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Thread: [M] Fires Fade... (1x1 private RP with Bluemoon.)

  1. #11
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    Dominique stirred slightly in his sleep, his face vaguely showing off a look of discomfort. He was oblivious to the girl getting closer, oblivious to the whipping of the wind outside, and oblivious to the world around him. Instead, he was busy elsewhere- his mind was plagued with dreams of scorched villages, of burning cathedrals and wounded men. Scenes deemed as alien as they were familiar hammered about in his mind, constant reminders of a past that had him sent into exile. It was one that he had long written out of the annals of his memory. But even now did such a past haunt him.

    His eyes slowly opened to form slits. Already, slight discomfort plagued them. They revealed the girl standing above him, looking down upon him in his little fortress of uneasy rest. He wasn't dead, so... no point in freaking out? He cleared his throat a little. Grog filled his throat and mouth as he slowly stirred, examining the cave. The last days worth of history returned to him. "Gah..." he exclaimed, slowly starting to stand. The shield, despite his mastery over it, was wholly cumbersome when trying to get back to his feet. "See we're still living. No beasts threatened us in our sleep..." He didn't seem overly hopeful, despite his optimistic phrasing.

    Getting to his feet, he looked the girl up and down. It was barely noticeable, any amount of sand on her, and he couldn't care all that much if she decided to brave the sand. She was braver than he to try. "Are we well? No issues in the storm?" He could only guess that it still raged on. An annoyance- but hopefully they might be able to pull through. The sooner he was out of here, the better. Claustrophobia had long since developed after all this time in the great open of the dunes.
    In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog...

    But then there was Fire, and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course...

    light and dark.

  2. #12
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    As the cleric started to rise, Kinna stepped back, giving him enough room to maneuver without the risk of bumping against her. The last thing she wanted was an altercation because of confused intentions from either party. As there had been no other noise, she surmised it was her presence that must have awoken him...an important tidbit to file away...he was a light sleeper. Without trying to explain herself in regards to her proximity, she lowered her eyes to avoid his gaze...and hopefully any questions he might pose.

    Thinking she should get busy...with anything...the woman was about to turn away when the subject of beasts was mentioned. She favored him with a slight smile, wondering if his comment had more than one meaning. Perhaps he was aware of her intentions...and this was his way of bringing it to light. No matter. She had no plan to admit anything...let alone her desire to end his life.

    Again, she went to leave, but it was his appraising look that stopped her this time. She felt her cheeks redden with the attention, her mind going elsewhere until he asked his question.
    “The storm?” she repeated, looking down at her clothing. There was the smallest amount of grit in the creases and she was sure her hair was still filled with it. It was no doubt he had noticed it as well. She shook her head.

    “We are not well. The storm is worse. As for issues...who the damnation knows? Can’t see a thing. Sand everywhere you look. Perhaps you should check it out yourself, hmm? And take your time about it. I could use some alone time.”

    This time when she turned her back, she continued on her way...walking the short distance to her discarded blanket across the cave. It wasn’t far enough to allow her any type of privacy and she decided against binding herself. He knew she was female anyhow...what was the purpose? She sat down with a huff, frustrated by the predicament she had put herself into...all for the claim of a barely edible sinewy meal. Her temper put her here and now she would have to suffer through. Putting her fingers to her hair, she slowly untangled the thicks strands and began to weave it into a braid again. There was little else to do other than stare across at the cleric, so she watched him intently, wondering just what was going on inside that mind of his.

  3. #13
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    The cleric stood, silent as he peered forward into the space that the girl had left. His mind worked on the words she'd brought out, parsing them with that icy glare. It was the stare of someone with a mind on many things. Perhaps too many.

    After a solid thirty seconds passed with that gaze, it switched to her as she began to create for herself a braid. He seemed confused, for the moment- it was as though he had snapped back to things. "Oh, er... I'm not sure. My navigational skills are greatly impaired in the dust-" He paused, faltering with a weary half-laugh, "I doubt I'd get ten yards out before getting lost..." He shifted in his spot, thinking to himself. Much to do, much to do...

    He began to pace a little back and forth, seeming to have some sort of trouble on the mind. To be fair- he needed alone time as well. This girl was present in a time that he needed to be alone, and as he paced on a good way to get some solitary confinement, he remembered that he could do the same she had done when he'd first found her. Wordlessly, he turned heel and started to pace towards the entrance of the cave. He would just relax in the first chamber of this place. He glanced over his shoulder. "I could use a minute as well. Should you need something, let me know." He doubted it. No matter.

    The hulking figure paced towards the howling entrance. Despite the fact that the wind whipped loudly across the mouth of the cave, he felt a silence that seemed all the more important as of now- the silence that followed loneliness. As he peered out into the hazy light of day- it wasn't much, mind you- he slowly fell to his knees. His shields tip dug into the ground, standing it up, and the man drew his sword to place stand it up in an icepick-type grip next to it. He took a deep breath, and slowly shut his eyes. To most, this would look like some sort of prayer. In some ways, it was- this was a moment to connect with his thoughts, to sort out all that had ailed him that night. He needed it. Doing this was all he had done in the past few years to steel his thoughts.

    But that was where any similarity with a prayer ended. Even if he bore some sort of power supposedly bestowed by them, if he knew all he knew to be true, then any shot the gods had at forgiveness from his was long gone.
    In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog...

    But then there was Fire, and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course...

    light and dark.

  4. #14
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    Her hair under control, Kinna grabbed up her discarded clothing from the day before and donned the extra layers, leaving the hood and face covering on the floor. With the cleric now in the small antechamber...doing who knew what...she rose and got the fire going again. She was more at ease, the man seeming different somehow...less aggressive and a little unsure of himself...perhaps even troubled. It could be the confining space was getting to him, as well as the unwanted company.

    Keeping herself busy with food prep, she glanced towards the cave’s entrance and caught a glimpse of the man in a kneeling posture. ‘Prayer,’ she thought, with a grimace. It was expected considering his supposed profession, but not something she ascribed to, not with her life choices. It would just be a waste of time. Begging for forgiveness and following it up with theft and taking a life did not seem to be a fruitful venture. Her lack of faith was also a factor. Sighing heavily, she got to her feet again and looked up.

    Always up… There was nothing to see, at least not yet. The thief’s geneal history made her more susceptible to seeing the ghostly images of the demons which haunted the world. The wisps of their dark energy a constant reminder of her hybrid status. She had only faced one once in its corporeal state, and had she been alone to battle the creature, she surely would have met her demise. Taking the form of unimaginable beasts, they fought for the possession of souls in a manner more fierce and relentless than a lone human could endure.

    She began to pace, unconsciously following the same path that the paladin had chosen. There was little room to accommodate such a behavior and the movement was constantly interrupted by a half turn to take up the opposite direction. It was more unnerving than relaxing, but it kept her body busy while her mind raged on.

  5. #15
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    Dominique sat there for what felt like an hour. It was more than likely only a few minutes. As the wind whipped wildly about in front of him, he slowly opened his eyes, looking into the storm. He tried his best to see the old ruins, but to no avail. He could hardly see more than ten feet into the sandstorm. It was... unfortunate. Life would be difficult without his bag, for more reasons than one. But now, his face showed no anger, only a disheartened look of unease. His joints groaned as he began to rise to his feet. His sword was in hand and his mind was, at least for now, steeled into sanity. With his blade, he drew it across the metal rim of his shield, forcing a screech of metal to ring out, accompanied with sparks. Ozone in the air, he sheathed the blade. He glanced back. The girl was... pacing, it appeared. Strange.

    He started to walk back, an eyebrow arched. He was, of course, rather cautious- this was not normal behavior. But rarely did anyone in these deserts show some sort of normality. He felt little obligation to show some sort of decorum, but he also didn't feel much reason to interrupt, if his metallic ringing hadn't already. His free hand streaked out to lean himself against the wall, examining this odd sort of movement.
    In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog...

    But then there was Fire, and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course...

    light and dark.

  6. #16
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    There was just the slightest pause in Kinna's movements, her head tilting to take in a high pitched noise, then once again her pacing continued. She was deep in thought, concentrating, but not enough that she was not aware of the other occupant in the cave. He was of little consequence...a thorn...a nuisance...but currently not a threat. She glanced at him as he entered from the antechamber, scowling at his scrutinizing stare, but not allowing him to interrupt her mind's wanderings.

    "Naamahkin," the name mouthed, but not spoken. It was her father, the demon that had stolen her mother's heart, and eventually her life. Only one night, and yet the tryst with the incubus had sealed her mother's fate, leaving her forever enchanted by a creature she could never have as her own. Eventually, as the years passed, she wasted away, becoming a ghost of her former self until she could no longer take care of a child, let alone herself. Kinna had been named after the demon...and hated him with every ounce of her being. He had stolen her mother's essence by entrapping her in his spell and impregnating her. Then he left. Kinna never knew the woman she could have been.

    At the impressionable age of twelve Kinna was out on the streets. She learned to survive by her wits, stealing when she had to, but mostly using her youthful charm to gain her hand-outs. It was a pity she had to grow up. All her charm was gone, leaving her with nothing but her ability to pilfer what she needed from other's pockets...and she had gotten into trouble more than enough times to teach her the evil of her ways. Lessons hard learned, but not appreciated. Even now she was running from her past.

    It was with this thought that Kinna stopped her motion in mid-turn, finding herself facing the cleric, a distant look in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, focusing on him, then shaking her head to clear out the cobwebs of her mental wanderings. Puffing out a breath, she wiped the sweat from her brow, then bit into her lower lip. "I don't like to be stared at," she said in a low tone, "...find something else to entertain your thoughts." Despite her words, she kept her gaze locked on him, trying to gauge his next move.
    Last edited by bluemoon; 05-05-2019 at 02:33 AM.

  7. #17
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    The cleric watched back with eyes bearing a newly turned sense of faint alarm. He wasn't unsettled- just cautious. He wasn't aware he'd interrupted something important, and couldn't see quite why she'd turned like this. Albeit their relationship was tenuous at best, but still, it seemed sudden. He thought for a moment on how he'd respond, trying to work out just what was going on in the little brat's head. Maybe he'd be mad too if someone interrupted his quiet time. He shifted his hands up defensively, offering little more than a shrug to compensate for his interruption. "I apologize for mine prying eyes. Understand that your little march, however, was a tad strange to see."

    He started to move onward past her, returning to the side of the cave. "No sign of things dying down, you're right on that. Blasted ruins are gonna be gone for a damned good while. I am doubtful we can recover my pack." The words were bitter in his mouth. He didn't like thinking that he'd lost all of his possessions, but it wasn't something he hadn't done before. He'd live. But still, those valuables- some immensely important- he would admittedly miss. "Try as we might, seems fate may have decided against my keeping of goods and your profit."

    Leaning against the wall, his head leaned back to ponder about what he might do to make up for his losses. The journals of his travel could be remade with time, and his diaries were more expression than anything; He'd be fine without them. But some heirlooms were long in his hands, and it would be a tragedy to lose them. The thing he needed above all was his amulet.

    It was a simple little thing, a silver medallion terminating a wide, sturdy chain. It was hardly fashionable. But its meaning to him went beyond price or looks. It was a relic of his brother's life.

    In the old church, he and his brother were equals above all. Dominique was a hardy, wrathful warrior worthy of guarding the holy grounds. His brother was equally strong but much more cerebral. A brilliant mind and top of many of his studies, the cleric recalled. And as he and his brother went on, many wondered just how the warrior hadn't drowned in his shadow. The answer was simple: the bonds of brotherhood would forever break the bonds that expectation had thrust upon them.

    But as his brother went on, working hard to learn, he fell victim to a most egregious of sins: Free thought. He began to question the church's motives, and even as he and his brother began to push through many great campaigns for freedom, they discussed just what they were doing. And that amulet went all the way back to that night. The night of the burning crypts. The memories hit him still. As he and his brother stood among broken body and building, the smarter of the two knew what awaited him. As he threw his weapons down, he took off his amulet. He gave it to Dominique. And he waited for the archers to receive the order to take aim at the dissenter.

    He needed that amulet. It was a reminder, a reminder that in this world, the only true way to live was with no masters nor kings. No rulers, no gods. Just man, unfettered by the rule of corrupt dictator and doctrine. He would remember without it- but the sting of losing the last piece of his brother would be a sharp pain for a good, long while.
    Last edited by Stockholm; 05-05-2019 at 03:39 PM.
    In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog...

    But then there was Fire, and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course...

    light and dark.

  8. #18
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    Was he making fun of her? she mused, her eyes narrowing as the cleric went on to speak of the storm raging outside. She stepped back as he passed her, trying to create a little space where there was none. Her back against the cave wall, she frowned as he talked of loss. If he truly was without his belongings, with no chance for recovery, it only made her meager supplies that much more valuable. ...and she wouldn't put it past him to steal from her. It was what she would do in a similar situation.

    Turning her back on him, Kinna knelt down to remove the food she had been cooking. Already the snapper's discarded remains were starting to exude a nasty fish odor, the body rotting quickly in the warm heat. She had prepared a large amount of the cut meat, cooking it thoroughly before it spoiled any further. It would keep them for a few days if they ate sparingly. A little hunger would not kill them, but the stench would if they did not dispose of the corrupting bounty soon.

    Clearing her throat, the thief turned her attention back on the man as he reclined against the stone. She cared little that he looked troubled and deep in thought, his words to her still simmering at the front of her mind. "What I was doing was pacing..." she started, knowing her timing was a little off in regards to a retort. "...and in a very small space. There is nothing odd about that. It was no more unusual than you down on your knees in prayer. What did you pray for? Salvation?" She rose to her feet, moving close to his position, her hands going to her hips.

    "If you are going to lower yourself to ask a nonexistent deity for something, why not ask for the cessation of the storm? Or maybe a bigger cave..." She leaned towards him, close, a scowl on her face. "...make that a different one! And while you are at it, how about praying this foul stench away. It's enough to make me sick!"

    She backed away just the smallest amount, barely enough to get out of his personal space. The closeness of the cave was getting to her...making her edgy and full of vehemence. She needed to keep moving...being stagnant was not in her plans. The longer she stayed here, the closer her adversaries would get. And she was not going back. No matter what.

  9. #19
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    Dominique's little trance was broken by the woman's pacing just ahead. She immediately rattled off something about 'prayer,' 'salvation,' and 'deities.' She seemed to get the impression that he was still, in some way, a pious man. As she backed off a little, he slowly grew a smug visage culminating in a low, gravelly laugh. "You seem to have misread me, girl. The day I pray to something- be it idol, god, or effigy- I want to be driven through with a blade. There are no gods, no kings, and no entities that exist great enough to justify my bowing to them."

    He eased forward of the wall, standing straight. "Call it meditation. I highly doubt there stands gods above us if they are willing to put us of all people in this desert, in this cave." He reached up and weaved his arms over his chest, tilting his head. "But, If you think it will help: Oh great lords of the desert! I find myself in dire company and in need of your aid. Send to us an angel, a spirit! Wrought and halos and fire! Oooh!" His voice was thick with dry sarcasm and mockery, perhaps not directly at her, but certainly at the notion of prayer.

    Truth be told, it was somewhat liberating to make fun of prayer that way to him. He hadn't cracked a good joke in a while, and that one certainly entertained him well. He knew that spirits existed- devils, demons, that sort of thing- for he had seen them a great many times. With that, he couldn't deny that something greater was above, as his healing magics simply didn't come from nowhere. But perhaps, whatever 'benevolent deity' that presided over them wasn't as kind and loving to man as was thought.
    In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog...

    But then there was Fire, and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course...

    light and dark.

  10. #20
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    Kin shook her head at his antics, her scowl deepening. "Make fun...joke...laugh...it is of no matter...no ones head is on the block but yours. And if what you say is true and you hold no special place in the eyes of the Gods, then you are of no use to me." She sighed heavily, narrowing her gaze, then turning on her heel. "The dire one in this company is you...you have nothing to offer."

    As she sat down at her place across the cave, she grabbed up her pack and began rifling through the contents. There was a small packet of spices, her fire starting kit, a few scraps of thin stretchy material, a sharpening stone, a short length of rope, and two glass vials of an amber liquid. With the addition of her blanket, water skin, and weapons, she should be able to make it across the desert with some luck....and speed. But what of the cleric? She could always attempt to sneak out, but that would just leave another person on her tail to worry about. And killing him? She doubted it would be an easy task--the man already showing an aptitude for violence. It would have been so much easier if he had been digging in the sand for his belongings...his mind entertained and his back to her.

    Pushing her bag to the side, she leaned her back against the cave wall and pulled her knife from its shealth. She tested its edge against the tip of her finger, a thin line of blood appearing after its pass. Nice and sharp...just the way she wanted it. She glanced up, giving the man an appraising look again--there really was nothing else to look at in the small space. "Tell me cleric, do you have any fighting skills other than those you used on me? You have a strong enough build and your height is a plus. Perhaps you can be of use to me after all."

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