he called out to a figure slouching by the entrance, "Do you know what's-?" the moment he got close enough to the guard to see his face, he realized the futility of his demand. The man's eyes were completely lusterless, locked in a mask of passive horror, and the moment the stranger touched it, the lifeless body lost what little posture it had and fell to the ground, revealing five, evenly shaped, bloody holes reaching straight through his stomach and out through the back. The living man's eyes narrowed, his right hand instinctively reaching beneath his cloak while the left confirmed the absence of a pulse, his amber eyes glinting in what little light shone out from the main building, a new surge of mahstion erupting from somewhere in the hospital wing, this was really bad.

"Well, what do you know..." he mumbled softly, his hand returning from beneath the cloak, now holding a weapon that looked like a standard-issue quarterstaff, save for the sizable axe-head at the end, "Looks like someone decided to throw a welcoming party after all..."

Casting one last glance at the fallen soldier, he charged towards the infirmary at full speed, the wind catching a hold of his hood and pulling it back, revealing a head-full of blonde hair, tied up into a thin, rope-like ponytail at the back which danced back and forth as he rushed towards the source of the disturbance, weapon in hand. 'Reece Everard is back in business!'
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