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Thread: [M] Entangled IC

  1. #1
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    Default [M] Entangled IC

    Rated Mature for gore, violence, foul language, and possible sexual scenes.





    Cast of Entangled


    Erik Aurelio - Male - Twenty-four - Mind Magic; Mr. Rope
    Raine Montanari - Male - Twenty-four - Mind Magic; Juicesir
    Rixam Cogere - Male - Twenty - Elemental; Mr. Scarlet
    Kassidy "RC" Roux - Female - Eighteen - Fire Elemental; Tune
    Diedre "D" Duvall - Female - Nineteen - Water Elemental; G
    Amelia "Amy" Roux - Female - Twenty-two; Bella Chose
    Clyde Aums - Male - Thirty-four - Physical & Mental; Imp
    Beau "Rynn" Duvall - Female - Twenty-one - Mind; Ru
    Aither Rosenthal "Spirit" - Male - Eighteen - Air Elemental; Mozaic






    Burville, Haelaria; September 4th, Pre-Sunset

    A slight chill was in the air. The leaves were just now changing from their lively greens, to pleasant and sombre oranges, reds and yellows. Autumn could be felt from one end of Burville to the next. Shop owners were busy getting their goods prepared for the big Harvest Festival. By the time the crops were ready for a harvest, everyone would be too busy for such leisurely things. The smell of pies baking in brick ovens wafted through the air. Little children, with dirty little faces, stood staring in the windows of bakeries, watching the baking pastries, only to be shooed home by their mothers to get ready for tonight. Wooden stalls were around Burville Town Square, tables covered with white, frilly laced table clothes, decked out with foods and drinks of all sorts. There would be numerous contests springing up around the town.

    The Pie eating Contest was one that truly drew in the crowds. First place was a brand new Wagon with hand stitched, embroidered benches, polished and hand carved work benches and sturdy new wagon wheels. It was the talk of the town. The person to take home such a beauty would be the talk of the town for months. Everyone whose anyone would be there at the Festival tonight.

    Everyone but the Ainsworth family. No, they were not invited. They had never been invited, and as far as Matilda Ainsworth was concerned, it was no skin off her bones. She wouldn't be caught dead walking across among the commoners, partaking in what they called "festival merriment." Her family would be in Aristene, soaking in the glamour of high class society, dining on the finest food money could offer and attending the Opera. She had plans to attend the Opera with William Duvall and his lovely family tonight. She would not sully her mood with the likes of Traditionalists.

    What better time would it be to display the best goods, than one of the biggest celebrations in Burville of the year?

    The Roux family was excited, all except little Kassidy, who sat in the attic, staring down at the busy streets filled with laughing people. Would she even attend the festival with her family? She had a dress laid out for the occasion but what was the use? Amy would be the talk of the evening.




    Aristene, Haelaria; City Slums & Aristine City Square

    The crime rated had drastically been reduced over the year. Sometimes, it was hard for a bored Knight or lonely guard to find anything to do, other than guard the homes of the well-off. Many places were closing for the night. Little shops closed their doors, hanging a 'Closed' sign on the window and locked up their store, before climbing the stairs to their home above. There really wasn't much to do if you couldn't afford the luxuries of the rich. Sure, there were many parks to fool around in, swimming holes to explore and even a few pubs and restaurants left open after sunset, but other than that, the restless youths of Aristene didn't have much to do.

    Except to cause a little mischief when the city's attention was elsewhere and Burville was more livelier than them. Outsiders weren't welcomed over there, and for the most part, people didn't care. Most people could not imagine a life without magic, thus they stayed in their cramped, magic-mechanical city, with their lights and other fancy things.

    Down the empty streets of the city slums, a group of rowdy teens, juiced up on Spirits, were causing a ruckus. Windows were being broken, animals terrorized and women's undergarments were being stolen right off the clothes lines, with embarrassed ladies shrieking in their wake. They didn't care; tonight would be for their fun and amusement. If they couldn't find it one place, they'd go to the next.

    Giselle would be playing in the Aristene Opera House. Sold out by the second night. Half the Council members had already attended, and there was no way anyone would miss a performance by the beautiful and talented, Vivian Corsetti - not when Oleander Garrick himself had graced the performance the very first night. There was already a crowd gathered in front of the converted three story Opera House sat, with its high windows, lavish draperies, shining chandeliers hanging from the unusually vaulted ceiling.

    Among the crowd, members of other smaller, lesser known aristocrats could be seen, chatting with their friends over wine and finger foods, while the performers backstage were all getting ready for the curtain to rise, to sing to their hearts content. The show was destined to be a brilliant success, before the Opera troupe set out for O'caelin in the next few days.




    Spoiler: Character Notes - Please READ 
    Last edited by Tune; 09-25-2013 at 12:36 AM.
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  2. #2
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    “EXCUSE ME, GENTLEMEN.”
    Erik Aurelio was not known for keeping to himself – least of all when a ruckus was being caused that was disturbing the peace in one way or another. The quality suit he wore wouldn’t suggest it, though. In fact, he looked, at a glance, to be someone who might be reluctant to step outside, lest the bottoms of his shoes become dirty. Nevertheless, he was creating trouble now, or rather, finding trouble, and directing it at himself. His shout, incidentally, had been directed at a group of five young men causing a significant amount of public disturbance. Gradually, their antics slowed to a halt as they turned to face Erik, gathering around him in a wide semicircle.
    As none of them chose to speak up, Erik continued, tipping his hat in greeting. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re all out rather late. Won’t your parents be cross with you when they find out you aren’t in bed?”

    “That would imply they own a bed. Five gutter rats such as these can only envy those with barely anything. They own less than nothing, worth less than nothing.” Out from the alley, Rixam waltzed into view, the moonlight reflecting off of his silver hair imitated a glow. With his arms crossed, and the way he looked at the gang members, his stance screamed 'contempt.' Even now, with his head tilted slightly upwards and to the side, Rixam only offered one eye to them, his face warped into a scowl. “And here's the kicker. You're all these things for one reason, and one reason only: you're worth nothing more.”
    The five youths exchanged confused looks with one another before focusing their attention back onto Rixam and Erik, apparently too bewildered to react just yet. Some were gripping tightly to sticks and other tools they’d previously been using to smash things apart.

    Erik tilted his head in Rixam’s direction, though kept his gaze focused on the group. “Still, they have to sleep SOMEWHERE, don’t they? A cot, perhaps. Or a hay bale.”

    “Or a mouse hole. Or a stable. Or...” The scowl twists into a grin as he pounds his gauntlets together. The sound of his own fists acted like a drug for Rixam, his eyes narrowed, and the grin continued to widen. His face was that of a lunatic standing in front of his favorite pastime. Beating.
    “...Right here would do just fine, wouldn't it, trash?”

    “We can’t just leave trash lying about in the street, Rixam. That’s littering.” Rolling his eyes, Erik flicked his wrist, causing the sword at his hip to draw from its sheath and hover in the air, several feet in front of him. “We have to dispose of it properly.” The weapon leveled itself at the youth in the center of the group, swaying gently from side to side.
    While one or two of those in the group appeared uneasy, they all prepared themselves for a fight regardless, raising whatever weapons they might have and closing in on Erik and Rixam.

    “Compromise: Bury the trash, and it's not littering.” Rolling his neck, Rixam released magic into his gauntlets as he pounded them together once more, causing them to glow a dull, yet very vivid orange hue in the darkness.
    “Plan A?”

    Erik offered Rixam a faint grin – something quite rare to catch sight of on him. “Plan A.”
    Last edited by Mr. Rope; 09-01-2013 at 02:02 PM.

  3. #3
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    Accidents happen; no matter the intention a mistake can be made. A blood curdling scream is what had drawn the servants down into the mine shaft where they found Mistress Beau Rynn Duval with her palms clamped down against her temples and nails digging into her scalp. Blood drip down her face into her bosom; the front of her splattered with the foreign liquid.

    The scene before her appeared to be a mining accident or part of the cave collapsing, though what exactly happened was uncertain. Quickly one of them rushed the young mistress out of the mine while the others attended to the wreckage in hopes one of their crushed coworkers were alive — only mangled limbs remained atop rocks and red puddles. One of the younger maids immediately jerked her torso to her left, hurling this morning’s breakfast. She continued to empty out her stomach, the acid burning her throat; Rynn could hear it sploosh onto the ground until she was escorted out of the cave entirely.

    A firm grip was held around her as the servant kept the tiny woman close to her chest, repeating over and over how it was all going to be fine. The words landed upon deaf ears as her violet eyes grew hazy and the world around Rynn blurred. Lush grass of their compound forming into green smears and the mansion into a variety of colors spiraling together. It was not until she was gently seated on her lush, black, princess canopy bed that the mistress reacted to the world around her.

    “Mistress Rynn! I have the water ready for you, miss. Please remove your dress immediately so it may be cleaned thoroughly before the stains settle. All is well, miss. You are safe here,” the plump woman smiled reassuringly, waving her hand in a sweeping motion towards her.

    Momentarily Rynn merely stared at the woman with large, perplexed eyes; and her head cocked to the side against her right shoulder. Crow colored hair fell loosely around her slender torso as she watched the older woman turn the knobs off on the bathtub like a bewildered child watching an adult do something new and fascinating. Slowly her body lifted up into the air as the straps and buttons on her dress were undone causing the article of clothing to slip down to the floor beneath her. Oh, how abusing her telekinetic powers for frivolous tasks thrilled her.

    With a flick of her wrist she waved the maid away who then bowed in return and left the room without question. While the door clicked shut Rynn lowered herself from her hovering position above the tub to into the scalding hot water. Scented bubbles immediately hugged her form; lavender enticing her nostrils; her nose flared then rested. A soft sigh escaped her lips with her eyes closed, allowing her head to roll back against the porcelain and arms to rest on either side.

    Her dimples twitched. Red was still caked on her across her face and collarbone. Rynn ran an index and ring finger across her cheek, staring with the same gaze filled with awe down at her fingertips. A large, Cheshire grin spread over her alabaster complexion. Her tongue slipped out between her teeth and then trailed up her fingers slowly, but greedily — taste buds painted in crimson.

    In peasant boy’s clothes she strolled downtown, keeping the brim of her hat low as she watched the brawl from the shadows. Rynn’s small frame could easily be mistaken for a young, male child simply because she stood at 4’11”. She leaned against the wall of a building with her right leg bent and the bottom of her shoe lined with back. A smirk was prevalent on her features as she eagerly awaited the outcome.
    Last edited by Ru; 09-24-2013 at 02:23 AM.

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  4. #4
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    Diedre

    Smoothing the front of her dress, Diedre lifted wide, green eyes to survey her reflection in the long mirror that stood against her bedroom wall, it's wooden frame ornately carved and beautiful, like the rest of the lavish furniture that surrounded the young girl. For a moment, she seems content; even with her hair. Given the special occasion, she had been convinced to wear it up, but despite a multitude of pins and well-placed braids the bun looked as though it might burst from containment at any moment, and far from elegant - at least to Diedre.

    Taking a step forward, she reached impatiently for the comb on her dresser, inadvertently bumping a cup of water she had placed there the night before. Before she had time to react, the cup was on the floor, its contents slowly seeping into the front of her dress. Scowling, the girl stepped back to survey the damage, inwardly kicking herself for her foolishness. She cringed at what her fathers' reaction would be; he had bought her the gown only a few days since, and now...

    Diedre's expression changed to a wondering, albeit a little worried one, her gaze drifting to the small black case that sat beside her bed. Her heartbeat quickening ever so slightly, she crossed to the desk, lifting the lid of the case and pulling a silver circlet from within. Before she could rethink her hastily made decision, she put it on, closing her eyes at the Soul Stone's cool touch against her skin. Then she stooped, picking up the cup to place it back on the dresser. For a moment she was silent, as if deep in concentration; then her eyelids snapped open and she stared downward, obviously disappointed when she saw no change.

    "Come on..." the girl muttered, her eyes shut once again. But the second attempt yielded no better results than the first, and in a momentary fit of frustration, Diedre grabbed the fabric of the dress in her fists, shaking it angrily.

    Her rage dissipated as quickly as it had arisen when the dark liquid stain, as though fleeing her anger, flew from the dress in a smooth stream, disappearing back into the cup with a quiet plop.

    "Oh." The young Duvall couldn't help the surprised exclamation that slipped from her lips, but she shook it off a moment later, gathering herself before she went downstairs, where her father and several of her siblings were waiting. The younger ones would not be joining them tonight. She smiled as Bill Duvall looked up, then faltered momentarily at the puzzled look he wore. It struck her a moment later that she had not removed her circlet; hesitant to admit to her father that she had used her magic for something she knew he would deem trivial, Diedre said nothing, as though she had adorned the thing simply as an accessory. To remove it now seemed like an admission of guilt, and as long as her father was content not to mention it, neither would she.

    "You look beautiful, my princess," was all he said her, and she gave him a small smile in return. Then there was no more time for pleasantries; her father insisted that they arrive early to the theatre; they were meeting the Ainsworths tonight, and he didn't want to be late.
    Last edited by G; 09-13-2013 at 12:27 PM.

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  5. #5
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    Kassidy

    Green eyes stared from behind a thin veil of dark lashes. Pink lips pulled downwards in an almost-always-present frown. Her brows were furrowed as she stared at the simple white and gold, frilly sleeved dress resting across the foot of her bed. Her hands were balled up into fists as she stared. Stared so hard she imagined the dress bursting into flames; with a gasp, she looked away, and buried her face in her fists.

    "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she hissed, thumping her knuckles against her brow.

    How could she ever think of leaving the house, wearing something like that? It was something befitting Amy - not her. How could she ever pull off such a gown? She couldn't, that's how. It would look as if she just tossed a fancy bed sheet over her curveless body. No, she couldn't deal with the mocking. Not again, not during this festival. She had tried to dress up last harvest, but was chided by some local girls about "boys are not allowed to wear dresses." She loathed the witches and their harsh words.

    Heaving a heavy, heart felt, exasperated sigh - really, how could she manage a breath after that? - she pulled on a pair of her work gloves and tugged a loose fitting shirt of her head, pulling it till it covered up her imperfections. Trying to shimmy her way into her trousers was a task. They were a size too small for her - not that her parents had bothered to buy her anything new. She hopped around, bouncing from one leg to the other before falling back on her bed in a huff. All she needed was her boots and a belt. Maybe a simple waist cincher Amy gave her that she grew out of a few years ago. Anything to make her look as if she had a waist to begin with.

    Once fully dressed, Kassidy stood in front of the antique, floor length mirror her grandparents left behind in their passing. The image she saw reflected caused a flurry of disappointment to swell up in her stomach. Thin arms wrapped around her abdomen, squeezing in attempt to fight back the urge to vomit. Her nerves got the best of her again.

    Pained eyes fell to the floor, staring at the old floorboards beneath her boots. Why did she even want to go? There wasn't anything for her to do. Her family would be too busy, not that they bothered with her. Not since that day, really. If anything, she would put on a fake smile, march down the stairs, and parade out of the house like she had something important to do, just like every year. She tried to look busy, but often times she failed. Her footsteps slowed considerably the further she got away from the house and the closer she got to the town square. She could already see the spires of the Ainsworth Mansion peaking into the evening sky. Such a building was so out of place.

    Not even Kassidy, the family's black lamb, dared to venture passed. It was instant dirty looks and whispers if you were caught anywhere near that forsakened estate. However, there was one other place no Burvillian dared to go: the Garrick Manor. Even in the day time, the place looked eerie and haunted. Some people swore they could hear wolves howl nearby after the moon rose. Kassidy never heard such a thing, though. She was always up late, staring into the night sky.

    That's what she'd rather be doing. Skygazing, as she liked to call it. The sky was like a beautiful watercolor painting, stretching for miles and miles in each direction, splattered with fading blues, pinks, oranges and the occasional white cloud or two. Her absent-minded staring caused her to stumbled over a loose cobble stone, and she tumbled forward, one outreached hand catching hold of something behind her knees connected with the unforgiving stones. Freckled cheeks flushed pink as she looked up, quickly looking around to see if anyone noticed her. She was just about to sigh when she caught sight of someone staring at her from their bedroom window.

    Kassidy's heart sank. Somehow, in her wandering, she managed to fall right across the street from the Ainsworth family home. The curtains in the upstairs bedroom jerked shut faster than they were opened. "Great," she mumbled, chiding herself, "Kass, you idiot, look where you ended up!" She shook her head and used the old lamp post to pull herself up. "Here of all places."

    "Do you always talk to yourself?" came the sudden, male voice. From behind one of the large stone pillars supporting the wrought-iron gate, stepped out a young man, in an outfit very much like her own. Unlike her, however, his dark hair was neatly kept, but long and pulled back into a low ponytail. He cautiously gazed back and forth, as if expecting someone else to pop out of the looming shadows of the manor, before stepping half way into the empty street.

    Kassidy was too stunned to utter another word.

    He arched a brow, as if waiting for her to speak. Doubting Kassidy's nervous fidgeting would result in another uttered word, he spoke up again, "You better get to the Festival." He jerked a thumb towards the gate, "The Ainsworth's will be leaving for Aristine soon. The driver might hit you with the carriage if you aren't careful."

    Mouth slightly agape, Kassidy nodded and scurried on her way, casting a cautious glance over her shoulder. He was still there, watching her, with a small grin on his face. Then he turned heel and left, back to where he belonged.

    She managed to get herself out of that mess.
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  6. #6
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    Amelia

    Autumn was in the air, and Amelia could only wish it would come sooner. Tonight would be the official start of the season and full of fun and laughter; hopefully, her mother would be distracted enough to leave her be about not accepting one of the men’s invitations out tonight. Instead, her youngest brother Brandon would be her company. The Roux family had worked hard all day to prepare the store for sales, their contribution to the pie-eating contest and the two games they were hosting tonight – pumpkin launching and apple-bobbing. The oldest Roux boy had helped their father assemble the miniature catapults, while the second, who had just turned twenty and was supposed to be helping, all but sang of his certain victory at the pie-eating contest. Just as soon as Amy was done, she’d gone home to get ready.

    Now, Amelia swept her clean, dry hair up off the back of her neck and handled it into a bunch on top of her head. No better; it fell back down, kept going past her shoulder blades in a gold cascade. She bounced on to the balls of her feet, raising the hem of the chemise she wore as she walked across her room to her bed, working out what to do with her hair while she donned her gown, a burgundy piece with an empire waist and trimmed in gold. It was her favorite, just warm enough for the new season and one she rarely got to wear. She changed just slightly after each time she did; before, the sleeves had been wide and flowing, but now they were bound tight with leather and gold lacing along the outside of her arms. She had also altered its neckline, making it wider to the shoulders and a little lower, showing off a little more décolletage that some of the elders may have preferred. The wide skirt brushed her floor as she moved back to the mirror to fix her hair a way she liked; Amy screwed up her face as she worked to braid a few strands just above her ears and then secured them at the back of her head. She slid her wool stocking-covered feet in to her best boots, comfortable and still almost-new, since she barely wore them. Last, Amy swiped a shade of berry lip stain on to her lips for extra color, tucking the little jar in to the hidden pocket in her skirt.

    Moving from her room, she was very nearly bowled over by Kassidy, leaving the house as she normally did when there was something going on, with purpose. Oh, she had hoped Kassidy would have at least worn a dress, she thought as she saw how her sister was dressed. Amy opened her mouth, her hand twitched to raise, to say something, to catch her only sister’s attention but the words died in her throat and she closed her mouth to bite her lip and the girl was out the door. She exhaled slowly through her nose and moved to sweep her youngest sibling in to her arms from where he stood in the kitchen; Brandon let out a squeal of delight and she twirled him around, her burgundy skirt swaying out in a wide circle around her. She set the boy down and he nearly gasped to look at her.

    “Amy!” His green eyes were wide as discs and she curtsied like royalty for him. “Princess!” It was his favorite game, he the gallant knight and she the princess. She straightened his coat and fastened the buttons so they were straight – somehow, little Brandon never got his buttons right.

    “Would you escort your princess, m’lord?” She smiled and he puffed up his chest, moving to her side to guide her arm in to his; Amy laughed and stood, both their arms extending so they could hold hands. “This might make it easier to walk, m’lord!”

    He’d been a head shorter last year and even though she had helped raise her younger siblings, it always took her breath away how they grew; all her brothers and sprouted up around her like weeds, right before her eyes. Amelia remembered how she used to threaten them with lashing bricks to their heads with leather straps so they would stop growing. Only Kassidy had remained shorter than her, and not by much. It was awkward to walk arm in arm with Brandon now, but next year, or maybe the year after that, it wouldn't be, and then all of her baby brothers and sister would all be grown.

    “Do you have your allowance?” Amelia asked and her brother nodded his head fervently. “Then, we’re off!” She announced, loud enough so it would carry through the house.

    “Wait!” Came a cry from upstairs, but Amy and Brandon were out the back door before her mother could come bustling down the stairs with more suggestions about accepting a suitor.

  7. #7
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    Rixam

    Sparing no time, Rixam made a dash for the closest member of the gang. The unfortunate soul didn't seem to get the memo of "working in numbers" and ran forward to meet him without first checking for support from his friends. Being armed with a wooden plank must have instilled enough confidence in him to believe he could take one person out at the very least, right?

    Wrong.

    Just before the two would have collided, Rixam forced to a halt and crouched downward, locking his shoulder at about waist height. The thug, currently running at full speed, had little time to react before going head over Rixam's shoulder, followed by landing flat on his back.

    Rixam's cackle was paired with stepping on the street urchin's throat, which produced a wonderful mixture of a coughing and gagging sound. But without notice, Rixam relieved the pressure on the boy's throat. He wasn't going to crush his windpipe. Maybe later. But for now, there were more important things to deal with. Like four other pieces of garbage strewn about the street. A swift kick to the side of the grounded thug's head was all that was needed for Rixam to believe he wouldn't be getting up for the time being.

    His bloodlust was temporarily sated, but the feeling of euphoria quickly disappeared when his back was stuck with a long, hard object. This swift blow was enough to knock Rixam cleanly off his feet, his face meeting the dirt with a loud thud as his body hit the ground.

    That Euphoria was now fury. Fury that would blind Rixam to any and all reason from him, or anyone around him for the time being. His boiling hatred for whatever hit him became his strength. Strength that was used to rise up through the pain and face his bat wielding assailant. The fury was channeled into his magic, the gauntlets growing ever brighter. At this point, one could see the heat waves emanating from him. His breathing matched that of a rabid beast, ready to destroy that what was in front of it.

    No more jokes, he started to stride towards the thug, his eyes locked onto target. The bat swung downwards in his direction, but met only air. Rixam had rotated his body, the bat fractions of an inch from his nose at it whizzed by. Keeping the momentum of the motion, he swung his arm across into the shoulder of his attacker. Which was accompanied by the crack of bone meeting steel. Dropping the bat, the boy cried out in what must have been a great deal of pain as he clasped his shoulder with his other hand. The confidence drained out of his face. Pain and fear are much stronger feelings. But Rixam wasn't leaving him time to react. So the next blow went straight into the boy's nose, knocking him straight to the ground like his friend. The blood poured from his newly broken nose as he coughed up what blood drained into his throat.

    "Oh. I'm not done with you yet, son."

    This was no longer cleaning up the trash, this became personal when Rixam was hit with his back turned. As such, he took this opportunity to climb onto the boys chest, and begin pounding at his face.

    "If. You're. Going. To. Hit. Someone. From. Behind. Make. Sure. They. Stay. Down." Each word was a strike to the boy's head. Rixam had every intention of hammering his words into this guy. Physically and mentally. Each hit bloodying his gauntlets more and more. Each fist acting as a vent for Rixam's rage. Each hit would calm him down a little more, and as he came back to his senses, he bent over to meet the boy's mouth with his ear. He was breathing. Barely. Climbing up off of him, he stood over the thug to examine his work.

    "I swear Erik, if there isn't at least one more person conscious over there for me to pummel into the dirt, I'm not going to be happy."
    The thrill in playing a game does not come from our chances of winning. It is the weight and pressure of losing that fuels our fascination. It is why people challenge, why they gamble and why they compete. The adrenaline that comes from defying defeat is what motivates us.


  8. #8
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    Aither
    ~Spirit~

    There was a glint of white light traveling between the shadows. If looking ever so closely one could every once in a while catch a glimpse of the silhouette of the darkened figure. Whatever came was quick as it climbed through the shadows, melded with the darkness, and faded within an instance. Such a technique had taken years of mastery, and hiding. It was a perfect combination of stillness, silence, speed, and coordination. The thing that made it easiest was all those trees he climbed as a child.

    Aither glided passed one window after the next slinking into corners, and ducking between buildings whenever needed. As he passed one in particular he caught site of a light flickering as a curtain was tossed to the side. He halted his steps joining with the wall while a young girl peered out. She opened the window, and checked to see if there were any prying eyes before climbing onto its ledge.

    She took in the warm embrace of the wind, her short golden blonde hair dancing across her face As she closed her eyes Aither took the moment to use his wind to climb the walls, dashing passed her, and onward higher. She caught sight of him just as he was about to go over the roof top, and the two of them stared at each other before he gave a casual wave, and continued along his way.

    Sometime into his journey he stopped settling back somewhere up above the city of Aristine making no effort to hide this time. Below him he had spied a magnificent fight scene. He eased closer to get a better view curious of the gauntlets one was wearing. Out of the sprawling group he could tell who was with whom by who was on the ground. The brutality that went in at one point surprisingly did not faze him although he was never much into violent acts. Not so much because they were unnecessary, but because most involved in brawls tended to look like performing monkeys to the onlooker. He only saw a few tails in this one.

    He wondered if he could get a better view from down below, deciding against it rather quickly. Instead he slinked back tipping his mask up and placed a hand over his head measuring the distance between each fighter. With a large grin he shouted down at the guys getting their asses handed to them, “Hey you guys need some help down there?! You seem to be taking an awful beating!” He stood up putting down the mask. “No wonder though, your footing is all over the place!”

    Tapping the side of his mask he shifted his attention, saying this time to the two obviously more competent men, “But seriously, after you’re finished fooling around with this lot, I’d like to go a round with one of ya.” He pounded his fists together, but was not at all intimidating even being decked out in all his gear. In fact it might have made him look smaller.
    Last edited by Mozaic; 09-16-2013 at 10:58 PM.

  9. #9
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    Erik Aurelio


    As Rixam charged into the fray, Erik stayed back, allowing his sword to act as the medium through which he conducted this battle. Already, one of their opponents, armed with a rusty metal pole, was circling the floating weapon cautiously, unsure of what to do about it. Erik cut his planning short, driving his sword downwards in a vertical slash, severing the thug's pole in half. Immediately, he drew the sword back, preparing to impale his opponent through the neck. A split second before delivering the blow, however, he thought better of it, instead rotating his sword a full 180 degrees, bludgeoning the youth over the head with the hilt until he collapsed to the ground.

    There was little time to rejoice in this triumph, however. As Erik had been dispatching his first target, a second had managed to close in on him enough from the left to be nearly upon him. Unfortunately, Erik's sword was currently hovering over an unconscious body thirty feet away with a bloody handle, and as such, was too far away to make use of. A mental tug on the blade caused it to begin making its way back to him, but it certainly wouldn't be arriving in time to be of any use. Drawing on the power of the charger embedded in his hands, Erik thrust his open palm out towards his would-be assailant, calling forth two small knives from their concealed sheaths. Each of them bolted forward, burying their blades in either of their target's legs. Judging by the resulting screams from the thug, Erik gauged he'd managed to strike at least one femur with his attack. Using still more energy from his Soul Stones, Erik tore each of the small weapons free as the poor soul fell to the ground, frantically grasping at the wounds on his legs.

    "I swear Erik, if there isn't at least one more person conscious over there for me to pummel into the dirt, I'm not going to be happy."

    Erik rolled his eyes. Rixam's bizarre desire to always be responsible for at least half of the-

    ...Wait.
    HALF? Quickly, Erik counted the bodies. The two he'd defeated lay on the ground where he'd left them, and another two littered the ground at Rixam's feet. One, two, three... four. Where was the fifth?

    He caught on to the situation none too soon, apparently. Hearing a single footstep on the ground behind him, Erik took a quick step forward, turning wheeling around and bringing his fist into the jaw of the thug that had attempted to sneak up on him. Not allowing his opponent time to react, Erik thrust his opposite hand forward, slamming one of his daggers into the boy's shin with such force that it literally swept him off his feet. The thud his body made upon hitting the ground indicated he wouldn't be standing back up on his own any time soon.

    "...Oh, don't be such a child, Rixam," Erik called, turning back to his companion. "Nobody's going to think any less of you just because you happened to hit less things than me. Except, perhaps..." Erik had heard a voice during the fight. At the time, he'd ignored it, but now that he had time to think, the presence of a third party was readily apparent, and what had been said began to sink in. Looking up towards their spectator, Erik continued his sentence, a discontent frown taking over his face. "...For them. You, sir. What do you take us for? Common criminals? I don't fight people simply for fun - I only uphold the peace."

  10. #10
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    Burville; Ainsworth Manor





    Duchess Ainsworth stood in all her glory before a floor to ceiling mirror, marveling at her unfinished outfit with glistening eyes. One of her many servants - she never bothered to learn the woman's name - was behind her, fastening the strings to her corset. "Tighter," demanded Matilda. Her high brows furrowed into a scowl, and she sucked in a breath as the strings were pulled tighter. She would not allow her appearance to be marred by improper corset etiquette. A satisfied sigh escaped her stained red lips. "Finally," she cooed, trailing her palms over her hourglass form, "Perfect figure."

    "You always have a perfect figure, My Lady," agreed the Maidservant. Matilda shot a glare in the mirror, puffing out her bone-thin chest in indignation. "Don't you think I already knew that?" retorted Matilda, smacking the Maid's hands away. "If you're quite done blabbering, fetch me my Gwen Artoli gown. The one with the frills and high neck."

    The Maid bowed and quickly scurried across the vast carpeted floor, past the Duchess' lavish four poster canopy bed, and to the extensive mahogany wardrobe. Tossing open the double doors, gazing into the wardrobe was a splendid sight to behold. It never ceased to take any Maid's breath away. Matilda Ainsworth was a woman of nobility, wealth and exquisite tastes. The only one that could possibly top the Duchess' fine assortment of clothing would be young Marah Garrick, of the filthy rich Garrick family. That child had everything. She did not speak it, but Matilda's hatred for the wretched young miss extended far passed their on-going fashion battle. The child was spoiled to the core - and deserved more than a few lashings to put her in her place.

    "Stop gawking and bring me my dress!" exclaimed Matilda, her sunken cheeks burning red with impatience. "Theodore is not one to be kept waiting."

    "Yes, My Lady. Sorry My Lady."

    Matilda rolled her eyes. Such an incompetent woman, she thought, narrowing her eyes. If the young Maid hadn't been a talented seamstress, she would've been tossed out on the streets with the rest of the unworthy servants that dared sully her doorstep with their trash. "Send in the rest," said Matilda, shooing the woman away, once her gown was secure.

    It would take a bit longer before she was ready to set foot outside. Let alone into the public's eye.

    She had a reputation to maintain, of course!

    __________________

    Soon after dressing, the Ainsworth's carriage, with its two large Clydesdale horses calmly trotted out from behind the large, wrought iron gate, the neighing and nervous stomping of horses' hooves shooing away any of the lesser folks who decided to wander too close to the main road to Aristene. Matilda scowled, fanning herself. "Hurry up, driver!" she ordered, "I don't want to catch their inferiority." A couple of traditionalists that had been standing on the sidewalk overheard the insult, and turned their heads, casting glares in the carriage's direction.

    One look from Matilda's beady eyes from behind her lacy fan sent the young boys scurrying off like scared little insects, in which a delighted laugh emitted from her wrinkled throat. "Oh, how I love tormenting the commoners," she sighed.

    "If I didn't know any better, Duchess," came a masculine voice from across the carriage, "I would say you are ecstatic." From the shadows, the male advisor, Farlo, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a smug grin stretching across his well-trimmed, angular face. His grin only grew wider still when Matilda's aged face flushed. Indeed, she looked much younger than she was, but he could see passed all the beauty treatment, deep into her eyes.

    She scoffed, and snapped her fan closed, waving it in his face in a threatening manner. "You better watch your tone with me, Farlo!"

    He only stirred the pot more when he brushed away her menacing fan, and leaned back against the plush cushions, crossing his legs. His smug expression never left his face. "Or what, My Lady, would you do to me, for my questions?" He tilted his head to the side, resting his chin among a gloved hand. "Would you cut me loose?" His green eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, "No, of course not. You couldn't afford to lose another adviser." He gestured to himself, "Men such as myself are quite hard to come by."

    Matilda pursed her lips. His pompous demeanor infuriated her so. She snapped open her fan, and waved it in front of her face, dismissing his disrespectful conversation, as if it never happened. The sun was setting further and further behind the mountains. Soon it would be night and the Opera would begin. She, of course, would be enjoying herself among the other aristocrats. It was all she could do to quell the excitement welling up in her chest. One cautious, fleeting glance in Farlo's direction and all traces of excitement faded.

    He just had to dampen her fun.





    Aristene Opera House


    Among the crowd of well-dressed socialites, the noticeable faces of the Duvall family could be seen, conversing with many well-known people. The Sterling family was in attendance. A well-to-do musical family, filled with gifted pianists, cello players and other musically talented children. They would be taking part in the orchestra tonight, however while the show was not going to start for another hour or so, their golden heads bobbed between the throngs of people, sipping on glasses of red wine.

    Rhodes Sterling stood beside the grand staircase, glass of wine in hand as he ran his slender fingers through his straight golden hair. Out of all the Sterling boys, Rhodes had to be the ladies' man of the family. Twenty-four and had never settled down, he had many prospective women lined up in a feeble attempt to claim his attention. Like all the rest, they were cast aside, as he informed them, rather bluntly, of his love for music and their lack of marriageable qualities. As rude as he was charming, he never cared for the married life. His attention would always be focused on Vivian, the very nightingale to play Giselle, her destined role.

    He would've been in back, helping her with her costume, practicing her high notes in accompaniment with his piano - if only his father hadn't drug him from the bag to do some "mingling" with the other aristocrats of Aristene. It was plain as day; he wasn't thrilled to be among a crowd of giggling women, yet he suffered through it, if only for the time being. He'd soon be whisked away by the Maestro in due time. Looking passed the group of women surrounding him - not a very hard feat, considering he stood mere inches over six foot, his blue eyes caught a glimpse of a Soul Stone among the crowd. His brows twitched in curiosity.

    A Mage amid this crowd? He knew many of them had Mages in the family, however most did not flaunt their powers in public. It wasn't quite acceptable to elders, who believed in the nonsense from centuries ago. Excusing himself, he left the women with frowns on their faces, their hopes crushed in his wake. His hands tugged on his black tail coat, buttoning the gold buttons across his chest. He would approach the beauty with the Soul Stone Circlet, and inquire her name.





    City Streets, Aristene

    At the hands of the very capable Rixam and Erik, the ruffians who caused a fuss in the slums were easily taken down, their make-shift weapons scatted across the floor. Blood oozed from many of the injuries, but these boys would live. They, however, wouldn't be moving anytime soon. At least, the ones that were unable to stand. One of the boys' began to stir from his knock out. Broken shoulder and throbbing headache, it took him awhile to get his sight back. Everything was blurry and the agony of sharp pains shooting through his shoulder was enough to make him vomit but he held his own. He didn't have enough in his stomach to hurl at the moment, as is.

    He could hear the faint buzzing of voices but he couldn't understand what was being said. Slowly lifting himself up, he clutched his arm and unsteadily rose to his feet. While they were talking, he'd make a run for it. Blurry eyes took in the scene at his feet. His so-called friends lay in bloodied heaps around his feet, strewn across the ground like trash. He then looked to the two men talking.

    Magic users.

    Mustering up whatever strength he had left - if you call it strength, others would call it cowardice - and fled down the street, attempting to put enough distance between himself and the others. His friends would just have to wait for him to get back. No way was he going to face a more brutal pummeling than before.





    Garrick Mansion; Outskirts of Burville


    From the vicinity of her bedroom, Marah's stocking covered feet strode across the cold marble floor, her gown's frilled train sweeping across the cool stone like a lover's hand gliding across a woman's soft cheek. High brows furrowed as eyes narrowed into slits. Her small fists were clenched firmly by her sides. How dare Father lock her in her room for the night. Did he not know what she was capable of? Did he not care that she had plans for the night? No, of course not. The money loving old fool was just as pre-occupied as the senile old geezer she called her grandfather. Always keeping himself locked away in his room, doing Akala knows what, for ungodly days at a time. If he wasn't in his room, he was.. somewhere. She never managed to find out where the old man liked to go when he wasn't coped up in his lonely bedroom.

    She really didn't care, but if she knew something her Father didn't, it was in her best interest to find out. So far, Harper had failed to acquire any information for her, which made her blood boil. She had spent the last couple of hours, locked in her room, strewn across her bed with a massive headache. It was only recently that she had managed to crawl herself out of bed, let alone walk without being dizzy. Even that was a feat she wasn't too comfortable admitting.

    Her blue eyes cast a dirty glare towards the grandfather clock the pleasantly ticked away in the corner of her room. It was only six o'clock at night. Even from this far away, she could hear the sounds of merriment emitting from the town of Burville. Striding across her room, she slung open the curtains and opened up the glass doors to her balcony. The warm air was nice, but she clung her gown closer to her body. It was already starting to get cold. Or was that her sickness making her body sensitive to temperatures?

    Frail hands grasped the railing, coiling around the cool metal. Blue eyes narrowed into razor-sharp daggers as she eyed the cozy little town, with its white washed brick homes and clay roofs. The only defining feature about the place was that the Ainsworth mansion, in all its dark stone and high spires, stood out like a rattle snake in a pumpkin patch. She absolutely loathed the place. Loathed the people there, laughing and carrying on with their Harvest Festival, not caring about what else happened around them. As if they were better than anyone else.

    Lies.

    Filthy pig farmers.

    A blond head suddenly bobbed up from the corner of her balcony, a gloved hand grabbing at the metal railing. Marah's blue eyes lit up immediately. "Harper!" she cried, rushing to the boy's aid. With her feeble strength, she did little in helping him climb over, but it was enough. Quietly dusting off his white tuxedo, he stood in front of her with a bored expression. He arched a brow in her direction and turned his head towards her room, before looking back at her.

    Her excitement was short lived. She slapped him across the chest, earning her a slight upturned smile. He caught her hands and rubbed them together, never uttering a word. She hated that about him. She jerked her hands away from him and took a few steps back.

    "Don't do that," she hissed, glowering.

    Still, he said nothing.

    Tossing her hands up in exasperation, she rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest, huffy like a spoiled child. She was quiet too, waiting for him to speak. She must've been daft to think he'd utter a single word. It wasn't like Harper to speak unless asked a direct question. Slowly she turned her head, casting a steely gaze his way.

    "Father locked me in my room again," she said simply. That earned her a head nod. She scoffed and tossed small body against the railing, dangling her arms over the edge. "I want out of here. Now." She pointed a long, slender finger in the direction of Burville.

    "That's where I want to go." She turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Take me there." It was Harper's turn to stare at her with wide eyes, before nodding his head and bowing, gesturing one arm towards her bedroom again. He was right; she'd need more clothes than this to make her appearance at the Festival.
    <img src=https://i63.tinypic.com/ea1l6h.png border=0 alt= />
    Set by Ru
    .:Lion Heart:.

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