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Thread: [M] Deisidus: Brink of Extinction - Part II - IC

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    Default [M] Deisidus: Brink of Extinction - Part II - IC

    Prologue

    Queen Ralena gazed out over the Redcap Sea as she did every single day, standing on the wide balcony connected to her throne room. A month ago, the red waters below had been tumultuous, and she had spoken grim words to her advisor and friend, Felris, that now seemed prophetic, warning that the storm that had loomed on the horizon was something far worse than mere bad weather. But looking back, the terrible lightning that had wreaked havoc across half the continent that very same day was nothing compared to the devastation that had followed a few nights later. The Redcap Sea, so named because of its natural crimson hue, was now sanguine for more grisly reasons. Where the wind once carried the scent of salt and the exotic plants of her extensive gardens, it now wafted the faint, putrid stench of rotting fish carcasses and bloated corpses that barely resembled humans anymore after a month in the ocean.

    “I do wish you would not tempt fate, My Queen,” said a familiar and concerned voice from the balcony’s entryway. “Talyn has seen enough death and ruin already without her Queen plunging into the sea on a crumbling balcony.” Ralena pushed away from the stone railing in acquiescence and turned to face her advisor. His face had gained a few more weary lines in one short month; but then, so had hers. Though still gracefully handsome, the Queen had aged more in that brief span than she had in the past ten years, it seemed.

    “The quakes already took my gardens,” Ralena responded mirthlessly. “I’ll be damned if they take my balcony, too.”

    “Somehow I doubt that they would ask your permission first,” Felris quipped mildly, hands clasped primly behind his back. Ralena smiled and relented, walking back inside. Her shoes clapped against the marble floor, the sound echoing hollowly in the chamber. The noise was no different than it had ever been, and yet now seemed an empty, somber sound.

    “You sent for the girl?” The Queen took her place on the throne while Felris paused at the foot of the few steps leading up to it. Her advisor nodded.

    “She should be arriving shortly. Odd that the answers to our many questions should be coming from an elf barely out of adolescence.”

    “In my experience,” the Queen began contemplatively, “answers often come from the most unlikely of places. I just hope she does not spout the same nonsense as these doomsayers flocking in my streets.”

    A knock came from the great doors ahead and one of her guards stepped in, looking oddly nervous. Ralena motioned for him to speak.

    “My Queen,” he began with a short bow, “the young woman who requested an audience has arrived.”

    “Good, send her in.”

    The guard paused, still appearing uncomfortable. The Queen arched an eyebrow.

    “Is there something else?” she asked impatiently.

    “Yes, My Lady. She has…odd company that she wishes allowed in with her. She is rather adamant, actually. I told her it was in no way--”

    “What kind of company?” Ralena cut him off, her impatience curbed by curiosity.

    “A…panther, My Queen. A big one.”

    Ralena and Felris exchanged surprised glances. No wonder the guard looked so nervous.

    “Well, let her in. Her panther, too.”

    The guard blanched. “My Lady, I must insist that the cat remain outside. The risk--”

    “Is nonexistent, thank you very much,” a new voice interrupted haughtily, pushing past the shocked guard. He moved to intercept the elf, but froze as the large cat in question sauntered in after her, passing between them and casting him a bland glance. Felris looked utterly flabbergasted by the breach of etiquette, not to mention the furry behemoth entering the throne room, but Ralena simply smiled at the elf girl’s fiery spirit.

    “Young lady,” Felris stuttered, chagrined, “that is terribly inappropriate--”

    “Leave her be,” Queen Ralena interjected peaceably, rising from her seat. “If she truly has answers for us, a small breach of decorum is dismissible.” Ralena waved the young elf forward, and the flustered guard bowed once more and left the room. The black feline settled herself rather comfortably in front of one of the other guards posted within the chamber, who, to his credit, remained still as a statue as the great cat began grooming herself a mere foot away.

    “Forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty,” the woman stated with a bow, seeming sincere and suddenly humble. “I simply wish to deliver my news and move on. I have many more stops to make.” Ralena nodded and sat once more.

    “So,” the Queen began, her tone darkening, “I am told that you know why half my city and hundreds of its people now lie at the bottom of the sea. Is this true, Miss…?”

    “You may call me Ginger, Your Majesty, and yes, it is true.”

    “Then explain, Ginger.”


    In the plains roughly 200 miles outside the city of Dornhaven...

    “Damn it.”

    Draedyn cast a glance across the fire, eyebrow raised askance. “What is it now, Rongar?” she asked wryly, watching the dwarf as he practically twitched with irritation, sitting on a boulder with his axe draped across his knees.

    “’What is it?’” he echoed huffily. “’What isn’t it’ is a better question. Been waltzing around for two damned weeks waiting for yer damned mythical Guardian to give us some damned answers. No damn clue what the source of yer damned corruption is; we’re just wandering about helping damned disheveled villagers and their damned mothers while yer blasted land continues to fall apart beneath yer feet.”

    Draedyn tried to hide her amused smile as she waited patiently for her newest companion to finish his rant, and for a moment it seemed he had. He fell quiet, staring grumpily at the fire, fiddling with his weapon.

    “And yer damned elves annoy me,” he burst out, leaping to his feet and starting to pace, axe in hand. It was a two-handed weapon, but the barrel-chested, tough-as-nails dwarf carried it with ease in one huge bear-like paw.

    Draedyn glanced at Sajreth, seated beside her, and chuckled quietly.

    He wasn’t wrong, though. A month had passed since the Collapse, and still they had not been enlightened by the Guardians concerning the possible cause of all this madness. Tressa, not Rymnalynne, had appeared to them twice in the first two weeks before Rongar had joined them. She had come at the Guardian of the Wild’s behest, she said, to ensure that they had not fallen prey to the dreadful Collapse. Rymnalynne, she said, was searching desperately for her twin, but neither hide nor hair could be found of the corrupted Guardian responsible for the catastrophe. Tressa spoke little and was disinclined to give any answers to the mortals when questioned about her knowledge, but did acquiesce when Draedyn pleaded with her to check on her home town and elven clan. Tressa’s second appearance was short, merely informing the companions that Irys and the elves of Sterling Wood had been spared any further damage. It was a major relief for Draedyn, and she had felt a bit lighter since the news.

    Still, Rongar voiced what they all felt. Tressa, they knew, was holding out on them, Tervyneern did not have the convenience of teleportation like his siblings and so they heard nothing from him, Rymnalynne was gone, Mavellynne was corrupted and Dessos was still a complete mystery. The Guardians, it seemed, would be of far less help than the group had hoped.

    Ginger and her panther, Onyx, had left shortly after the Collapse to spread word to each city about what was happening--as much as they knew, anyway. Catherine had gone with her, but they had intended to separate in order to cover ground and spread the news faster. How their claims would be received was anyone’s guess; many would likely think them more insane than the doomsayers cropping up everywhere, proclaiming the end of the world.

    “Rymnalynne will come to us soon,” Draedyn assured the dwarf, though she wasn’t sure she believed her own words. “We are meant to help stop whatever this is, not sit idly by. I trust Rymnalynne; she’ll help us.”

    “Bah,” Rongar snorted, dropping back down onto the boulder and waving a dismissive hand. “You can trust in yer magical stag; I’ll trust in my own good sense, thank ye.”

    “And what does your ‘good sense’ tell you?” Draedyn challenged. Rongar snorted again.

    “That these refugees stink.”

    “I believe that’s yourself that you’re smelling, dwarf.”

    Rongar glared at the grinning woman, raised a beefy arm and sniffed his armpit. He shrugged.

    The companions were camped with a large group of refugees from a town decimated by the quakes. They, like many, were headed to Dornhaven in spite of the rumors regarding its King, and paying the Chosen a meager amount for protection along part of their journey, as well as sharing their food. They would have preferred Talyn, they said somberly, but it was well known by now that half the city had been destroyed by the Collapse. Queen Ralena and her people were likely going to be forced from the city--by the tremors that still shook the land if not by King Lornas Dorn XII himself.

    Draedyn looked at the stars, fading as the sun continued its slow crawl over the horizon. Her home, she lamented silently, was rapidly falling into ruin. What would be left of it when this was all over, she wondered?
    Set by the masterful Karma

  2. #2
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    A ruined Temple – A few miles outside of Irys

    From the outside of the ruined temple, it would appear as though it were abandoned, the remnant of a memory lost to the destruction that was the Collapse – nature having done everything but swallow the building up in its primal embrace.

    Upon closer inspection, however, one would occasionally see the flicker of candle-light, and the shadows of movement within the building. As one closed in on the building they would clearly see a canvas of cloud-white with the silhouette of a man standing within a ring of fire and ooze as black as the night sky dripping from his extended hand. It was the banner of the Exiled, a self-believed fallen guardian.

    It was clear that this temple had once been a place of goodness and purity, but had been twisted by the malevolent intent of those within to suit their dark desires. It had become home to a Cult in service to the Exiled, their ‘proclaimed’ fallen guardian.

    It was then that one would pass through the great oak doors and into a scene much different than the one outside – vastly different.

    The interior had been decorated with all manner of gothic décor, the most prominent being a large high-back onyx throne centered where the altar to Mavellyne once stood, but was now shattered and broken beside the throne.

    In the throne, itself, sat the greatest concentration of darkness in the room, the Hand of the Exiled- their leader. She was a menacing figure, with hair as pale as moonlight and as coarse as a thousand grains of sand. Her teeth were rotting, and her skin held so many wrinkles that one would think that someone had twisted her, and then released, repeating the process until she looked much like a wrinkled shirt after it had been shoved in a drawer with carelessness.

    Her eyes, hardened pools of amber, seemed as though they could peer into the very soul of the creature they found their gaze upon. As she looked upon the faces of those assembled, she could see the hope in their eyes – they knew she was dying, and soon there would be a spot of leadership.

    I’m not going to die so easily, my little friends, she thought to herself before standing with a wheezing breath, and all before her went silent in preparation for what was to be said.

    “Greetings, brothers and sisters, the Exiled greets you through me. We have been given a task of the greatest importance, one that we must see fulfilled if we wish to claim our spot by our saviors side.” She looked out at the confusion rising on the faces of her flock, and after a time began to speak again.

    “I have received word that the Chosen will be attempting to destroy any chances of his return. The accursed Guardians and their merciless Creator do not wish to see our Lord brought back to our realm. This corruption and chaos that we see around us” – she paused yet again for another breath, “- is our Lord trying to break through to our realm. He wants to be reunited with his children.”

    Shouts of protest arose within the assembled cultists, and some even flashed their weapons in defiance. There was one who remained utterly impassive and statuesque, the newest member of this chapter of the Cult – Rhyse.

    “Sister-Recruit Rhyse.” The Hand of the Exiled called to her, and pools of moonlight met amber in a sightless gaze.

    “My lady, Hand of the Exiled?” The youngest of them answered in return. She could feel the eyes of the other members surrounding her turn to her, and if she could see them, she’d likely be twitching in anxiety or fear, but there was nothing – no driving need to pick at her clothing as they stared. What did they matter? She couldn’t see them either way.

    “You have been chosen, as agreed upon by your Elders, to carry out the task of returning a piece of the corruption back to us. We can cultivate this corruption, we can allow it to thrive beneath us and bring back our Lord. You will not fail us.” the ending of her statement being more of a command than a statement.

    “Yes, my lady.” Rhyse answered, her words holding no tell of what she was feeling within. A contempt that this hag of a woman presumed to command her. But, she would take this command with pride, if only to serve her own purposes of gaining the favor of the Exiled.

    She did not look back, nor did she await any further commands as she turned for the great oak doors and opened them. She found that her items had been gathered neatly by the doors, and she readied herself for travel, to the last place she ever wanted to be – the last place the Chosen were said to have been seen near… Dornhaven.

    The Plains – 200 miles outside of Dornhaven.

    Rhyse had traveled for what had seemed like forever, the soles of her bare feet feeling the roughness of the terrain as she traversed Deisidus. The world seemed to be alive with every step she took, from the silky texture of the blades of grass dancing against the soles of her hardened feet – through the last month of using her sense of touch to find her way around, she found that her feet were able to withstand the roughest and harshest of terrain without trouble.

    But, it was always nice to feel the softness of grass beneath your feet, and to feel the warmth of the sun warming her always cooling skin was blissful. It wasn’t often that she would have a smile on her face, but in light of her current situation, and her reveling in the peacefulness, she was smiling. A smile that would tell the story of who she was before she lost her sight, of the young woman she was before chaos and devastation had claimed her.

    It was at this point, that her nose caught scent of the most repugnant aroma that she had ever been close to. It was worse than the farm animals on their worst days, and that was saying something, because they really would stink. Her nose crinkled in disgust, but she found her feet going in search of this disgusting aroma, if only to satiate her curiosity at why something so foul smelling even existed, surely it wasn’t a product of the Corruption.

    As she got nearer to the aroma, she began to hear the sounds of activity and many voices. She had stumbled into a refugee camp, by the sounds of it, the world around her seeming to become fuzzy with all the smells and sounds assaulting her senses as the same time. But, she managed to find her way to the one source that was the most repugnant, and as she did so, she heard the last sentence that confirmed the source of the smell.

    “I believe that’s yourself that you’re smelling, dwarf.” And, as she heard that reply she let a soft giggle escape her lips in a hushed tone, but loud enough that her presence would be made aware to the two voices before her.

    “I am inclined to agree that the dwarf does indeed have a rather exotic aroma to him” she smiled her best fake smile that she could put on, hoping it would be enough to fool any that would pay attention to her. She had to get this perfect, she had to have a guide to get around – she had never been this far into unknown land, unknown to her anyway.

    “Do you mind if I join you?” She inquired to the female in front of her, able to distinguish her location from the dwarf’s because she smelled far, far, less repugnant than him. It was clear that upon looking at her, she was blind. If not by the eyes, then by the way she would cautiously move her foot around the ground around her, getting a feeling of the things around her.
    Last edited by Aureyon; 03-13-2015 at 03:51 PM.
    Set by Naraness
    Spoiler: Extra Information 

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    "Mister, what's a Chosen?"

    With so many refugees gathered in the caravan it was hard to find a place to be alone, and solitude is something Olaf has appreciated more nowadays. Still, the foreign sellsword could not help but feel like like the other folks gathered around the cooking fire he built. Lonely, shaken, and in need of some comfort. The warmth of the fire and the stew cooking in the pot offered as much comfort as they could in this cold lonely day.

    "A Chosen?" Olaf echoed the question a small child asked him. The young girl sat across from him at the fire, sitting in her father's lap and clutching a ragdoll. "I don't rightly know." He grunted. "Guess it's a name given to those picked to sort out the world." He stirred the stew slowly as the child tilted her head in curiosity.

    "By who?"

    To that, Olaf could only shrug. He himself did not rightly know how and why he came to be a "Chosen", taking the word of those he met just a few weeks ago, men and women claiming to working with the Creator's children in righting all the wrong in the world. He thought it all mad, but regardless of his own feelings, he had a duty to his city to find out what really happened. And these Chosen were his first real lead. But he did not trust them yet, thus he sat separate from them and their campfire.

    “Stew looks about ready…”

    He lifted the drenched ladle from the boiling brew and stood up from the fallen tree he sat on and rapped the ladle against the pot, a faint ringing sound traveling across the small caravan. “Stew’s ready.” He said, no hint of joy but weariness in his tone. Already refugees gathered with empty bowls in hand, and Olaf filled each one with ladle sized servings.

    “Take what you need, not what you want,” He said as he served. “We still have a ways to go till Dornhaven, so we must preserve supplies.”
    Hilariously derailing one-liner

  4. #4
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    "You know not what you speak of, lass."

    Sigmund was sitting on a wooden stool, a white cloth laid out on a bench before him. On this cloth rested his helmet, which he was meticulously cleaning and polishing to a flawless shine. Beside him, a young girl, not yet even into adulthood, loomed over him, frowning pensively with her arms folded behind her back. For the past several minutes, she had been pestering him with no end of increasingly personal questions, going from how he managed to carry such an impractically heavy weapon to the finer financial details of his career, and eventually delving into his true motives for accompanying the refugees. To each inquiry, Sigmund had responded with a curt, blunt, and staggeringly cynical answer.

    "There's more to you than that." The girl tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed. "You're not just some brutish mercenary, as much as you want me to think you are."

    Sigmund rolled his eyes, not so much as pausing his work to look at her as he answered. "You're right. I'm not some brutish mercenary. I'm a champion, and no champion of a craft offers their services free of charge. I'm here because one among you had the sense to pay me coin to protect your hides from the dangers of this journey that would otherwise cut you all to ribbons."

    "You say that, but..." The pubescent girl brought a hand to her chin. "If you've been telling me the truth so far, then your contract was fulfilled quite some time ago. So why haven't you left?"

    As the words hit Sigmund, he froze, hand still clutching the cloth with which he was polishing his helmet. The cheek of this girl... was she trying to make a fool of him? Grunting indifferently, he took his helmet in both hands, donning it once more and concealing his expression behind its face.

    "Your math is no better than your swordplay, lass." Suddenly quite fed up with his present company, Sigmund rose from the stool, turning his back to the refugee and striding off, carrying himself with his usual noble gait. As he moved through the camp, he paid little heed to any of the groups huddled around campfires, clutching what scraps of food they might have been rationed out. Whatever business they might be up to was of no concern to him, so long as they didn't start lunging at one another's throats.

    In contrast, however, many of those he passed paid a great deal of attention to him. The gaudy design and eye-catching color of his weapon and armor would be enough on their own, but they were simply an indicator of past deeds. Whispers followed in his wake pf a lone man facing down a dragon that had felled dozens of ships and countless soldiers. As Sigmund heard these mutterings, a cold smile formed on his face, hidden beneath his helm. That was it, then, wasn't it? If not for the gold, he was here for the glory.

  5. #5
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    The pit was cold and dark. Elves were huddled in the remote corner, whimpering from the pain of their fresh wounds. Red lash marks scarred their backs, tears running freely down their pale cheeks. There was shouting across the pit, the human slave-masters ordering the elves to get back to work. There was a loud crashing sound, one of the clumsy younger elves accidentally bumped against one of the fragile mining carts, causing it to fall over and spill all of the mined obsidian-black ore across the stone ground. The poor boy didn't live long. One of the nearby slave-masters charged at the boy, pushing him against the ground and kicking him harshly and repeatedly against the stomach. The poor young elf wailed as more of the slave-masters descended upon him, beating him to death.

    Once their business was finished, they left behind the fresh corpse alone on the ground, a pool of blood forming beneath the lifeless body. Fortunately, and maybe not so fortunately, the boy was an orphan and didn't have any family members to witness his death. It was quite a common sight, because many of the elves within this damned pit lost their loved ones due to exhaustion, illness, or the cruel hands of the humans.

    Yet, one elf stared towards the area where the beating occurred. His hands tightened with tension and frustrations, his eyes narrowing at the unjust death of the poor boy. He wished he had the power to stop this madness, to free the slaves and defeat the humans. The slaves far outnumbered the humans, but unfortunately the slave-masters were well-geared with their chain-armor and various sorts of weapons clinging around their waists. Nobody had the courage or strength to stand up to their masters, it was simply a suicide mission.

    And yet Sajreth still had hope.

    "Sajreth..." a quiet, soft voice whispered into his ear. Sajreth turned to face his companion, one of the new slaves delivered into the pits. "We will stop this, together," Rachael stated, her bright-blue eyes filled with determination. Despite being covered with smudge and her blonde hair completely disheveled, Rachael held a radiant aura around her slim body. She returned her gaze back to the corpse of the young boy at the distance. "We will fix this. There will be no more pain... no more suffering... no more darkness... only the light."

    Sajreth stared at her, once again completely marveled by her beautiful spirit and will to fight. If anybody could bring a change to this place, it would be this treasured soul indeed.

    "Unfortunately... there is no longer a light in your life, Sajreth."

    His body stiffened from her cold words, what did she mean?

    "Rachael?" he began slowly, and then his eyes widened with horror as Rachael turned to face him again. Her blue eyes were completely black, filled with the darkness of the abyss. It was a familiar darkness, with small black flames seeping from the corners of her eyes. Rachael's lips curled up slightly, forming a sinister smile. This sight... her eyes... they were the same eyes of the Betrayer... Sajreth's own eyes.

    "You are nothing but a monster, Sajreth," Rachael's voice darkened, as if another voice spoke inside of her. A malevolent voice that was ancient and pure evil. The setting around them immediately changed. The entire floor was covered with bodies. Women, children, humans, elves... they were all torn apart. A river of blood rushed across the room, and the dark pit's silence was now filled with a cackling laughter...

    "No..." Sajreth was shaking his head in disbelief, taking a small step back. He couldn't believe his eyes, this couldn't be happening... not again. "No!"

    "There is no hope for you. You are a killer, and there is nothing you can do to change that. You... have... no... hope."



    Sajreth sat quietly next to Draedyn, his gray eyes staring silently into the flickering flames of the camp fire. He had another nightmare the past night, and its vivid images haunted him. For the past week and a half, he started having nightmares of his dark times in the slave-pit. Beforehand, he finally thought he left these memories behind, but unfortunately the past will not free him so easily. These nightmares have been becoming more frequent and intense as of late, and Sajreth was afraid. Afraid of what was to come.

    He became one of the Creator's Chosen, and it was a little ironic considering the elf wasn't quite sure if he still believed in the Creator anymore. Or, at the very least, unsure whether or not the Creator truly cares for His people. Ever since the cataclysm, it has been even harder to believe the Creator and even His Guardians wanted what was best for humanity. The Guardians have nearly abandoned the group, deciding to withhold vital information regarding what was corrupting the land. It frustrated Sajreth greatly, because the group of Chosen was lost without guidance, they were unsure of what they were suppose to be doing to help save the world.

    They needed objectives, and it seems like they had none. They still had no information regarding how they could aid Alina as well, and free the young woman from the mysterious corruption that plagues her inner being. The elf briefly glanced at the cleric, slightly cautious of her at this point, because she was nearly a ticking time-bomb. Well, then again, so was he.

    Sajreth refrained from sighing aloud, it would probably gain the attention of Draedyn and concern her, if she wasn't already. The nightmares have been causing Sajreth to be even more distant from the others, he was unsure how he could handle this issue by himself. They were just dreams... but unfortunately the emotional pain was real.

    "And yer damned elves annoy me."

    Sajreth's head raised up, glancing at the cynical dwarf. The elf allowed a small smirk of amusement to form on his lips, and then glanced at Draedyn, nodding at the young maiden before his eyes returned to the flames. Hopefully, he was hiding his inner pain from the others, and that his gloominess wasn't that noticeable. Both Draedyn and Rongar briefly argued who truly smelled ghastly, before the dwarf basically conceited.

    "Sounds like the Sour Grasshopper needs a nice bath," Sajreth quipped and joked, chuckling quietly while lighting up the setting. Normally, Sajreth doesn't use his random nicknames outside of his lucid state, but Rongar is quite the exception. They all pretty much knew Rongar would rather be decapitated, then to be forced into a bath of soapy water. Sajreth every once in a while enjoyed to poke some fun at the dwarf, and hopefully this small joke would make it seem like Sajreth was still normal - and wasn't conflicted by his inner demons.

    A new voice then spoke up, near Draedyn. Sajreth's head turned up and saw that a rather young-looking woman with raven-black hair, one that appeared to be in her late-teens, stood right above them. The woman was adorned in a rather unusual but exotic looking outfit, and Sajreth was unsure how to respond to this new company. Did she have a reason as to why she wanted to join their presence? In fact, how was this young woman able to travel around on her own? With his clear white eyes, it was fairly obvious she was blind. A slight frown came across his face, but he wasn't going to turn the young woman away or protest her presence. It would usually be safe than sorry though to have a stranger join them though.
    Last edited by RedKayne; 03-15-2015 at 02:35 AM.

  6. #6
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    Default CO Post, Alina and Blake

    The past month had not been easy for the former cleric. Even with all her friends at her side there were times she broke down. Most of the times she just suddenly fell weak and collapsed. Other times she started wailing, thrashing out at anyone that would come near to her. Occasionally she'd fall very silent, turning to whoever came to her first before she'd start to speak out lines upon lines of gibberish in the same tone she'd recite Scriptures with.

    The worst episodes happened at night when they stopped, after they had laid down for the night and everyone was getting rest. She'd just disappear for a while, usually without notice. During these times their group of refugees got slightly smaller. One was found with a broken neck. Another was found suffocated in his sleep. It was when one was found with a knife in his throat that Alina and Blake figured out what was going on. She then started to never go to sleep alone, and even then she sometimes asked to have her hands bound so she could feel safe.

    When she wasn't having her episodes though she was a kind boon to the refugees that were traveling with them. Falling back into her routines when she was still a sister at the church had been very helpful and her once lost smile had begun to return. Trying to ignore the stares she got for her garb as she spoke from the Scriptures or as she made sure that the refugees got fed first before her group did much to the annoyance of a certain dwarf. This day was no different as right now she was in the makshift kitchen that Blake helped set up and was busy handing out bowls of soup to the hungry refugees.


    Day after day, the living hell continued. The quake that had nearly swallowed Blake and company about a month ago had widespread reach and effects, as he had discovered. Yet another Guardian being corrupted meant that hell was once again unleashed on the poor realm, and it also meant many souls were in danger, many souls would need their help. Blake was happy to assist all he found; it was the Creator`s will that he aid all he could, after all. Blake`s devotion to the Creator, in the past month, had grown as well, and he could be found reading the scriptures whenever he had free time.

    Of course, free time was starting to become less and less common now that he had shouldered the task of protecting Alina from others, and vice versa. The woman`s corruption seemed to grow in strength somewhat over time, and Blake found his hands full often, having more than one close call with Alina and some of the refugees they overlooked. Even with Blake`s watchful eye, he occasionally missed her, and unfortunate occurrences would come afterwards. Blake always blamed himself for their deaths, not Alina. He figured, if he was a better guard, she would be safer.

    Speaking of Alina...Blake had found, that even through the corruption and the pain, Alina seemed to shine through it with a soft and comforting light, one that Blake found himself more attracted to with the passing days. Not only did he respect her strength and dedication to the Creator and her teammates, he found himself wishing privately that he could share more intimate moments with her, helping to comfort her and soothe her suffering, in any way possible. Whether it be with his words, his presence, or even with his lips. However, Blake found it impossible to convey these emotions to Alina; every time he felt the moment could be right, he would seize up and change the subject hurriedly, a blush always coming to his cheeks. He cursed his lack of confidence, and often prayed to the Creator to grant him the strength to finally confess his feelings.

    Budding emotions aside, Blake and Alina had kitchen duty today. Blake had taken it upon him firsthand to help set up a mobile kitchen to help feed themselves and the refugees as well. Food was not always the simplest to come by, but today the ingredients were plentiful and Blake was able to serve a hearty chicken soup to everyone. "Come on everyone, eat up! There`s plenty to go around and it`ll give you the strength to keep on pushing forward! May the Creator be blessed for our meal today!" Blake smiled over the many hungry people reveling in a full meal today, glad he could do them good during the Chosen`s path to try and ease another piece of corruption from another Guardian. A daunting task, but one Blake knew had to be done. Glancing back at Alina, Blake gave her a warm smile as she finished up with the refugees. "Hey Alina, how are you feeling today? You look a lot better than usual." Not entirely a lie-Alina did not smile often, but Blake felt it brought a beauty to her that was great to see, even in her corrupted state.


    Alina poured up some more soup into a bowl for another refugee, lowering her head a bit. With Blake she was most honest to because he was to keep an eye upon her. Not to mention she didn't want to worry the others, although she stopped mentioning the constant whispers in her head weeks ago. "I managed to get through a small class from the Scriptures with little issue. I also noticed that two young ones showed a promise for magic. If there is a church in the town when we get there I'd like for you to take them for possible clerical training. The girl may be a bit difficult but the boy... He has the makings of being a great priest one day."

    She smiled as she took a bowl and filled it, blessing the woman with a quote from the Scriptures as she handed the filled bowl back. In her head though were whispers. 'You can't bless someone. Your blessings are only curses in the end.' She shook her head a bit, keeping her smile. "Still... The Creator still shines upon our path, even in this peril." She turns to Olaf who was helping in the makeshift kitchen, also ladeling out soup to the refugees. "More are being Chosen. Perhaps there are also those that are Chosen that we are not aware of. Alas I can only look for the signs for I can no longer hear..." She set the ladle in the pot and laid a pale white hand upon Blake's shoulder, the most affection she allows her confused heart to show. "Thank you for always being there and helping to see the signs when my vision is clouded."


    Blake gave Alina a soft smile, glad she was showing a little bit of her kindest side, and even more glad she could still think clearly today when they were on kitchen duty. Still, he was a little surprised when she asked him to take the children for clerical training. "You know, you would probably be better for the job than myself, even in your current state. You`re the one who understands how to channel the Guardians` power, all I do is shock things, you know?" Blake let a spark form in his hand to emphasize his words; though he did feel much more versed in the Scriptures than a month or so ago, he definitely was not ready to pass that knowledge unto others.

    As she laid a hand on Blake`s shoulder, Blake spun around, wrapping up Alina in a quick hug. He knew she had an issue with physically expressing her emotions, so Blake tended to give her physical comfort whenever he could, and this time was no different. "Hey, you would do it for me if the positions were reversed. I`m just glad to have you as a partner for this crusade. This journey would be a lot less bright without your smile around." Blake found his cheeks getting a bit hot as he accidentally voiced his personal thoughts.


    Alina frowned a bit. It wasn't much of a secret to the other Chosen that she couldn't hear the voices of the Guardians any more. She was about to say something when suddenly she was taken up in a hug. She was frozen for a few seconds, listening to him before she placed a hand on him with a gentle yet firm push. "Th-thank you. You're learning well of the teachings to do as well as you have. Either way I would prefer you to take them to the church if there is one to be found."

    She turned back to the pot, tugging her hood to cover her face a bit more to hide the redness on her face. Impure thoughts were being whispered into her ear now and she gripped the ladel hard until the whispers were surpressed and she started to fill another bowl. "Besides, calling upon the power of the Guardians is not a maner of magic, but more of one of faith. Consider it a bit of a test if you want to try to teach them something. I dare not to myself at the moment." She took in a deep breath, putting her smile back on her face once again. "Now... Let us get back to the task on hand, feeding these hungry people. Remember to keep your eye out for Gregor, no seconds until everyone has gotten some."
    I am the blade of shadows embrace. Just because I am a user of an unholy power doesn't make me evil. For without light, a shadow cannot exist.

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


    Heson Shadowbane is on discord! For those friends of mine that want to keep in touch with me just send me a message and I'll give ya my deets.

  7. #7
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    Fayte watched the group of humans and other strange creatures from a far off shelter made of tree branches. she had no fire, for she did not want to be known yet, and her deep green eyes seemed to glint in the darkness.
    I know they are in this group. I can feel it. She thought as the surprisingly loud band of refugees went about their dinner. Completely unaware that the Regenerated being was even nearby, much less that she was watching them.

    For a moment Fayte's mind turned back to the family that had first found her and cared for her until she was strong enough to walk and work on her own. How she had managed to save their adorable and fun loving daughter when the quakes started happening. How at the moment she needed it most, a strange magic let her form the very world around her to her needs. And then how she used that magic to make sure that family... Her family would be safe on the other side of the now broken land.
    Her mind drifted back to the sadness of having to leave them, the feeling that she had more to do than just help them run a simple inn and rebuild their life kept pulling at her. And finally when she had first stumbled upon the large mass of creatures.

    An owl sounded nearby, snapping Fayte back to reality.
    "Shhh, we don't want the strange group to see us." she whispered to the bird, not knowing that it did not even understand her at all. Nonetheless Fayte liked talking with all the little critters, they were such good listeners. like her big spirit friend was.

    The night simply wore on. Fayte just watching, listening, feeling for those she needed to help most. She
    knew they were close. she just didn't know who they were.




    "Life before death,
    Strength before weakness,
    Journey before destination."
    -The First Ideal

  8. #8
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    "Are you almost finished with your hiding?"
    Olono was lying on her stomach, studying map that she hadn't even glanced at for what felt like ages. Draedyn seemed to be getting along with Rongar just fine, though he wasn't much of a people person from what she could tell. Sajreth was pretty calm at the moment, and Blake and Alina were off, somewhere, giving food to some of the others whom they'd come across. It was so interesting to see all these different people, especially when, before, it had only been their group and they'd lost two along the way. She was curious about them. She wanted to talk to them. She wanted to go over and strike up conversation like this new girl, who had just done so after Rongar tried to check if he was really smelly or not. She could... but she was too busy trying to decipher what was wrong with her oldest companion first.

    Asham hadn't taken physical form in weeks. He was back to his aloof way of staying completely invisible to mortal eyes except, of course, Olono's. She didn't really understand why. Their group already knew he was there, so what was the point? Whenever she tried to ask him about it, he wouldn't explain. He'd just say something like 'That's my business' and then change the subject.
    "Why should I become visible to a bunch of strangers?" he answered after a moment, "I don't know anything about them at all. They don't need to know anything about me. I think this arrangement works out just fine."
    He was watching the others too, though he showed no signs of wanting to join in on their conversation.

    Olono sat up, folding the map and then looking at her ghostly companion, whom only she could see and hear, "I'm sure they're not that bad. We're going to be around a lot more people when we get to Dornhaven, so why don't you practice being visible now?"

    He didn't look at her. Instead, he turned his attention to the fire, as if it's dancing wisps of flame were some kind of puzzle that he absolutely had to solve, "Who said I was going to become visible when we got to Dornhaven? I don't see why going to that place is such a good idea, personally, what with that brat in charge."

    Olono sighed and stared up at the sky for a moment, "But don't you want to get to know anyone here? I mean, we might not ever meet some of these people again, and we have an official new recruit too. You didn't really introduce yourself to him. I had to do it for you."

    Asham did turn look around the at the refugees, his eyes showing a hint of agreement for about a second before he looked back down at the fire, "Most of these people look weird. Like I said, they're all strangers, and I'm a spirit that was supposed to die a long time ago. I don't want to deal with any possible questions. As for that new recruit..." he looked over at Rongar for a moment, before finally meeting Olono's eyes, "I don't know. He's grumpy, he doesn't like anyone, and he needs a bath."

    She smiled at him when he said this. It was the only answer he'd given her so far, so even if he wasn't obliging her in becoming visible again and going around to meet people, at least he was being more open, "What about Blake? You still haven't talked to him... and Alina. You're worried about her, right? You haven't said much to her since... you know. You helped her before, didn't you? Don't you want to-"

    "No," his voice was firm and almost sounded angry, "I don't want to, and I don't want to talk about it. It's not all that important, and besides, they can sort whatever out by themselves. Lately, those two have been pretty preoccupied with each other if you haven't noticed."

    "You sure seem to have noticed..."
    He didn't answer that.
    Olono studied him for a moment longer before, she too, looked at the fire. Lately, the list of things that he kept from her seemed to be growing, and while she didn't mind respecting his need for privacy over certain matters, she worried about him because of them. She could tell that they bothered him, but she couldn't help because he refused to let her know the exact cause of his troubled feelings.
    Deciding not to get caught up in that, she switched her focus to the others' conversation. If he ever felt like talking about it, she'd listen. Until then, there wasn't a lot she could do.
    Last edited by DizzyMaelstrom!; 03-17-2015 at 09:13 AM.

    Avi and Sig made possible by: Kicks!
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  9. #9
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    Rongar sputtered angrily as Sajreth referred to him by his nickname and mentioned him and a bath in the same sentence, leaping to his feet with battle axe in hand, looking as though he would leap straight through the fire and pummel the pesky elf. Draedyn laughed out loud, the musical sound helping to douse Rongar’s ire. He grumbled, saying something about “damned elves”, and resumed his seat with a huff.

    “Yer lucky yer lady friend is here to protect yer hide, elf,” the dwarf growled, but they all knew it was all bluster and no true threat. He may not have trusted or liked Sajreth, but he still called him ally, and that was good enough.

    Draedyn, grinning, glanced again at Sajreth, but her eyes were soft. They had grown closer over the past month, and Sajreth had kept his word thus far about remaining by her side, but despite his efforts to hide it, she knew something was off. He woke often at night as though stirred by some nightmare, and it only seemed to be growing more frequent and intense. And during the day, he was quiet, though he made efforts to converse and appear decent. Draedyn had not asked him about his silent troubles, hoping instead that he would speak to her about them in his own time, when he was ready. In the meantime, she did what she could to lift up his spirit.

    Unfortunately, that was getting more and more difficult.

    Draedyn and Rongar turned their heads as a stranger approached their fire, wryly agreeing with the huntress about the dwarf’s lack of hygiene. Draedyn chuckled at Rongar’s expense, earning another scowl and some low mumbling she could not make out. That was probably for the best.

    “You are more than welcome to join us,” Draedyn replied to the woman as she studied her. The girl was young, likely not even in her twenties, and clearly blind. She wore a simple, flattering black dress, but her hair was intricately fashioned with what Draedyn was surprised to see were tiny animal bones. Oddly, she wore no shoes, and though blind, she carried no walking stick with which to find her way. The huntress found her a bit unnerving, but did not let it show, though she did cast a brief look at Sajreth, conveying her discomfort with only her eyes while reading his own. What she found in his expression seemed to mirror her own thoughts.

    And yet…the young woman seemed somehow familiar.

    Rongar, apparently untroubled by the stranger, just shrugged. “At least yer not an elf,” was all he said, glowering at Sajreth and leaving it at that. Draedyn rolled her eyes.

    “That’s Rongar,” she told the girl. “Ignore him and you’ll do just fine.” The dwarf snorted, drawing in the dirt with the knob of his axe. Draedyn started to introduce the others in their party, but stopped, realizing that the newcomer would not be able to see her gestures. She floundered for a moment, feeling awkward.

    “My name is Draedyn,” she finally settled with. “Beside me is Sajreth. There are others with us, around here somewhere. Olono is just behind us; you can probably hear her chatting with--” --a ghost? Should she even be taking it upon herself to introduce Asham? He’d been staying hidden for weeks now, likely for a reason.

    “--herself,” she finished a tad clumsily after the briefest of pauses. Good enough. “Alina and Blake are serving food elsewhere in the camp, as is Olaf. And that is our merry company.”

    Olaf was new, and still a bit of a mystery. He kept mostly to himself, clearly not trusting those he traveled with. He hailed from a foreign land and was apparently a mercenary sent to find answers regarding the Collapse. From what Draedyn had learned, mercenaries in his land were a bit different from those in Deisidus; while the latter merely did jobs for money, not caring much about the morality of their task, the former seemed to be more akin to soldiers fighting for their country, or champions. She respected Olaf for that, even if friendship with the burly man was far off.

    Speaking of mercenaries, a particularly striking figure meandered past as Draedyn finished the introductions. His name was Sigmund, according to the awed whispers that rose in his wake, and rumor had it that he had slain a sea serpent. The evidence adorned his body--armor and weapon constructed from the beast’s nearly impenetrable hide. It was an impressive feat, and the self-proclaimed Champion’s manner showed quite clearly that he knew it. Draedyn had been watching the young man since he began traveling with the refugees, taking coin from the wealthier among them in return for protection. His accomplishments were certainly noteworthy, and she had considered more than once asking for his aid in their own quest; she simply wasn’t certain that the extra help was worth the arrogance.

    How the huntress despised showboating.

    Her attention returned to the blind woman. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss--?”
    Set by the masterful Karma

  10. #10
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    Rhyse was not at all interested in the names of those around her, but for the sake of her mission she listened to the introductions with a silent annoyance. When the cleric was mentioned, she straightened up as if ‘at attention’ and looked around as though she expected her to show up, the bones clinking in a solemn tune as her hair was tossed with her movement.

    “Rhyse,” She answered, carefully removing any trace of annoyance from her voice as she spoke, “Rhyse Aldari of Irys.” She included Irys in her introductions in hopes that this would create a soft spot in the Chosen of the Guardians, if they were as good and kind as the stories said, it should.

    As she stood there, her eyes found their way to Sajreth, who Draedyn had introduced just moments before and through her connection with the darkness, she could feel the elf’s unrest at her appearance, but she could also sense of familiarity within him, as if there was a darkness in him that was calling to her own.

    “Your friend is troubled by my appearance, as are you.” She stated simply. It wasn’t a question; it was an observation, and one that would prove that the girl before them was more aware of the things around her than she appeared to be. But, she didn’t wait for an answer before she walked towards the fire and sat cross-legged near it, allowing her cold skin to take in its warmth.

    “I do not blame you for such unrest. It would be unwise of you to let your guard down; there is darkness at work on the land, more than just the corruption.” That was all she would say about the darkness, her thoughts on her past and the position she was in in the present.

    As she sat in silence awaiting a response from Draedyn, or her companions, she found the palm of her hand dancing across the blades of grass beneath them, feeling the life flowing through the grass and into the ground. But, there was corruption in that life, a darkness that festered and was building until it could be unleashed into the realm of life.

    She could sense this and more, for her magic was derived from life, or at least half of it was. She was a healer, a rather powerful one, though she chose to keep her gifts a secret from those around her. And, despite her gifts as a healer, she could not fix the damage done to her, the damage caused by the Guardians and their creator.

    As her anger mounted at this thought, the life in the blades of grass below her palm began to drain into her own body, the green turning to grey, and eventually to dust. It was a darker side effect of the magic she had chosen to give herself over to, after her parents were killed in storm that devastated Irys.
    Set by Naraness
    Spoiler: Extra Information 

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