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  #1    
Old June 10th, 2012, 09:19 PM
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Cirrus
dreaming a transient dream.
 
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Prologue: Ordinance.


Location: Southeast of Tyrovion, nearing the southern Umbric forest; a relatively flat expanse of semi-wooded grassland (woodland?), of temperate climate, with some hills and streams dispersed in the area.

Time: 15th of Zanatria, 1019 AF. Mid to late afternoon.




A jagged bolt of lightning flashes across the grey sky, a brief moment of a brilliance and a forecast of the impending weather.

A brilliant figure is seen in the distance, shining with a vaguely unnatural radiance. A yellowish-brown cape, barely visible under the dim conditions, billows in the fierce wind. Even more elusive is a smaller, darker silhouette, horizontally outlined against the brighter shape.

Rain slams into the ground below, poignant droplets colliding with the thirsty earth.

A typical summer storm, the figure thinks, and concentrates on wrapping a thin sheet of condensed air about both his own body and that of his companion’s; a moment later, the rivulets of water slide off his skin and his clothes neatly, though his garments remain, regrettably, slightly drenched. Conjuring a faint violet glow in front of him, he continues his slow and deliberate survey of the surrounding areas, hoping that the rain does not worsen – he hadn’t brought an umbrella, after all, and he would rather not strain his mental resources for something as trivial as keeping himself dry, though it was likely required for the person that he was currently taking care of. (That particular person was asleep at the moment, and it took a moderate amount of physical exertion simply to carry her; thankfully, the task is made somewhat easier when a degree of mental effort is exercised alongside.)

He squints into the distance, but fails to detect anything other than indistinguishable shadows.

I’m not going to get anywhere any time soon under these conditions. Carrying her in this rain isn’t a viable course of action, anyway.

He forces a surge of energy through his body and into the magelight, gasping at the sudden loss of strength, and the scent of mint leaves hangs briefly in the air. In response, the orb floods itself with brilliance, becoming many times more radiant, and after a simple command of ‘rise’ – causing it to hover far above his head – it begins to illuminate his surroundings to a distance of a half-mile. The immediate area is relatively flat and elevated, and there is no threat of flooding; he nods, and the strands of copper on his cape flare a shimmering gold, shielding everything in a five-foot radius from the elements as he begins to set up a tent manually.

He isn’t pleased at all with the results of Helvenand’s conquest. It isn’t that he doubts the decisions of the Emperor – he has just as much a reason to dislike the Perinthian extremists, if it comes to that, as anyone – but was the chaos to the surrounding countryside really necessary? Helvan forces were quick in their dispatch to locales now left defenseless by the exodus of Perinthian garrisons, and extra legions had already been sent for; but many things could happen to those municipalities in the interim … especially with the bands of unpaid mercenaries that were now roaming the countryside.

How many would fall victim to the ravages of war, even now that the main conflict has already concluded?

He bites down into his lower lip slightly, and, having finished the construction of the canvas shelter, heads inside.

=-=-=

An hour or so later, the rain begins to subside, and the sun shows itself imperceptibly; a few rays of light cut through the greyish haze. The girl blinks, and reflexively stretches out her arms behind her, yawning as she does so. She has no memory of falling asleep atop the surface that she currently rests on; the soft verdure beneath her is cool, slightly wet to the touch, and water droplets hang off individual blades of grass.

“Good afternoon.” The white-haired young man – her traveling companion – looks at her with an expression of mild curiosity. “Did you sleep well?”

Abruptly she remembers the conditions under which she had fallen asleep, and her hands push against the ground, struggling to get up. “I – sorry about earlier…” She blinks, and is silent for a moment, lost in thought. The subject of her apology smiles faintly, and raises his shoulders briefly, allowing them to fall a moment later in an indifferent manner.

“You were tired. I made as much progress as we could; we’re nearby the encampment now, but rain happened, and…” He points at the fabric of the enclosure around them. “Well.”

A few seconds of tranquility pass. This time, it is her turn to shrug, though he feels it is more out of disorientation rather than apathy.

“We can continue when you’re a bit more awake, if you’d like.” He stretches out his arms. The tent isn’t particularly spacious, but there is room for that, at least. She looks askance at him, then nods in agreement, and closes her eyes again.

Another hour passes, then two, and then four, and she is still asleep. He hears the faint crunch of boots on grass, and raises an eyebrow, readying himself to investigate. He isn’t about to tell her that he has heard footprints outside, of course. There is no cause for concern; he would investigate and deal with any problems that happen to arise himself.

He is greeted, outside, by the sight of a golden-haired man – probably older than him by a bit, though not by much – clad in an ultramarine jacket, rapier in gauntleted hand, a cold glare on his visage. There are a few others behind him: a girl with a crossbow, sharing similar hair colors and features to the man; a tall, broad-shouldered, axe-bearing man; another orange-haired girl, whose stature and appearance seems almost too young for the battlefield; a darker-skinned man, dressed in crimson robes whose hems are so long that they brush the ground; and a dark-haired man whose skin – the exposed portions, anyway – is covered with colorful tattoos (runes, perhaps?). Not all of them are particularly imposing, but certainly quite a few can be classified as such.

“Hand over that girl, and we won’t hurt you.” He frowns at this, drawing his own crysteel blade with a smooth motion; the sword slides free from its scabbard with a sibilant ring.

“Mercenaries these days… To stoop so low as to engage in highway robbery and kidnapping is far too much, I think.” He smiles austerely to himself; it was a really bad idea to challenge so many, especially because they didn’t seem to be normal bandits, judging from their appearances, but he wouldn’t exactly be able to do much else.

The sun glows a brilliant orange on the horizon, and it is late afternoon.

At these words, the rapier-wielding man scowls, and thrusts the tip of his weapon forward in a threatening manner. “Don’t complain I didn’t warn you, then.”

[Information - Read Please]

Spoiler:
To provide a TL;DR: The Cyrus Mercenaries have been assigned, since they were hired by Helvenand, to meet up with and protect the daughter of the Amethyst general by the current field commander. Out of poor memory – or perhaps to play a practical joke on his brother – the commander has failed to inform said mercenaries of Lyrian’s presence, and following a few inductions fueled by flawed logic – and Fiora's delayed arrival due to the storm four hours earlier – Cyrus has assumed that she has been apprehended for whatever reason; his beliefs are compounded when he sees an unconscious girl fitting the description given inside a tent that a suspicious man has just walked out of, and as Cyrus is not the most diplomatic of individuals – and to facilitate things making a decent amount of sense as well as flowing correctly – interesting events ensue.

And now for some Frequently Asked Questions!

Q. Why did you write all this unrelated stuff / why isn't it more relevant / why isn't this clear-cut or simple?

A. I honestly don’t know. In hindsight I think it could have been a lot less confusing and simpler if I had made it just a simple “meet X because guard duty was assigned” thing, but it’s too late now… =_=

Q. Why is this so bad as a starting post?

A. Because I have no idea how to write these without sounding terrible (and I already sound terrible and a little strained so making me sound more terrible would be a platinum bad idea). I apoglomagi- er. I apologize.

Q. OMG you suck you delayed way too much

A. That’s not a question, but yes I do / did (I’m sorry Q_Q). At least it's done now? ;_; It'll be faster, much more so, after other people contribute to the development, because the writing process for me is something like "think of idea X, check if it makes sense, scrap idea X because it doesn't, rinse and repeat".
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Last edited by Cirrus; June 12th, 2012 at 05:22 PM.
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  #2    
Old June 23rd, 2012, 07:17 PM
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Cirrus
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Cyrus examines the surrounding area for signs of possible accessories of the suspicious individual, and though he sees some shapes in the distance, they do not look particularly close; reassured, he turns back to the young man in front of him, and motions to his companions to leave it to him for the moment.

“On your guard.” Wasting no more words, Lyrian coils with stored energy, ready to spring to the attack.

The crysteel sword in his hand flashes in the light of the setting sun, and Lyrian takes this moment to rush forward suddenly with unnatural speed, channeling a burst of energy into his weapon to make it briefly weightless and targeting his opponent’s rapier. His adversary seems to have been expecting this maneuver, however; tipping his weapon to the side, he evades Lyrian’s assault and delivers a counterattack with no loss of motion. The aggressor notes this, and turns his blade to meet the weapon, the two blades barely making contact with a soft ‘clink’; initial measuring attacks are made and parried, and Lyrian backs away two or three steps.

Opposite him, Cyrus finishes appraising his opponent, nodding to himself in affirmation. No matter how accomplished his opponent might be in other pursuits, his ability with a sword was still far outclassed by Cyrus’s own, and thus…

Another four or five exchanges later, Lyrian finds himself increasingly outmatched, and frowns, preparing to manifest a wave of destructive energy; however, he is immediately stopped by a stinging sensation on his right forearm, and finds a wound there. He grimaces slightly at the blood, his concentration having been disrupted, and abandons the effort, settling back into a stance of readiness.

Cyrus smiles cheerfully, his eyes emanating a steely coldness. “Well? Are you going to get out of here or not?” He flourishes the rapier in his hand. “I have said this once, and I will do so again. You’re free to leave as long as you leave that person behind.”

Lyrian stares at him resolutely in response; his unchanged expression makes his intent clear.

“… Certainly not.”

The two once again exchange a flurry of blows; a spray of blood emanates from Lyrian’s side, darkening the pristine fabric. Though his opponent is not entirely unscathed, having suffered a gash on his wrist in return, the conclusion of this battle is, to him, already preordained, and his opponent seems to have the same idea. He needs to strike at this instant, while he still has the majority of his strength.

The air hums with energy, and particles of psionic energy gather around his sword impossibly quickly. Cyrus, ever vigilant, perceives the impending danger and strikes at the psionicist, the tip of his rapier lightning-fast; it is exactly what Lyrian has been waiting for, and a retaliation is delivered with brutal force. The impact shatters his opponent’s rapier, and knocks its bearer back two or three feet, but Lyrian is unable to claim any sort of victory; the unusual amount of accelerated exertion the attack required has rendered him, unfortunately, unconscious.

“… Tie him up, I suppose; we’ll turn him in later.” Recovering his composure, Cyrus follows his own orders, expertly binding the young man’s potential movements with a coil of rope. “Let’s head back to our own encampment, everyone.” He brushes off his wound a little, and looks pensively at the tent. “We should probably leave quickly.”

---

The boots of men crunch on the soft grass outside Tyrovion, dispossessed sellswords from the war between Helvenand and Perinth. At their head is a man in his thirties, clad in leather armor and clothing with earthen tones, with a sullen bearing; they are not particularly far away from the site of Lyrian’s confrontation, and the man’s eyes light up at the sight of a smaller group: a prime opportunity to extort and exploit has presented itself, and Rutendo is not the sort of man who would throw away gifts from Fate (or so he believes).

“Heh heh heh. What the hell is this? Some kids sparring in the woods? I’ll teach you what it means to be so reckless in the ruins of a broken country. Grab their stuff, boys! If they resist, beat ‘em to a pulp!”

And with these words, the bandit known as Rutendo begins to run towards the not-too-faraway tent and the six or seven people surrounding it, leading at the forefront of a charge of some twenty or so brigands.

[More Information]

Spoiler:
The first person to post should ideally inform the rest of the group of this situation; they’re some two hundred metres away. Once that is done, you can dispatch them however you wish. Then, orientation can begin: remember that you can control any allied NPC you wish to a certain extent, so don’t feel too constrained about what you are and aren’t allowed to do.
Also, I am aware that I am really slow at updating. Fight scenes with your own characters are hard to write, and exams are difficult to study for… but exams are over now, so I can devote time to this on a much more regular basis.
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さくらの色 いとしさの花 あさきゆめみし君と
そっとそっと口づけをして 涙あふれてく


pair · in tempore momenti · personal vloid playlist
d.c. ii art assets belong to circus. text: tororo.
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  #3    
Old June 27th, 2012, 11:14 AM
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parallelzero
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"How unusual it is for you to devote your cause to something so singular. Didn't you want to be someone who could help others?"

"Mas... ter?"

The figure resting amidst a sea of blankets began to stir. The doll-like visage her small, pale form would easily put to question her humanity while she lay still, at least to the uninformed. The morning air - smelling of extinguished fire - was cool, and as the body rolled around, she could feel that her sheets had dampened from choosing to sleep underneath the stars as opposed to a tent. For a moment, the figure struggled to rise, but managed after hearing a rumbling off in the distance. A storm was approaching.

Bright green eyes suddenly shone brilliantly from the face of the doll, a tiny hand reaching up to remove the bright orange hairs that danced around her cheeks. As her fingers slid along her smooth skin, she found something peculiar underneath her right eye. A tear? Had she cried in her sleep? As her left hand approached her other eye, she found no such thing. A drop of rain?

Pushing the thought aside, she rose from her covers, the tumbling sheets revealing that she was dressed in very little. A sleeveless, white, cotton shirt was draped over her form, much too large for a girl her size. The appearance it created was that of a make-shift nightgown, bed clothes for those who had none. She'd have to thank Rhys properly for borrowing it without his permission later. Proceeding to pull the rest of her hair out of her face, the girl known by the name of Crea shuffled her body around until she was on her knees.

Clasping her hands together, she closed her eyes and bowed her head towards them, allowing her mind to go blank. Morning prayer was one of the three necessary times each day that chose to pray to St. Elendra. She prayed that her master be well, as well as all of her family and friends, and that she may have the power to overcome all adversity in her journey. Following her prayers was always a moment where she dedicated the time specifically to worshiping the Saint and all of her power. There was a specific procedure attached that was unique to herself, but she would never do it while people were watching for some reason or another. It was just fortunate that she was the only one awake so far, else she wouldn't have been able to take the time or effort, which would likely weaken her own strength in the long run. Rhys, who was sleeping nearby... she might not mind it if he saw, but he was asleep anyways.

---

It was late afternoon now, and the orange sun lit up the area around Crea in a manner that was both beautiful and haunting. She had been following this band of mercenaries for a little while now, the group itself being a clue towards where her Master had taken off to. Though, when she had learned this piece of information, she had also been informed that she shouldn't ask what she needed to know directly. And so... well, she still hadn't learned anything useful, but she had made some new friends. One of which was the giant that walked beside her currently. Rhys, as he was called, didn't talk a lot, but he had a cute pet, and he always seemed to be looking out for her best interests. Crea just felt safer when he was around, particularly since this group seemed to get into fights a lot.

Eventually, the group came across a sole tent in the middle of nowhere. The girl had deduced, based on the apparent urgency in which it had been constructed that it had likely been put up to shield those inside from the earlier rain storm. Fumbling childishly with her butterfly-shaped cloak that was wrapped around her form, the dampness only reminded her that she had wished for such a shelter amidst all of that rain, herself. Even her gloves were still damp, and the fingers of the white covers were brown from traversing the terrain while muddy.

The cleric's attention was suddenly drawn back to the tent as a figure emerged from the confines. The young man was clearly older than herself, but not by as much as most of the people she was traveling with, his white hair and yellow cape almost looking the same hue in the light of the setting sun.

Word were spoken, words she had yet to understand. She had been with this group for weeks, but not once had she ever understood the need to threaten and harm others. She didn't sense any evil from the man in the tent, so why did Cyrus feel the need to fight? "Wait!" She shouted, her soft voice not carrying much weight as the two began to fight anyways. How many times had she been ignored like that? Her ideals were strong, but she lacked the form and power to see them practiced.

A lot happened in the battle, she imagined, but she hid behind Rhys the entire time, not once gazing at the fight between swordsmen. It was only after Cyrus asked that his opponent be tied up that the cleric poked her head out from behind the back of the giant, and her gaze instantly fell on the wound the white-haired man had taken. She felt short of breath looking at the wound, her stomach unsettled.

"Was that necessary!?" She inquired, confused, as she ran over to the injured and kneeling down beside him. She'd be lucky if she didn't get in trouble for this later. "I still don't understand why you spill blood so easily! If you needed to subdue him, there were much more humane ways of doing so! You could have even talked about it, and possibly come to a peaceful resolution instead of... this!"

Money? It was money, wasn't it? That was all these people cared about. Coins. She didn't doubt the necessity of money in the world, but there were better ways! Placing her left hand behind her right, she grabbed the one in front and aimed it down in front of the white-haired man's greatest wound. She closed her eyes and began to pray for the health of this man, so that he would not die. A bright, warm light began to emanate from the young girl's hands as it poured into the wound the other man possessed, and the cut slowly began to seal itself, leaving behind flesh that looked like it had never been cut at all. Surely she'd be reprimanded for this later.

The sound of something whirring by her head suddenly brought the girl's green eyes open one again. Her eyes shot back in the direction the sound had flew, and found an arrow embedded into the ground not even a few feet away from where she was kneeling. That had been aimed at... her? Her lower lip quivered in fear, still not used to the danger attached to traveling with these people.

"Ya want an answer to your question, little missy?" A voice called from the nearby bushes. Someone had been watching them? "It's 'cause humans are monsters! Heheh!"

The sound of approaching footsteps became more obvious, and would bring the attention of the group towards the enemies that were now on their heels. There would certainly be more fighting before the sun had set.
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Last edited by parallelzero; June 27th, 2012 at 03:25 PM.
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  #4    
Old June 28th, 2012, 11:59 AM
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Rhys had never been a man of words. But neither could it be said that he was a man of action—in fact, for the past few days, he had contented himself with following a young girl for the sole reason that his pet, a cat-fox named Janus, had taken a liking to her. He had no particular short-term goals to fulfill, and so the time spent keeping the young lady out of trouble was not wasted. After all, he would’ve been travelling aimlessly in the very same manner he found himself doing now whether or not he had chosen to follow this girl and Janus. To be fair, he did question why she had chosen to journey with this band of mercenaries, but he was no so curious as to go to the trouble of voicing his concerns.

As always, he stood toward the back of the group, heading up the rear as he watched Cyrus’ negotiations with the young boy quickly devolve into battle. Unsurprising. Rhys shifted his giant battle axe up into the air, settling the heavy weapon onto his shoulder and making no further movements—he had absolutely no intentions of interfering with Cyrus. If he had wanted, perhaps with the young boy’s attention focused on the leader of their band, one well-aimed swing of his axe would’ve been enough to send Lyrian to Kingdom Come. But, Rhys could not be bothered with the goals of Cyrus, or the purpose of this band of mercenaries to begin with. His preparation of his axe was a precaution against any unexpected guests, as it was exceedingly rare for such a… scrawny boy to be travelling alone. To Rhys, he seemed to be nothing but the bait—the distraction that would prelude a greater force. Though he disapproved of Crea’s movement to heal and place herself in the center of what was just moments earlier a battlefield, he made no movements, said nothing. If Crea chose to act now, then Rhys would simply have to act later, dutifully following behind her as he always did. His eyes did however, watch his black cat fox leap off of his armored shoulder, bounding up next to the firey haired maiden and arching it’s back in distaste, long pointed ears pressing back. Though his gaze was limited by the bounding of his mask, he was quick to turn his gaze onto the direction the arrow had flown from, briskly stepping forward and placing himself firmly between Crea and the offending bandit.

“It’s cause humans are monsters!” The urchin cackled, and while Rhys did not disagree with this assessment, he had a bone to pick for that arrow. His eyes darted off of his opponent for the slightest of seconds as the sound of shuffling footsteps reached his keen ears, and he tugged at the axe still resting on his shoulder, bobbing it through the air at the ready. It was a heavy weapon, by all means—but it’s hollowed center allow him to make for quick swings, and as soon as the bandit Rutendo twitched his head, indicating to his followers to attack, Rhys launched himself at the bandit, swinging a great arc at the man who had made a shot at Crea’s life. But bandits were quick on their feet- far quicker than any axe-man, even one as fast as Rhys. He leapt backwards, dodging Rhys’ swing with a whistle at how unexpectedly light Rhys’ axe was. The would-be-mercenary turned his gaze back on Crea, roughly using his unarmored hand to pull her to her feet. “Go,” he waved her away, knowing he’d be unable to effectively fight and protect her at the same time. “Take Janus.” He turned, calmly thrusting his axe forward into the abdomen of a bandit far more ignorant and far less skilled than the leader Rutendo. As he was sent backwards with a voice cracking cry, Rhys stepped forward, dispatching another bandit who thrust a dagger at the royal blue cloth of Rhys’ mantle. With a quick grab of the offending arm and a bone crunching twist of Rhys’ immense strength, the ex-Helvenand soldier brought the end of his axe down upon the man in his grasp, tossing his victim aside like a rag doll as he looked over to the other members of the team, particularly Cyrus, as though asking for directions as to their plan of action. While Rhys disliked working as a team, he wasn’t exactly wholly incapable of it.
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Old July 3rd, 2012, 02:21 AM
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Ray Maverick
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Isaac Aristos always walked in the middle of the group so as the other mercenaries would hide the tall, hoodied figure from public sight. Making his job much easier. He was not exactly fond of people, but the crowds offered him exactly what he needed: a hideout. But sometimes, he had to fight in the open - like now - when a battle erupted between Cyrus and the young, white haired boy; Isaac remained in the sidelines. He very well knew the leader of the group was capable of handling the situation. The boy, named Lyrian, was knocked out unconscious and the youngest member of their group, Crea, walked over to the fallen one to heal his major wounds. Isaac would watch silently, without expressing any opinion on the matter the young girl had set. He thought that the cleric's vision of the world was naive, although similar to his - the world would enjoy peace as soon as all the people making war would be wiped out from the face of it, violently, silently, Isaac did not care.

Suddenly, an arrow flew from the bushes, obviously directed at Crea who was kneeling over Lyrian. Isaac jerked his head towards the bushes to see a man with a bow. 'It’s cause humans are monsters!', he cackled as a response to what Crea had said earlier. Footsteps in the grass could be heard, and the next moment brigands assaulted the group of mercenaries. The giant with the royal blue cloak named Rhys took immediate action, and so the man in the cloak did; he grabbed the dagger from his belt and with extreme agility, he dashed over the brigands who passed around Rhys, now charging againist them. In a bright ray of the sun, the grey of his cloak went almost unseen as he pounced onto a brigand, throwing him down and sliding the dagger through his neck with precision; he then unsheathed his short blade and pointed it towards the two nearby brigands who were routed to the ground, still comprehending with what had just happened - they drew their swords right after. But Isaac's speed could not be matched; he skillfully deflected the first blade that was swung againist him and kicked the brigand in the knee, making him bend over for a lethally long second that was enough for Isaac to stab in him in the back. As the brigand fell hard on the ground, Isaac immediately drew his attention to the other brigand and his blade. The second one was brighter; he would not let the tip of Isaac's blade reach him dangerously close. The swordfight lasted over ten seconds, when the assassin's blade penatrated his opponent's defenses, cutting him in the shoulder, making him flinch; the crucial moment that followed, Isaac's already bloodied dagger cut through the air before sliting the brigands throat, making him fall onto his knees and inevitably on the ground.

With a cold expression hard as stone, that nobody was able to see under the grey hood, the assassin glanced over to Rhys, to Crea and then to Cyrus, to move accordingly to them.
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Old July 5th, 2012, 01:48 AM
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parallelzero
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While she didn't understand the need for the level-headed to fight, the actions of bandits, thieves, and the otherwise evil were not things that Crea felt should go unpunished. Even if she looked at them from the best of views - as if they had no other choice but to steal from the more fortunate to feed their families - she could not accept the methods while there were better ways out there.

Rhys and Isaac were quick to jump into action as the attack commenced, leaving the girl at a loss for what to do next. It wasn't until the owner of the cat-fox pulled her up to the ground that she was snapped out of her stupor, registering the man's words as urgent, as he only saved his words for the most urgent of matters. The cat-fox appeared at her side as Rhys requested she take it with her, but she did not budge instantly. With a bit of focus, and an outward stretch of her palm in the direction of Rhys' axe, she was able to bless the weapon, making it lighter and easier to throw around. She could do at least that much without getting in the way.

Quickly, she scampered towards the tent, hoping to hide behind it in an attempt to avoid the conflict. She was almost there, too, when a sudden grip on her shoulder stifled a cry from the tiny form. A man, obviously aligned with the bandits, seemed to have managed to flank the group and had sneaked up behind them. The cat-fox was quick to action, leaping at the man's hand and biting it, which in turn allowed the girl to break free as her attacked wailed in pain. It didn't last long, though. and the bandit quickly made an attempt on her life by swinging his sword diagonally at her. Aware of the attack, the girl's form ducked to the side, narrowly dodging the blade (to the point where several strands of her hair floated gently to the ground nearby.

Alone, she had no chance of defending herself without taking his life - but she didn't want to do that! In an act of desperation, she moved into the tent, her attacker not far behind. As the bandit went to push the fabric aside to enter the tent, however, he found even touching the thin structure knocked his hand away. He swung his sword at it, and it was reflected as well. On the inside, a breathless Crea had just finished praying on her knees. She had enchanted the tent, and while it wouldn't last for long, it would buy her some time.

Her green eyes danced around the tent as she looked for something - anything that would help to protect her. What she found, though, was a girl asleep. Was this the girl Cyrus had referred to earlier? "H-hey! Get up! It's dangerous here!" She exclaimed as she collapsed to her knees beside the young woman, shaking her delicate form quickly as she looked for a reaction. It would likely be an odd site to see a stranger breathing as hard as Crea was as soon as she woke up, but they had to move!
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Old July 10th, 2012, 07:45 PM
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Cirrus
dreaming a transient dream.
 
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Placed at the forefront of an inevitable onslaught, Cyrus looks around for another weapon similar to his, and furrows his brow in irritation. They hadn't been able to leave quickly enough after all, it seems, so an engagement was unavoidable. The admonishment of the young cleric who was traveling with them for the time being (Crea, wasn’t it? On a journey to find someone or something of that sort) hadn’t exactly improved his mood.

"Dana, do you have..." He beckons to a girl of sixteen or seventeen, whose long tresses share the same color as his; she gazes at him in momentary confusion, then shrugs, indicating the lack of a bladed weapon at her side. Cyrus sighs, and considers the crystalline weapon in the possession of the group's captive, picking it up and swinging it around. It's not a bad weapon by any means, but it seems so ornamental. He keeps it nevertheless, and charges into the midst of the enemy, ignoring his wounds for the time being. The girl – Dana – unhesitatingly follows her brother’s offensive, firing a single pulse of electricity from a glass ray quickly drawn from a holster at her side; lightning dances across the tip of the weapon, and sparks fly, filling the air with the scent of ozone. The impact of the bolt is enough to render a single assailant unconscious, and leaves the two or three men adjacent to him reeling from the fireworks associated with the projectile. To any bystander, the display would have been at least mildly impressive, but Cyrus could only shake his head.

“… Stun ray cartridges aren’t cheap, you know.” He sighs, and wades into the midst of the fray without much enthusiasm. Behind him, he could sense Dana making a face, but he hears the loading mechanism of a crossbow click faintly nevertheless. He raises his weapon to parry a blow, and is surprised by the lightness of the implement – I could get used to this. The thought only lingers for a moment, however, before being lost in the shifting rhythms and tempos of combat.

---

We have company; shouldn’t I get up?

These were Fiora’s first thoughts to herself. Feigning sleep but in fact wide awake, she had listened intently to every word of the conversation outside, but was uncertain to what course of action she should take; the group commissioned by father should be looking for us by now, shouldn’t they? She winces at the sounds of weapons clashing against each other, and frowns when she hears Lyrian’s presumable defeat, but stays silent and continues her façade.

… As long as I still possess my voice, I won’t be completely helpless anyway. It’s better to let these things take their course.

Placing implicit trust in her guardians, she focuses on settling into a state of calmness instead, beginning to concentrate on shaping an imaginary melody inside her mind. However, as the discordant sounds of battle quickly rise to a deafening cacophony of metallic clangs, so too do the intensities of her anxiety.

The tent opens, and she sees dusky rays sweep into the enclosure along with a young girl through her half-shut eyes. Her clothes are certainly eye-catching, Fiora observes with a small smile, but wonders at the same time, what is she doing here? The girl enters a brief moment of prayer, and the faint hum of magic fills the air; theurgy, Fiora blinks, and opens her eyes a little more.

"H-hey! Get up! It's dangerous here!"

“Dangerous?” The sense of urgency in the girl’s voice is clear; Fiora complies with the request rapidly, and sits upright, looking at her with an expression of concern. “… What’s happening outside? Are you alright?”

---

“Hng.” Backing away for a moment from the fight, Rutendo spits on the ground nearby forcefully, and grimaces in anger. He underestimated the group; they did have a numerical advantage, it was true, but their quarry was putting up far too much of a fight. Already, some of his subordinates were eyeing their opponents warily, refusing to continue attacking. He would have to do something, and quickly…

Warding off a flurry of jabs from a spear-brandishing assailant and sidestepping a stray arrow simultaneously, Cyrus is far too enmeshed in simply withstanding the aggression of the brigands to notice an individual creeping up from behind him. Alerted at the last second only by a shout of warning from his sister, he quickly throws himself to the right, narrowly avoiding what would have been a heavy blow; a burning sensation blossoms on his back, the blade of Rutendo’s axe grazing it slightly.

“… Ow.” He falls to one knee, reeling from the blow.
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  #8    
Old July 11th, 2012, 04:16 AM
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As the battle between the mercenaries and the thieves raged on, Isaac synchronized his body with the rhythm of the combat, keeping any other thought outside; he was completly focused on his enemies who were now wary of his short but deadly blade. His blows were well-calculated but incredibly swift at the same time, forcing his opponent to back off and constanly defend themselves. He had no problem dealing with multiple enemies, who were starting to doubt their own blades, as they seemed to work againist them. The light reflected onto the hoodied man's blade as it cut through the air, spreading death and blood. Isaac had just finished off a thief who laid on the ground, when he glanced towards Cyrus, keeping his eyes on him for two seconds. The next moment, he dove to the right as an axe fell towards him. He kneeled, Isaac figuring the axe had grazed his back.

Isaac dashed towards Cyrus with his cloak waving behind him, eyeing the one holding the axe. In a flash of the eye, he threw his dagger to the thief who raised his head, glancing at the approaching assasin. A metallic sound was heard and the axe fell on the ground, the thief holding his hand where the dagger had struck; but it was nowhere to be found. There was no way of knowing if it cut through the man's glove, but he certainly seemed fine. Meanwhile, Isaac had reached Cyrus, offering him his hand to get him up, while he was pointing his blade at their opponent who had gotten over the surprise. He picked his axe from the ground, rubbing his glove and glanced behind Isaac's shoulder, who suddenly felt more thieves approaching. He glanced at Cyrus, making sure he was able to stand on his feet.

His eyes were fixed on Rutendo, examining him from head to toe. He seemed different from the other thieves; stronger, for one. Isaac didn't care if he was their leader or not, only that he was a thief. He pitied thieves - he thought they were pathetic and needed to be removed from the world. Rutendo tried to look under the hood, but the sunlight that was againist his eyes prevented him to see under the hood. The leader of the thieves charged towards Isaac with his axe raised in the air. The assassin sidestepped, nimbly dodging the first blow and swung his blade, Rutendo ducking to dodge it. Isaac charged forwards, his light blade countering the axe of his opponent; however, he was unable to hurt the thief as he always seemed to be out of his range. Isaac, seeing his sword would do him no good as the axe was lighter than he expected, decided he would go another way. He faced Rutendo and sheathed his sword, taking a combat position with his fists ready. Rutendo was surprised for a moment; the assassin grabbed the opportunity to taunt him.

'Are you afraid?'

He made a taunting jesture with a slight chuckle, without grinning. The trick seemed to work; the thief charged towards him again, bringing his axe down on where Isaac was supposed to be - but lighter as he was now, he had dodged the blow with ease, then kicked Rutendo's right arm, making him lose grasp of his weapon. As the thief flinched, Isaac grabbed a knife from his belt and pounced on him, slicing the crucial artery of the neck with precision.

Rutendo was laying on the ground, Isaac kneeling above him. He was now able to look under the hood, and their eyes met - his were extended from the grasp of death. He seemed like he was trying to say something, but the blood did not allow him; he slowly drowned in it. Isaac had seen it many times.

'I am not a man of last words.'

He said plainly, extending his hand to close Rutendo's eyes. He got up and unsheathed his blade once again, to face the remaining thieves. But they were all frozen to the ground when they saw their leader laying dead. They slowly started retreating to the bushes, backing away from the mercenaries.


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Last edited by Ray Maverick; July 12th, 2012 at 11:06 AM.
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Old July 21st, 2012, 02:11 PM
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Dispatching all and any of the bandits who came near with a sharp blow of his axe, Rhys’ discontent could be seen by what were usually fluid swings replaced with blunt, jerky movements. Underneath his mask, he had a furrowed brow breaking his normally stony expression, and he couldn’t help but periodically glance over his shoulder at the tent where the girl he’d supposed to have been protecting hid from the surrounding cretins. How had he let a bandit slip past his watch and let Crea deal with such a foe on her own? Certainly, she was capable, but it was completely unnecessary for someone whom Rhys had chosen to protect to raise a finger against any enemy. Or, that was how it had been in the past. Had he gotten rusty? The giant man brought his axe mercilessly down, smashing through the skull of the thief who had the misfortune of getting near as soon as this disconcerting question presented itself in Rhys’ mind. Peace and lonely travels had indeed made him soft. He heard more than felt the paws of his cat-fox bounding up his right arm, small but sharp claws clinking against the bronze armor and he looked down into the black beady eyes which also questioned Rhys’ mistake.

But now was no time to be dwelling over such trifles. Janus leapt off of Rhys’ shoulder with great agility as the man heaved his axe into the side of another man, and as he wrenched the weapon out of chopped body with a sickening squelch of blood and flesh, Rhys turned to see the man christened Isaac having dealt a final blow to the leader of the band. This turn of the tide had them unsurprisingly retreating into the forest, but Rhys was no fool to simply turn his back on them. He gave a mighty snap of his arm, briskly removing as much blood from the surface of his blade as possibly without a proper wash. As soon as the thieves had retreated out of sight and sense, Rhys turned on his heel without a word to Cyrus, Dana, or Isaac, though briefly put one giant hand on the latter’s shoulder, nodding once and stepping towards the tent. Before him, Janus had bounded ahead, wiggling underneath the flaps of the tent and already rolling about on the blankets with it’s stomach and four limbs in the air by the time Rhys squatted down and pulled the flap back. As the sunlight streamed into the cramped space to reveal Crea and another girl with long silver hair whom he assumed to be their target, he merely observed and said nothing. A man of few words, he perched very still with loose muscles and relaxed shoulders before reaching out a hand.

To any human, it may have seemed that he was holding out his armored hand to be a gentleman, to help these two young ladies out of the tent as any chivalrous man should do. But to Janus, it was a bidding for him to return to his usual perch on Rhys’ shoulder, and the small beast did just that, easily plodding up and around his arm and shoulder till he was comfortably seated on the hooded man’s shoulder. Rhys did not blink or make any indication that he noticed his pet moving about, simply keeping his stance until one of the girls took his outstretched hand, at which time he stepped back to remove his large frame from blocking the entrance and exit of the small shelter. Pulling her to her feet, he waited patiently before kneeling back down to do the same for the girl remaining inside.
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Old July 23rd, 2012, 10:23 AM
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The words of the woman who had been still moments before took Crea by surprise, causing her to fumble with the item in her hands. Effectively, she cut her right index finger on the reflective blade of a small knife, only a little larger than the girl's frail hand. "Eep!" She exclaimed, wincing at the sharp pain that ran up her fingertip. Why did she carry such a weapon anyways? It was her master who had requested she do so, so she always did. At the very least, it might come in handy here. "There are bandits outside! I... I'm okay, but we need to find a way to get out of here safely!"

In her panic, the orange haired girl didn't see Janus enter the tent, and the thunderous sound of nearby footsteps alerted her of another approaching. She spun around, pointing her knife shakily at the entrance to the tent as her own blood dripped from the end. Her expression a mixture of pain and fear, her breath heavy, she would not back down for whoever it was. She needed to protect those she could, at the very least. Fear of dying is a powerful thing, though, and it was more than enough to make her question her resolve. If it was a bandit, and he tried to take the girl behind her, was she strong enough to risk her own life to save the stranger? Surely if she could use her theurgy, it would be no issue, but the panic prevented her from being able to utilize her only strength. She really was useless without the help of other people.

The tent flap began to move, and Crea's tiny form tensed up more, like a small animal that had been cornered by a hunter. If need be, she was ready to strike quickly with the knife. As the figure crept through the entrance, though, her features softened once more. "Rhys! You came!" She exclaimed with a smile, before running up to him and ignoring her offer to pick her up, embracing his big form for a moment as she cried into his clothes.

She didn't understand why she was with these people. She was useless on her own. She just wanted to help as many people as she could, but the harsh realities of the world seemed persistent in stomping over her naive optimism. Though, maybe it was as her Master had once told her. Like me, you'll learn many things on your travels. You'll learn and come to deal with your limits. But, as long as you do not lose your resolve, you can avoid falling into the darkness.

After a moment, the cleric let go of the giant, and looked up at him with innocent, green eyes that were reddened by the tears. "Sorry, you ended up having to protect me again..."
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