|
Post by FewRevelations on May 17, 2008 11:21:20 GMT -5
Despite efforts to thwart them, Selindra's Children managed to complete their quest, fending off the Dark One for a while. The Dark One has gone into hiding, even the Gods unable to find his presense now. Only a select few can sense him. The Lord of the Dark has gathered his power, drawing on his strength, and in a last attempt to make the world of the living his domain, has plans that will nearly destroy reality. Selindra must act quickly, because if she fails to impede the Dark One this time, all hope will be lost for Myrari, forever... But it is not the people who are in danger this time, nor is it the Gods. No, it is the Creators who are in danger.
|
|
|
Post by revolution on May 25, 2008 17:50:05 GMT -5
Laurie and Nort were doing a job. Laurie and Nort. Sounded a bit like a double-comedy act; the kind that might have shown upon the stage of an alleyway gallery during better times- the kind that would feature two men, one tall and one short, dressed to the nines in matching bowler caps and pinstriped suits. However, there was nothing funny about gunning down your bog-standard pervert under the fine lights of Bristol.
Bristol. Past the blockade.
In the distance, mechanical arms bobbed up and down, the gill-grimed see-saws of the energy giants of the world. With France under martial rule and most of Russia glowing, Bristol had become the word in acid mining, it's skyline of dive-bombing metal limbs endlessly plunging into the valuable earth.
According to the file Laurie had received earlier that day, the bog-standard pervert in question was a certain Michael Thomas, a rather nondescript sort of figure, in his mid-thirties and given to staking out at a night club directly across the street from the vacant lot in which they sat. He'd typically make his move at about midnight, his 'modes operandi', snatching an unaware club-goer out from beneath the blacklights and flashbulbs and flooring it out to any of his several 'nests', which were located within the Blockade district. A steady stream of neo-techno blared across the street, it's pulpy bass reverberating against the brick walls of the nearby Chops.
"How do I look?" Questioned Laurie, looking concernedly into the rear-view mirror, which he'd tilted helter-skelter, back and forth, all evening. Even now, Nort could still remember the dare he'd laughed at the Misery Officer, Davenson, shortly after he'd been recovered from his Probate fiasco. "Yeah, like you could possibly find me a partner who was even more messed up than I am." This had been, of course, before he'd started running with LxZ, the two-man show. Misery LxZ was a sort of catch-22; one was a one-legged Yankee with a history of anger management and an alcoholism which he had not quite beaten; the other was a cross-dressing mental case who was good with a Long-9. Thus, their assignments were few, and Catering absolutely hated them- mainly for the messes they made. However reliable the Long-9 might be in terms of absolute annihilation, it was not, in any way, a clean death. Nort shuddered inwardly and opted against answering. "So, it's a Deliverance order, righ'?" He questioned, looking grimly through the windshield at the nightclub's rust-stained front, which proudly proclaimed it the 'Mix-and-Spin: a Place for Music'.
"We absolutely have to do something about that accent of yours- it makes people uncomfortable. But, yes. We have a Deliverance." Stated Laurie.
"Then, let's go."
|
|
|
Post by FewRevelations on Jun 12, 2008 23:03:58 GMT -5
The lush green hillsides were dotted with countless summer wildflowers in crimson, violet, and golden-yellow. Above stretched a formerly endless blue sky, the sort that one could stare at forever and loose all their troubling thoughts by doing so. Now it was darkening, the first few stars twinkling. A small, crystal clear stream of water flowed peacefully between the hills, winding in and out of sight before finally reaching the River Arthria, a gleaming line on the horizon.
Slightly closer than the river was a city. Armylia, to be precise. The outskirts formally known as the Undercity, but justly named the Slums by all who had seen them, were made up of ramshackle huts that seemed to barely be able to stand upright, some businesses but mostly homes for the poor. Winding between them all were hard-packed dirt roads, seeming to have no particular order to their layout. Inside the wall that limited the expanse of the Slums was the Lower City, a place of whitewashed clay walls and tile on every roof instead of rotting planks and thatch. The dirt paths gave way to cobblestones, winding between the houses. The Lower City was contained within walls as well, and beyond the inner wall was the Upper City. It was a gleaming place that stank of wealth, with stone building several stories high usually, roads covered with a slightly new contraption called pavement, and a shockingly high number of windowpanes filled with glass, however bubbled and blemished. Rising above it all was the palace. Home. The stone walls rose up so high, she had often lost count while trying to discover the number of stories. Every windowpane was filled with costly glass without a single bubble, and the white stones seemed to shine from even this distance. Behind the castle, the glowing golden orb that was the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, the sky ablaze in pink and orange.
{Daydreaming again?} The feminine voice exploded inside her head, ripping her from her thoughts.
{You know exactly what I was doing, Nightflower. Thank you for interrupting me,} she replied sarcastically.
Nightflower seemed to sigh, if that was possible of the raven. {You know what you were told, Ether. It's dangerous to visit Tel'aron'rhiod without having someone to teach you about it.} She then proceeded to preen her iridescent feathers, shimmering between black and dark magenta or emerald green and then back again.
Manetherendrelle Opaby sat sidesaddle atop a inky black mare with a sandy tan mane and tail and big brown eyes that were full of gentle understanding. On Ether's outstretched hand rested her familiar, Nightflower the raven, who was examining her bonded with beady black eyes.
Riding sidesaddle was necessary to preserve Ether's dignity, as the dress she wore didn't have skirts divided for riding. It was made out of sleek, shiny ebony silk with a purposely tattered cream slash in the skirts. There was no clear divide between the bodice and the skirts, other than the waistline becoming gradually smaller to show off her slender waist. The bodice fit snugly over her bosom, the sleeveless design holding itself just high enough that no cleavage was visible. Off the top edge came two straps that wrapped around her arms just below the shoulder, looking like black slashes. Trailing off of those were fluttering black ribbons she had tied in a criss-cross fashion down to her wrists. It was a ball gown, of sorts. Small holes were cut into the back of the dress, equally far away from the double line of mother-of-pearl buttons up the back. From these holes jutted two delicate ebony wings, iridescent like Nightflower's feathers. They hung at such an angle that they seemed to be wilting, and considerably smaller than her mother's large white wings. Her long black hair hung in rippling waves down to her waist, small white plumerias woven in at random places. Holding her hair back behind her ear on the left were two pure white lilies, now seeming to be tinged pink in places from the fading light. Covering her milky-white face was a swirling black silk mask with gold swirls decorating it. The mask seemed to become small tendrils of wind or feathers just past her hazel-rimmed green eyes. Having just escaped from a masquerade ball, she had not yet thought to remove the mask.
{Why did you run this time?} Nightflower asked after a moment.
{Oh, you know as well as I. All those nobles! Getting offended when I don't show proper respect to their rank, as if they couldn't tell I'm the Daughter-Heir because of this mask!} At the thought, she tried to rip the thing from her face, forgetting the black silk ribbons that held it in place. "And all those men!" she continued heatedly, this time audibly with her painted lips moving in disgust. "Flirting and asking to dance and grinning like bloody fools when I so much as bat my eyelashes at them! They act like I'm searching for a beau, or worse, a husband! I'm not ready to be married yet!"
Nightflower simply blinked. {Your mother was married when she was your age, as you know.}
Ether sighed exasperatedly. "I know, but that was different. She was sure she was ready; I know she was. Mother never makes a decision without being sure. I want to see more of Myrari than just Armylia before I go."
Hoof-beats sounded behind them. Ether wheeled her mount around so she could face the newcomer, a figure riding a bay gelding like the Dark One was on his tail. As he drew closer, the fairy could see that he was one of the men from the ball, his mahogany hair cropped to just below his shoulders and pulled back in a modern style popular with the men coming to be known as a "pony tail." His dark blue silk coat would have reached his knees had he been standing, and it was coated in embroidery. His black silk breeches were just visible between his coat and shining, freshly blacked turned-down boots that reached just below his knee. A navy blue velvet mask in an incredibly simple cut compared to Ether's still covered his eyes as though he, too, had simply run from the ball without any thought other than to get away. As he drew reign beside the Daughter-Heir, the gelding's heavy panting could easily be heard.
"My lady! I saw you run from the party and thought perhaps you were in trouble. But then I decided you couldn't possibly be in trouble in a room with so many friends, so I thought maybe you were trying to get away, and perhaps you would like some company? Also, it isn't safe for a lady such as yourself to ride alone!" he frantically blurted out. A dusty-brown mouse poked its nose out of a special pocket sewn into his coat. Probably his familiar.
Ether had paid little attention to what the boy was saying though, her horrified gaze turned to the horse. "You IDIOT!" she cried, leaping down from her mount gracefully. "Did you gallop him all the way here? You could have killed him!" The gelding's eyes were rolled up, its sides coated with lather, and its breathing becoming ragged. Gently she petted its muzzle, whispering soothing sounds for a moment before ripping the reigns from the boy's hands to lead it slowly to the stream so it could drink.
"Get off the horse," she commanded coldly, "And don't try to ride him for at least an hour. If I catch you on that horse's back before the sun sets completely, you'll be answering to Thistreen herself."
The boy's eyes widened in shock as Ether pulled herself back up into her saddle, gently flicking the reigns so her mare started down the hill at a trot. "But how will I get back into the city?!" he called after her. "The gates close at dark!"
"That is a problem for you to figure out!" Ether called back as she made her way home.
|
|
|
Post by revolution on Jun 28, 2008 16:13:16 GMT -5
Wallace Davenson was not having a very good day.
Onionskin, he thought, looking dejectedly about at the mountains of recycled textile sheets piled onto his desk, does not last. It will eventually break down and be reabsorbed by this low-grade slag desk of mine. One day I may come into work and the papers at the bottom of this mountain will have disappeared, unread, forever. But the production is very clean, and extremely necessary in these uncertain times: Russians are glowing, but onions keep growing. He smirked, but only for a moment, face falling back into the same stagnant expression it had been set in for years, like wet cement into a mold. LxZ, he read, lifting his schedule sheet with distaste. 12:30- Sluice complaint registered by Catering/Cleanup: Vidphone conference requested. "Thank god for that." He rumbled, almost shuddering at the idea of putting a furious cleanup crew and that nasty Yank together in his already filthy office. But what if- he reached uncertainly toward the ancient paging button bolted to the upper-right corner of his desk, sweeping aside it's tent shelter of FW: prints and, lifting the glass cover, pressed the red circular button encased within. Idiot proof. Supposedly. He doubted it, as he felt plenty idiotic as he rang the front desk. "Tisha?" He questioned, directing his voice not to the open air as you could in so many offices but instead to an equally ancient intercom bolted to the wall behind his head, which was indeed so old that it actually had a wire running from it's base and through a minuscule mousehole in the wall below. "Yes?" Came the response, so loud that a handful of dust leaped from the top of the intercom. "Tisha, I was wondering, will the Catering/Cleanup crew be the ones coming in today?" "Oh, you mean those nut-jobs who were bitching about the sluicer yesterday? No, actually. Didn't you print the memo?" "No." He said, self-consciously crumpling up the still-warm onionskin memo and slipping it into the recycling pipe under his desk. "Here is is... Yes, Catering's going to give you a call. James' coming in- his vidphone's bust, so he's to be here in a few minutes. I'll give him a buzz." "No kidding." Said Wallace Davenson, a sudden great weight filling his body and pinning him to his chair. Like his bones were filling with slag. This office is slag, he thought, air hissing out of his beaked nose as the imaginary pressure grew. This job is slag. My life is turning to slag. Heavy, untenable, worthless.
A steady thump filled the hallway outside of his office, as though someone was repeatedly dropping a bowling ball onto an illegal down pillow, again and again and again. Though, unlike the bowling ball-and-pillow scenario, this sound was accompanied by a hydraulic hiss, which grew increasingly louder as it came nearer.
So why does he get to be steel?
|
|
|
Post by revolution on Jun 30, 2008 17:01:27 GMT -5
And, by the look of things, it wasn't going to get much better. The red intercom button before Davenson began to pulse attentively, it's WL (White Light) bulb sending lines of heat snapping painfully off of the back of his retinas. Wincing, he reached forward and gave the alert a furious prod, swiping tears out of his damaged eyes. Have to get that fixed. Focused light; who's the wanker who thought of that one? He thought, as the intercom yet again bit to life. "Davenson?" Came Tisha's voice, it's tone now rendered by an apparent edge of dislike. "He's in the hall. Should I slide the lock, or should we just let him rot out there?" "Alright, alright, go ahead." There came a heavy sound as the lock slid aside in the door, it's dense (yet likewise slag) bar settling forcefully into the tumbler. The doorknob clattered, and only a moment later, there came a very bodily thump that sounded a bit like a melon being bashed into the door frame. Figuratively speaking, of course. "You could try opening the door before you walk through, you know." Stated Davenson, placing his hands on his desk and rising respectfully as his client walked into the room. Nort staggered into the room, teeth bared in an expression more so wrought by embarrassment than pain, one hand clamped to his forehead. He moved forward into the room, leaving the door so disrespectfully ajar that Davenson almost instinctively paced over to shut it, knowing from experience that a draft could at any minute rush in and topple his carefully balanced kingdom of Onionskin prints. Turning, he returned to his seat. Once again protected by his desk, he attempted to think reassuring thoughts, steeling himself for the inevitable onslaught. What was it that he'd learned in that one foolish confidence workshop? With claws, go for flaws. Pathetic as it was, he wasn't about to lose face. Short, he thought, shuffling the papers upon his desk knowingly as James Nort sat down heavily in the meager-looking chair before him. I've got at least a... Foot, yes- the new world measurement, of course. A whole foot on him. It was not long, though, before he recognised this advantage as nothing more than a desk job foot, every bit as spindly as the borrowed chair he'd placed, principal-to-student-like, before him. But he's got at least seventy pounds on you, matey. Snapped another voice, a strange barker from the back of his mind. "Oh, hush." He replied, and opened the folder.
|
|
|
Post by FewRevelations on Jul 6, 2008 13:40:41 GMT -5
As soon as she passed through the tall, arching stone gate that marked entrance to the palace, Ether was greeted by a flurry of hostlers, all eager to take her horse and help her out of her saddle. She slipped off unaided, in defiance of all the hands offered as stepping stools. {These fools seem to forget I'm a fairy!} she told Nightflower, enraged.
{Get a hold of your temper,} the raven scolded. {It's not their fault; they have to follow protocall!}
Ether was silent after that, knowing there was no way she could prove her point and not sound spoiled, but she continued to fume internally anyways. Finally inside, she walked right past the room where her mother was hosting the masquerade ball, unlacing her delicate black and gold mask as she went. She was rapidly forming plans in her mind, ones that included a hot scented bath and a tray of sweets before curling up on her bed with a book, when a glance at the corridor before her swept all thoughts from her mind. "Mother!" the girl exclaimed, trying to hide her chagrin. She had hoped she had slipped away unnoticed.
Avendoraldhera Opaby, queen of Myrari since her teens though now nearing her forties, showed little to indicate her age. Her shimmering gold silk gown was elaboratly cut, reflecting the styles of her youth with flowing sleeves. Her gold mask looked somewhat like a golden butterfly, come to rest upon her nose. Her flowing black hair was left loose, the gold Crown of Roses resting upon her head. She was obviously furious. "Where were you?" she asked, raising her chin elegantly to gain some height on her daughter.
Ether winced, hurrying over to Aven. "I'm sorry, Mother. I just needed to go get some air. It was dreadfully crowded in there!"
The queen shook her head. "And you could only find fresh air outside the city walls?"
This time, the girl flinched, caught in a lie with no way to turn for escape. "I was tired of all the courting and protocall," she murmured dejectedly. "I apologize, Mother."
"And you don't think I never grow tired of it?" Aven asked, a small smile coming to her lips. "It's all right, Ether. Just next time you decide to slip away like that, tell me first so I can come with you."
Ether's eyes went wide with shock. "What?!"
"Hurry on up to your room, now. I saw you returning to the city from the window in the East Tower. If your aren't quick, your bath water will grow cold!" Aven watched her daughter race up the steps before turning and reentering the ball, a small sigh of dissapointment passing her lips.
Ether raced up the stone steps toward her room, not caring how many servants stared at her as she raced by, her ebony skirts hitched up to expose her knees. Nightflower flew after her, flapping her wings frantically to keep up. Finally she could see the double doors to her rooms ahead, the huge expanses of gleaming oak covered in ebony and cherry inlays depicting thousands of rosebuds on the verge of blooming. She pulled the doors open the moment she ran into them, unable to stop properly as she slid across the floor on her velvet slippers. Tugging them closed behind her seemed to be another matter, however, but in the end she was closed off from the world, not even servants about to bother her.
She dropped her skirts with a sigh, inhaling the scent of roses, cinnamon, and vanilla oils that wafted from a huge brass tub in a side room. Excited and unable to wait a moment longer than necessary, she stripped to her skin so fast she barely had time to lay her gown out on the bed neatly to prevent wrinkles in the silk before she was immersed in wonderfully hot water. She hummed in pleasure, sinking down until the water tickled her chin, her wings shivering in a way that made her need to scratch her back.
A sudden impulse had her dipping her head below the water as well, holding the biggest breath she had ever taken. She sat there for a moment, the top of the water an inch above every bit of her body, her eyes squeezed shut, her hair floating around her like it was caught on the wind and in slow motion. The peacefulness slowly crept into her, cooling her temper.
Complete silence settled over Ether and her surroundings, not even the sound of her subtle bumping against the brass tub making sound in the still water. It was the kind of silence that made one's ears feel like they were ringing. A moment was all the time she planned to spend like that; she would need to breathe soon. With an inward sigh, she pushed herself upward, expecting her head to break the surface of the water almost instantaneously.
Instead, she only felt more water.
Confused and afraid, Ether did the only thing she could think to do: continue pushing upwards. Her body lengthened into the forms and movements of an expert swimmer who had just dove and was searching for air, but no matter how hard or quickly she propelled, the surface never seemed to come, and she was running out of air. There was no time to spare, not for anything but movement. As she felt her last few bubbles of used air escape her mouth, she involuntarily inhaled.
Her eyes shot open, first filled with terror, knowing she was drowning, then with confusion. Though her skin was telling her she was surrounded by water, she could breathe just fine. And instead of the dark murkiness she had expected, all around was a light so pure and so soft yet bright, she felt not even secrets could be exposed by it. She felt a tickling pain simply looking at it, though there was nowhere to look away to.
Ether's head whipped around, to and fro, begrudgingly searching for some way to escape what seemed to be eternal encasement in beautiful, caressing pain. Suddenly she saw... Was that a flicker of movement? A woman with strangely dark skin, the color of a popular new drink some had called kahfie, strode toward her. No, stride wasn't exactly the right word. Flow was better. The woman flowed toward her, not really moving yet at the same time every muscle working. She was shockingly beautiful, her slender waist hung with sheens of a strange, sheer, sparkling silvery-white cloth seemingly made of moon beams, a thick strip of the same wrapping over her bosom. Her flowing, perfectly straight black hair hung down to her waist, small tendrils from the side pulled up and back to rest on the back of her head so it seemed her hair made a crown, the effect accented by small sparklies that reminded Ether very much of stars. Her eyes, though Ether percieved them as a silver-white reminiscent of the moon, were impossible to describe. The fairy new there was more to this woman than met the eye, though she could in no way say how. It was some sixth sense, giving her an indescribable kind of feeling about this being, pain and love and hatred and kindness all wrapped into one.
She felt herself slowly lowered, as though the water that held her was being gradually drained, until her feet hit some invisible solidness so her eyes were on a level with the strange woman's. Suddenly remembering she was completely naked, she maneuvered her arms so that she was somewhat decently covered, not wanting to make a fool of herself before this great lady. Strangely, she felt silk beneath her arms, covering her. A glance down at herself revealed she was again wearing the gown she had worn to the masquerade ball, a stunned Nightflower perched on her shoulder. How very strange, that she should have clothes on without her noticing...
The woman stopped, three feet from Ether. "Your mother looked very much like you when I brought her into my service just nineteen years ago," she said, her voice reminiscent of gentle beams of light playing over a glassy-smooth pond, as well as silver chimes making quiet music in a gentle breeze.
"My... my mother?" the fairy asked, entirely confused.
The dark-complexioned woman smiled knowingly. "She didn't tell you, did she?"
"Tell me what?" She paused for a moment, thinking, examining the stunning woman. "You're Selindra, aren't you?"
Another smile graced Ether, the small curve of mud-colored lips making her feel as though she were the luckiest person alive. "You're very bright, for a girl your age. Yes, I am the goddess whom your people have called Selindra for centuries, though that is not my name, nor is this my true form or true voice. It is simply the way I have presented myself, the most cohesive way for your mind to understand me."
"Could... could I see your true form?" the princess asked hesitantly.
"You wouldn't see it so much as feel it. Are you sure you wish to know?" the goddess asked, though she knew the answer.
Ether simply nodded.
The woman's form before her faded out of sight, though some how Ether knew the being hadn't left. She saw nothing in the light around her change, yet she felt deep within her being something so pure, so wonderful, there were no words to describe it. After a moment, the goddess returned to sight.
"Now, down to what is important."
"And what might that be?"
"Did you honestly believe I would visit you for no reason? No, don't answer that, there's no need."
Ether stopped herself from opening her mouth. The thought of answering had only just crossed her mind.
Selindra continued on, taking no notice of Ether's sulking. "You're aware of the ledgends of the Creators, the beings more powerful than even I am, am I correct?" Ether nodded before the goddess continued on. "Well, as powerful as they are, they have their limitations. One big weakness of theirs is that they are mortal, and can be killed as easily as you can."
The fairy's eyes widened in shock. A being more powerful than the gods as easily killed as she herself? Impossible! She voice her comment aloud, and Selindra shook her head in reply.
"If only that were so. You see, until now, they were safe from the influence of our world. They could create things here, control our lives for the better, and keep the Dark One's influence under control, but we couldn't do anything to them."
"The Dark One?" Ether chortled. "He's just a myth."
"Oh, no," the godess contradicted. "He is very real. He was merely in hiding, nursing his wounds from the last battle, when your mother handed the Orb of Power over to me. I thought I had vanquished him, until very recently --"
"My mother was part of the quest for the Orb?!" Ether squeaked in disbelief.
"She really didn't tell you, did she? And I suppose you also don't know what really happened to your father... No matter. It does not effect you now, and that is all you need to know."
"What really happened to him? I thought he was just off on some grand adventure!"
Selindra looked as though she took Ether's words as a personal insult for a moment before continueing. "The Dark One has found a way to get to the Creators."
The abrupt change of subject left Ether's head swimming for a moment before she remembered their conversation from before. "What?" she breathed, her eyes widening in horror. "But then --"
"Don't worry; he can't get to them himself. He has to send mortals. For some reason, they're the only ones who can make the journey. But it doesn't matter who he sends; he will nearly destroy the world when he sends his forerunners, and the world will become an oblivion if he attempts to send his entire army. What he plans to do... He wants to turn the Creators, so they put him in charge of the world, with the rest of us immortals swept off to the side, powerless. And if they don't turn to him, he will destroy them."
If Ether's eyes had been wide before, they were larger than dinner platters now, every molecule filled with terror. "Why do you tell me this?" she asked, her voice rasping.
"I need your help."
"Me? What can I do?!"
"Haven't you figured it out already? I can't send myself to protect the Creators, so I'm going to send you -- along with several others -- to be their personal body guards. Will you do it?"
Ether simply nodded, too stunned to speak. She would get to meet a Creator? And protect one?!
"Good. Now. I suppose I should warn you, the world of the Creators is very... different... from the world you know. Be prepared to feel more out of place than you've felt in your life, when you arrive. Are you ready?"
Ether nodded.
"May we meet again, Manetherendrelle Opaby, daughter-heir of Myrari, daughter of Avendoraldhera Opaby and Kyo Twilight."
And then she was gone.
And so was everything else.
|
|
jenniamelia
Creator
The phrase "domestic cat" is an oxymoron.
Posts: 8
|
Post by jenniamelia on Jul 6, 2008 17:04:33 GMT -5
The sound of the gavel slammed loudly on the center of the pedestal. "Damien Ashwing?" called a voice. The Demon rose to his feet. His clawed hands and wings were chained together, ears flattened like an irritated cat. "Yes?" he growled. The large demon behind the desk nodded, looking at the young demon with distaste. "You are well aware of the reason you have been brought here I suppose?" he asked. "Yes I'm aware." he hissed, his storm grey eyes narrowed. "Very well, let the trial begin." said the large demon, looking over to the panel of four jurors to his left, and then to a regale looking demon to his right, who looked like he didn't want to be here. One of the demons with glittering scales along his arms stood up and unrolled a scroll and began to read off the charges. As Damien stood and listened a sharp pain bit into his right hand. ~Damien, DAMIEN!~ called the voice of his familiar, a medium sized black cat. ~Stop daydreaming you fool. ~ She huffed as he was jolted out of his memory and back to reality.
The demon was sitting with his back against a shop in the city he'd stopped in, though because of a spell he used to disguise himself, he looked like he was of elven descent. He was dressed in a deep green cloak, like forest leaves, breeches tucked into his boots and a tunic tucked in with a belt on which a sword hung. His stormy blue grey eyes scanned the street as no one (thankfully to him) paid any attention to him or the black cat at his side. His left hand was gloved and the fingers of the glove had been cut off to allow easier manipulation of anything. The only thing that gave away that he wasn't human was his pointed ears, other than that; you'd never know he was a demon.
"Ebony, go take a nap." he mumbled, running a hand through his fawn coloured hair. The cat rolled her eyes and bounded off, taking residence on the roof above him.
~Stop dwelling on the past, it can't be changed or helped. What's done is done. You'll have to live with it.~ she glanced down at him, ~Are you even listening to me?~ she asked as she was sure he was ignoring her.
He stretched one leg out in front of him, the other tucked up, and he couldn't remember the name of the town he came to. A few roughed up people noticed him sitting there and suddenly turned and walked in his direction.
"Can, I do something for you?" he asked. One of them grabbed him by his cloak and jerked him to his feet. "Evidently not." he said, pushing them off. "Have I done something to offend you?" he asked.
"That's a mighty fine sword you got there boy, especially for a commoner. Probably stole it." said the one who'd grabbed him. "I should think not." said Damien, offended. "I did nothing of the sort." "Yeah, that's what they all say, well someone did steal a sword from the Upper City's blacksmith, and you're down here in the Lower City." said the other man, making a grab for his sword. Damien jumped off to the side. "I beg your pardon, that belongs to me and always has." he said, putting his hand over the hilt. His other hand glowed as he readied a spell. "Now don't make me have to use magic." he warned, causing a disturbance was the last thing he wanted to do. The man made another grab at him and he ducked, "Ok, I warned you." he said, loosing three glowing orbs that slammed into him, sending him across the street. He turned to the other one, "I warned him, what are you going to do?" he asked, the orbs dancing in the palm of his hand.
"You are going to be in so much trouble." he said threateningly, taking off running down the street.
Damien sighed and closed his hand ending the spell. "You know, you could have helped." he said, looking up at Ebony.
She flicked her tail, ~You looked like you could handle yourself.~
"I just hope I'm not going to be arrested or anything." he said, watching the direction the man had run.
ooc: Umm, Since I didn't know where to put him for a setting, I looked at the maps of Armylia and decided to put him there(in the Lower City). So yeah, that's where he is.
|
|
|
Post by FewRevelations on Jul 6, 2008 23:44:40 GMT -5
ooc: -points upwards- I finally finished that message... Undoubtedly the longest roleplay message I've ever written. It's 2209 words long. That's a good length for a short story, really... Well, now I hope some of the mystery behind this plot is unraveling for you all.
|
|
jenniamelia
Creator
The phrase "domestic cat" is an oxymoron.
Posts: 8
|
Post by jenniamelia on Jul 7, 2008 13:06:42 GMT -5
ooc: Sounds interesting, but uh, how are all the characters supposed to meet?(being in different places and all).
|
|
musable
Commoner
the difference between you and me? I do what i want, you do as your told
Posts: 33
|
Post by musable on Jul 7, 2008 13:46:58 GMT -5
((can we just jump in or is it like an rsvp thing))
|
|
|
Post by FewRevelations on Jul 7, 2008 17:23:47 GMT -5
ooc: Go ahead and jump in! If you've got any questions, PM me.
And jennia, we make it up as we go along...
|
|
musable
Commoner
the difference between you and me? I do what i want, you do as your told
Posts: 33
|
Post by musable on Jul 8, 2008 8:14:46 GMT -5
Cameo was lost confused and dumbfounded. She had only recently discovered her familiar , the bouncy squirrel named Opal. The worst part was she had no idea where she was. There weren't any holes nearby that she could crawl into, no shelters...at least not where she would fit in. She walked silently along the road until she passed under a stone archway.
Her green eyes averted up and she saw a palace. Why did I even come here? She asked herself almost regrettably. Opal bounced happily around her feet. What does he want?
Opal bounced off the trail and Cameo followed in hot pursuit. "Come back, little friend! I won't let this be our end!" Curse her and her rhyming ways. Why couldn't she just talk normally? This was another peice to her puzzle that she had left to solve. But it quickly faded away as she struggled to catch up with her familiar. Her green hair streaking behind her, her fierce eyes narrowed with determination, and her plush pink lips parting slowly to release her steady breathes.
Opal turned and looked back at her, almost smiling...or was it stupid laughter?
"Why are you running? Nothing is coming!" She shouted ignoring the fact that she was not alone. She couldn't feel eyes pressing upon her. She couldn't feel the stares of the humans that looked out the windows of the palace to gaze upon this bizzare humanoid who was chasing a squirrel. By the time she did feel them...it was too late.
Opal had made it safely into the woods, he looked around to see if Cameo was near, but she wasn't. He poked his head out of the trees and discovered that his humanoid was trying to talk with soldiers.
"I mean no trouble...i'll leave on the double."
"What is thine name!" A soldier yelled/ commanded her.
"My name is Cameo,and I don't know where to go..." she stuttered. Her heart rate picked up speed.
"Sire!" Another soldier commented. "Look at her ears!"
"An elf!" The first soldier shouted.
"No just any elf sire, but by her attire she is a commoner."
"Elf! Why would a common humanoid such as yourself be wandering around outside the palace!"
"I don't know...as i've said...i don't know where to go..."
"Stop rhyming elf!"
"I can't stop my rhyme...when I speak at any time."
"Oh yeah!" The guards grabbed her and pulled her to the castle gates.
Cameo looked around from one soldier to the other. Where were they taking her? Where was Opal? Why did she follow that stupid squirrel!
Opal sighed dismally. "Uh.oh..." it seemed to say. It hopped out of the trees and slowly followed behind so that he wasn't seen. Torreath would have his small squirrelly head if the humans found out about Cameo. Just the thought was unfathomable. Please don't let the humans find out... he thought as he scurried from sid eto side with his bushy tail behind him.
|
|
jenniamelia
Creator
The phrase "domestic cat" is an oxymoron.
Posts: 8
|
Post by jenniamelia on Jul 10, 2008 14:45:56 GMT -5
ooc: Just a heads up for everyone but, from July 12th to July 26th I won't be here. So, I won't be able to RP for those two weeks while I'm away.
|
|
musable
Commoner
the difference between you and me? I do what i want, you do as your told
Posts: 33
|
Post by musable on Jul 11, 2008 7:58:54 GMT -5
((same here...i'll be gone July 28 - Aug 1st...i'll be at Disney World!! yay!!!))
|
|
|
Post by patchycat on Jul 20, 2008 22:43:29 GMT -5
“Yayy clubbing!” Zarabi squealed endearingly. She took another sip from the fruity pink drink in front of her. “Enjoying yourself?” Thread asked, his delicate voice scarcely perceptible over the earsplitting music playing in the club. He looked at the charismatic young girl contentedly. Zarabi was about the closest friend he had, and enjoyed making her happy, which wasn’t too hard a task. The appealing lass was happiest in clubs and places where alcohol and attractive men were abundant. Not too hard to find now-a-days. He wasn’t much at loss, attending to her lusts as he did: Zarabi was fairly rich, and if he wore earplugs in his long, wolfish ears, the noise didn’t bother him much. However, tonight one quite inebriated man did manage to step on his tail. Mild-mannered as he was, Thread didn’t mention anything to the man. Especially since he wasn’t much of a fighting fan; particularly when the man was twice his size and roaring drunk. “Can we please—for the love of the Gods—leave this deafening, malodorous, whorehouse!?” Céu spat crossly at them. The undersized kangaroo rat pulled her long tail about her hind paws, and glowered heatedly at Thread. He was generally considered the one responsible for all things bad that happened to them “We just got here, Céu. Chill out,” Zarabi complained. She placed one finger over the top of her straw, and held it there as she moved it out of the cup and over the countertop, and removed it to allow a few drops of the cherry-colored drink to form a rodent-sized puddle in front of her familiar. “Have a drink.” “I don’t want your intoxicating fruit juice!” She reprimanded. “I want some peace and quiet!” Thread smiled at the gold and white mouse. “If the music bothers you so much, why don’t you wait outside?” “And leave Zarabi all alone in this place?” “I’d be here.” “I rest my case.” Thread laughed gently. He tended not to let the ill-tempered rat’s barbs get to him, or anyone else’s, for that manner. “Lighten up.” Zarabi said simply, not even bothering to glance at her uptight familiar as she played with her drink. “Foolhardy teenager. Some day you’ll regret all this, and when that day comes, I’ll be more than happy to say I told you so!” “If that day ever comes.” Zarabi corrected. “What’s not to like about all this? Its fun, it’s sexy, and you get free liquor!” “You get free liquor. And only from sex-lusting men who can’t keep their balls in the right pocket.” Céu reproached. Zarabi shrugged. She honestly didn’t give a damn. “Well, that’s what I’ve got monsieur Tellurium for.” She stated, and left it at that.
|
|