Five Lives, Five Souls

"My leg is fine" said Ezric as he yanked the other arrow in his back, this one was in quite shallow actually "Thank you for the potion. However my wounds were minor to begin with." He started to lead more innocents outside the burning building managing to say "And I am a good fighter, I killed at least a dozen of those men, and I was at a major disadvantage worrying about Blueberry's safety." He slashed another bowman, and then proceeded to lead the commoners outside giving them quick orders to move to safety.

A fragile flaming log was above Blueberry, who did not notice it, it collapsed, and was about to strike her, when Ezric, used his vampiric strength to push it out of the way, charring his hands in the process. It hurt but he was no regular human, and he could function fine even with the minor burns.

"Blueberry, let us go now" he said "and remember please do not use fire abilities in wooden buildings"

 

Drake starred at the man and ground his teeth "Ungratefully little son of bitch..." he mumbled to himself, thinking about how quick the mans reflexes would be if he'd still been limping around with one foot. He groaned once more, and then turned to the frantic crowds. Drake lept up on a table and began coordinating the masses toward the door "COME ON YA DAFT BASTARDS! EXIT'S THIS WAY!"

 

Drake heard himself being called a "son of a bitch". Already disliking Drake, Ezric started to dislike him even further.
"Leave this building! Now! Go to that Exit!" he said in a raised voice so they could hear him
As he was getting closer to drake, he then saw something behind the giant, now would be a good time to end this fruitless enemity between them. It was a knight wearing a black suit of plate, with a sort of robe of overlapping chain over legs covered with plate. The evil knight had a horned helm, and a brutal looking greatsword. He was about to kill Drake, but Ezric, ran to deflect the blow.

"You do know noblemen do not like being called "Sons of bitches" do you?" he said "In any case, we are even now." He proceeded to fight the evil knight, this knight was certainly fairly formidable, it took him a decent time, before, he could push the knight into flames, making the fires roast him in his armour.
"Now let us run"
As Ezric began to run he realized that he had left his case full of black powder inside the burning building. He quickly, sprinted back, scooped up the case, as it painfully burned his hands and proceeded to run again. He could not imagine what would happen if that whole box ignited.

 

((Ah well, the internet died last night as I was making a post. I'll post it anyway -- better late than never, I guess. I go to bed early and get up rather early for work, so a followup will have to wait.))


The eavesdropper’s eyes both snapped to at once, frozen for an instant as he watched Atel seemingly begin some kind of conversation with himself; he gave another one of his seeming-sighs, eyes closing momentarily as his head bowed for a brief moment. He made no further motion, save the fingers of his right hand, which seemed for a time to twitch and flex in some kind of complicated little dance that could just as easily have been a kind of code as it was dull twiddling. Afterward his chin lifted once more, eyes opening to study the group, though he looked no more upon Atel.

His interest -- or just as easily his boredom -- seeming to get the better of him, he finally eased himself up from his chair. Save for the odd creaking of leather, perhaps the soft rustle of maille against cloth, the motion was all but soundless, almost liquid in its fluidity; to anyone who might have happened to watch it may have seemed less as though he stood, and more as though he simply went from sitting to standing while ignoring the entire motion between. With that, he proceeded to pad his way over to the small collection of halfbreeds he’d been eyeing, steps taken in a rather leisurely manner.

The figure he cut as he approached was by no means formidable in height, indeed, amongst all those gathered he was quite possibly one of the shortest males present, though a great deal of what he lacked in height was amply made up for in breadth of shoulder. Nor did his bearing lack in any way for confidence, though it couldn’t quite be made out just how he managed to slip so easily past the crowds between, scarcely so much as brushing a single passerby, threading his way through the crush like some kind of overgrown weaver’s shuttle. He paused just within the gathering, coming to an easy halt as softly as he came; a stiff bow -- mere courtesy, nothing more, as one might give in company of uncertain or varied standing -- followed. Afterward he spoke, waiting just long enough for Lord Ezric to have finished his statement:

“And I, if I might make so bold as to introduce myself, I am generally known as... Geoffrey. I will not say whether or no it has been a pleasure to meet all of you as of yet, but still, I must admit to certain articles of discussions having caught my interest. I thought it better to listen here than to eavesdrop there.” His voice followed much the same pattern as his stride, soft and understated, yet bearing with it the quiet confidence that spoke of a man not overly concerned whether others found any fault in his mannerisms.

With that he once more fell silent, taking to staring pointedly at each of those present in turn, before finally he opted to settle both upon Ezric and Blueberry, as though wondering if either of them had something further to add.

***-Takes a deep breath- All the action happened just as we were getting warmed up! Oh well. Figure on Geoffrey sort of vanishing into the mayhem, as I don't currently have the time to get together anything more interesting than that. Oh yeah, for those of you who -- like me -- don't keep tabs on their PMs, check on occasion now. Sometimes I send things via PM that are relevant only to certain characters, which others would have less or no knowledge of.***

 

With the appearance of the first arrow Geoffrey, meanwhile, seemed to vanish as swiftly as he had come; his cloak swirled about him with a sudden twitch as he turned and slipped off through the ensuing chaos. All was madness about him, arrows flitting here and there through the air as the terrified attendees made a mad dash for whatever shelter they could find -- some pressing against the doors with such a terrifying crush of pressure that the iron bolts and hinges simply burst to, the rending and cracking of metal being wrenched from stone scarcely to be heard above the din. He moved with that same easy grace, seeming either entirely unconcerned with the thought that he might be shot, or perhaps moving in such a way as to render him almost inconceivable as a target. He paused but a moment at the entrance, turning and casting his cold gaze back toward the room -- blue flame and arrow fire were still raining all about, while it seemed more of the fight had devolved into a melee on the floor itself. He offered another half-sigh and turned about, vanishing into the vaulted atrium beyond without so much as another glance.

The scene here was little better. Indeed, those who had managed to survive the crush at the doors soon found a worse fate still greeting them -- some score of guards all fallen to massacring the fleeing civilians, pikes and halberds already thick with the blood of slain halfbreeds, the bodies piled upon the marbled floor of the atrium nearly as thick as those still alive who crushed together at the door. A surge backward was already beginning, those at the door suddenly finding themselves pushed both forward from those behind -- unaware of the danger -- and back again by those ahead seeking to escape this new slaughter. A small knot of men fought on determinedly in the corner; Ezric’s, he judged, by the colour of their surcoats -- he might bear the noble little love, but his men were trustworthy, he gave them that much.

There was little time for such ponderings, however, as all in a moment an obvious half-dragon -- one whom Geoffrey recognised as the erstwhile commandant of the complex -- paused in his senseless slaughtering and waved a blood-smeared cleaver in the man’s direction: “Hold a moment lads! Get him! Get the half-demon! Get the traitor bastard!”

There was an ensuing scuffle as several guards broke off from the slaughter and made straight for Geoffrey, weapons raised as they formed a partial cordon about him. For his part, the man made little in the way of movement, one hand fumbling about beneath his cloak only long enough to produce a small, stoppered phial; he appeared to study the contents for a moment, before tucking the thing away again without a second glance, head cocking to the side as he announced to the approaching halfbreeds: “Well, gentlemen, shall we?” With that, a blade seemed to suddenly appear in his hand -- a thin, cruelly sharp length of what might be burnished steel, more spike than blade as it were, a metallic shard of ice held glimmering in his gloved hand.

He seemed little concerned at the outcome, blade held easily in his right hand, the left holding the better part of his cloak in check. It was with the same ease that he darted to the side of his first assailant, movements flowing now with an astonishing rapidity as the blade was passed between a chink in his armour, plunging to the hilt and then withdrawing just as swiftly; the movement was conducted with such a degree of speed that the blood did not even begin to pour from the wound until the hapless guard was halfway to the floor, his life seeping away more swiftly than his frantic attempts could stanch the flow. Geoffrey seemed caught for a moment in time, an almost bemused look upon his face as he studied his fallen foe, and then it was off to the side and up again as the remaining assailants came at him all in a rush...

 

Danil watched as an arrow struck his side. There was no pain, it was just a very uncomfortable feeling to have an arrow stuck inside you. He felt the dragon in him rising to the surface as he pulled the arrow free with some difficulty and watched as the flow of blood from the wound ceased. The wound was healed. He pressed a hand to his side feeling the heat that rose from his body. He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath willing the dragon back inside.

 

Blueberry saw the mass melee bellow her, slipping and sliding on the halls wide bloodied floor; and decided to leave the bowmen to the hot licking flames that started to spread around them, as if living creatures themselves. She suddenly heard the creaking wood above her and knew she had only a moment before the building collapsed.
As she turned to flee, the hooded figures upon the rafters disappeared into smoke, leaving nothing but the trace of blood and arrows. Demons she thought; only they had the gift of transmutation and teleportation.
This was how they had snuck in so unnoticed. At least now the unwanted shower of arrows subsided to nothing but smoke filled air.
She looked below her to make sure her comrades were safe. She saw them near the entrance slicing through soldier after soldier.
Thankfully, nearly all the civilians had escaped outside, but it seemed upon reaching freedom they had met a much more brutal ending. She felt great sadness for those innocent souls and prayed for them. The few half breeds left behind, were able to fight and did so with force but it wasn’t enough, unfortunately it seemed they were not as well skilled in combat as her comrades and herself, and many fell to these ruthless warriors. Were they also demons? They too covered themselves, some more than others.
She folded her wings and dived, as she reached her friends she cried out without stopping “All of you, get out quickly! The building is about to collapse.”
She continued the rest of her flight through the great burning doors without slowing, ridding herself of one fight only to enter another.

 

Ezric managed to get out of the burning building only to be met by a bewildering sight. The guards sorrounding the meeting hall, were actually butchering the citizens. His own guard loyal to him alone, fought the others, although highly outnumbered.
He put the case down, and began to fight the guards, his superhuman strength causing his deadly twin blades to rip through the mail of the guards as if that chain-mail were cotton.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked as he cut down another one of the traitorous guards. "What is the meaning of all of this?"

 

“Precisely what it appears, Lord Ezric! But I fear that this time the questions must come only after the slaying...” was Geoffrey’s half-shouted retort; his words were spoken briefly before he suddenly trailed off into silence, sword vanishing as swiftly as it had come, eyes intent now upon the same half-dragon commandant who had so recently ordered his death -- the halfbreed was making a dash for a more open space on the floor, leaving his men to face the fury of their unexpected assailants. In the meantime, Ezric’s cadre had already begun to give shouts and cries of relief as they saw their lord come charging through the doors and enter the fray; though outnumbered it seemed the tables has, for the time being, been turned. They fought back with redoubled fury, halfbreed blood staining halfbreed hands time and time again as blades rose and fell with deadly intent.

Geoffrey took no further part in the fighting there, his steps quickening now as he broke into a sudden sprint; the half-dragon seemed to sense his impending approach, his own bulk launching suddenly upward with an angry cry as he took a mighty leap for the high vaulted ceiling, wings spreading all in an instant and propelling him swiftly away from the mayhem below. Wordless, the pursuer suddenly began whirling one hand through the air as he approached, a chain that seemed to have been only recently produced from beneath his cloak sent whistling about with each step. It seemed for a moment that he might actually catch his prey -- though with a croaking laugh the escaping traitor, by now in full flight, went shooting straight toward the high window adorning the atrium’s further wall.

It was then that Geoffrey threw, sent the whirling chain shooting in a blur toward his prey. There was a quiet grunt of pain, swiftly stifled. The soft clink of chains snapping together. The creature faltered, gave a cry, before finally giving one last flap of his unhindered wing, huge bulk careening through the window with the resounding crash of the entire window bursting at once into a myriad shards of splintered glass.

Geoffrey, however, was already gone -- halfway through the door and into the street beyond before the glass had begun raining down upon the floor in a deadly shower, massive shards of stained glass bringing further misery to those unfortunate enough to have been caught beneath. Almost on queue with the bursting of the window, there was a rending crash and a mighty bursting of timbers and the low rumble of stone grating upon stone as the ceiling of the meeting chamber beyond fell into ruin. A thick reek of black smoke and grey dust came rolling in through the further doors, the scent of charred timber and swiftly burning flesh hanging heavy in the air.

Geoffrey arrived in the street to find it empty -- empty of his prey, at least, though already there was a monstrous crowd forming without, shouts and cries and utter chaos reigning in the streets. If perhaps no fighting there, at least. He turned and slipped back inside, the expression on his face rather unreadable as he trod slowly over the broken bits of glass, booted feet crunching with every step.

“A pity,” he might have been heard to say aloud, more to himself than anyone in particular, “for it was a rather splendid piece of work...” He stooped down and plucked a thin splinter of pale sapphire from the body of some poor wretch, held it to the light now streaming in through the open window and eyed the piece curiously; part of a flower once, perhaps, though now dark blood was running slowly down its length. He seemed to find something intriguing about the piece, and after a moment of such study it vanished beneath his cloak.

With that, and a loud cry of “Ai! Lord Ezric!” he started off again -- though the cry seemed more a mere courtesy than anything else, as he set off in precisely the noble’s direction, skirting carefully about the bodies of the fallen, great care taken in navigating the slick tiles of the desecrated floor.

 

Ezric turned to see someone vaguely familiar. An ordinary man it seemed bearing a hunch of sorts. He had felt a prescence around him, and now that prescence is back.
"Hello there" said Ezric "Come with me, you will tell me your name later." Ezric waited until a retinue of stagecoaches came. "Everyone go into one of these" he said "We will go to my mansion." He then said "Blueberry, I demand you sit with me". As he prepared to come home, Ezric thought about the recent attack. He truly hope that this would not interrupt his plan of introducing his newly discovered superweapon.

 

Geoffrey offered a curt nod in response to Ezric’s remark; he seemed rather impatient as he watched the approach of the coaches, impeded as they were by the crowds still milling about the front doors to the meeting chamber. They remained relatively peaceful still, though by now there was a more urgent feel to the scene, people beginning to ask questions of those survivors they encountered, many strange glances cast now and again toward the party and the coaches and those of Ezric’s men who had survived the fight of a moment ago.

“Nicely laid,” Geoffrey murmured in a barely audible whisper beneath his breath, cold gaze suddenly tilting toward the space of ground just before him as he walked with the others -- as if he wished to avoid much notice or scrutiny, or the possibility of attracting the attention of anyone in the crowd. He remained thus until he had gained a seat not far from Ezric; again he drew his cloak tightly about his form, hunched a little in his seat in a complete picture of abject carelessness -- at least relative to the company he held at the time. His booted feet once more crossed and stretched so far as the cramped confines of the carriage would allow -- uncomfortably close to whatever person had elected to sit just across from him, though he seemed all but entirely unconcerned about their comfort (or lack thereof) at the time.

“Now, your Lordship,” Geoffrey finally stated, simply, gaze turning toward the man as he spoke; with his eyes once more uplifted a subtle kind of chill might have been noticed to descend into the coach, seeping in through the chinks and crevices as though it sought a way within from without. Subtle, though, and perhaps scarcely to be noticed. “I will be blunt, insofar as I am able -- though it is fortunate that you had these coaches on hand when the time was ripe, else it might have taken other... less conventional... means to extricate us from the situation. And I’m uncertain as to how those of your bearing and kind would take to, say, the devouring of a few souls for the necessary portal to have taken our entire little company there without delay.” Here he paused again, inhaled slowly -- as if for dramatic effect, or simply because he judged he had spoken long enough as it was without doing so (though he did not seem to exhale) -- his head turned slowly to the side again, moving in that almost disturbingly unnatural manner as he shot a gaze in Blueberry’s direction, musing aloud after a moment’s silence.

“Though I daresay your own taste for... fresh... blood might admit you some leeway to forgive me.” Here he provided a rather grim smile toward the young halfbreed his gaze had so recently turned toward, eyes just for that one moment searching out her own, though all in an instant the moment passed. He clapped his gloved hands together with a grunt, suddenly sat up a bit straighter in his chair, and turned his full attention back toward the Lord; his hands he now laid to rest upon his knees, the slouch in his posture gone entirely.

“Ah! But I am forgetting myself. All men can be bought, Lord Ezric -- for a price, even if as you learned today this price might not always take the form of gold. There are other ideals to which some are held, or other options by which they might be twisted to the whim of another; perhaps held down with the screw to a thumb and so caught, like a game of chess where one must make up his mind as to which of two losses is the greater evil, and yet simply must choose one or forfeit the game.” Here he paused again, eyeing the grim lord silently for a moment before venturing to add “though you, Lord Ezric, do not seem the sort of man to forfeit when he has even just one piece left still on the board. Nor the sort to be bought for any price, even if it would leave your own side of the board bare with nothing but a crownless king to languish away his last few moves without hope.” At that he did not so much as even turn to look at the slim briefcase held near to the halfbreed’s person, though for that one instant of silence, to all those present in the coach it would doubtless seem that the pervading cold had chosen to settle and concentrate itself directly there, overtop the mysterious object. It dispersed again all in an instant as Geoffrey began speaking once more, continuing on in his slightly roundabout and -- admittedly -- faintly eccentric manner. Whatever otherworldly dictionary he had derived the word “blunt” from seemed a bit at odds with the meanings of more normally accepted texts.

“Yet I digress. As must by now have been made obvious to you, the guards of the meeting place were bought. For what price I do not know, and while I might have my guesses as to whom, I would not presume to lay those cards upon the table while the trump is yet to be decided. You yourself, Lord Ezric, are apparently a target of some standing -- though that is to be expected, I should think, a halfbreed of such standing thrusting his neck and nose so far out into what some might term “rebellious”. This world does have a rather curious nature for maintaining the precious status quo... And you have singlehandedly attempted to destroy that notion.”

Here he stopped again for another pause. He had remained quite still this entire time, gloved hands never once straying from his knees, eyes never so once as inching from Ezric’s face. Still, all the while as he spoke his posture began to slip again into its former state, shoulders gradually sliding a little ways down the padded cushion of the bench, legs worming their way back to their first position.

“If you have not yet seen it already, Lord Ezric, I shall cut it plainly for you: the Demons invaded the central hall and are gone, no trace to be seen -- whether their aim was to slay you, or to divert you, does not matter. No blame can be traced to the part they played. At least one part of the enemy’s goal -- whoever he might be -- is already accomplished. The guards without were bought. What more could be said for the mayhem ensuing from halfbreed blades stained with halfbreed blood at a very meeting for unification? What kind of message will that send to those beyond? To the pure bloodlines those of the city must assuredly appear buffoons. Incapable of keeping the peace even amongst their own, and thus how could they ever hope to draw those of other blood to the selfsame creed that they have so recently broken?

“And the crowning achievement to this plan? The final blow that has left the king without his crown, and the sand in the hourglass slowly draining to its end as the next move is awaited...?” Here Geoffrey became quite silent once again, not a sound to be heard from where he sat. He did not even bother to draw a breath, merely arched one eyebrow ever so slightly, his gradual slinking back into his seat for the moment halted as he allowed his words thus far to take hold.

“It is you, of course, my good Lord Ezric. You who have been seen with the blood of halfbreeds on your blade. You who happened to be the ranking noble present during the massacre. Your men who fought with the sworn guards of the city. Your coaches who carried us away through the gathering crowd. And your most noble head which now lacks a crown, and will doubtless have all the lowest halfbreeds of the city and all the magistrates who have smelt the faintest hint of blood, and probably a special contingent of the Circle’s own Citadel Guard knocking at your gates in short order.”

“Let us hope, in the meantime, that your head does not follow the crown. For it seems they miscounted on several counts. I sincerely doubt it was taken into their plans that so many of such power and ability would be gathered together at such a time. I was a bit of a flaw in... well... no matter what position I am in, as now I am just as much an outlaw as you. Or perhaps, better put, you are suddenly just as much an outlaw as me. Suffice to say, though you have lost much, by some miracle a few pawns managed to make it to the end of the board, and the crownless king has a few tricks left to play before the end. I hope for all our sakes that you play them well.

“But I believe I have said more than is sufficient at present. By all means we might take a little time to ready ourselves at your mansion; news spreads swiftly in this city, but we have had a swift and goodly start on them. The mobs, that is. They must spend at least a little time whipping the people into a frenzy before they might spring the rest of the trap upon us... and by then, with any fortune, we shall be long since gone.

“One other tidbit I have only to offer -- the commandant which I so recently failed to catch... it would be in our best interest to take him. His name is Orlick, that much I know. Alive. Or dead if need be. Dead men may tell humans no tales, but even half a demon should suffice to extract what we wish if his soul has already passed on. Though I would rather not take that route if at all possible.”

Here, for perhaps the first time since the bloodied atrium, Geoffrey showed a hint of some sudden feeling; he shuddered almost involuntarily at his last few words, the pervading chill for an instant growing all the stronger. It was a moment that passed swiftly, however, and by then having slumped back to his former position he fell to musing quietly on his own thoughts, one hand producing a small glass flask from beneath his cloak. With a sudden quirk of seeming humour, he held it out toward Blueberry.

“A drink, perhaps? Nerves are a fragile thing, Miss Blueberry... though I fear it is rum of a bit of a coarse vintage for such fine company. I hope you do not take ill to finding yourself in the sudden company of so many criminals. Though perhaps it will ease your heart to know that your face too, no doubt, will soon appear alongside our own on every wanted poster from here to the furthest reaches of the border towns.” He offered a thin smile at that, words caught between the uncertainty of half-mocking humour and a queer sort of good-naturedness that stood rather at odds with the social failing inherent to such a gesture.

 

“I do not think the attack was aimed solely at Lord Ezric, Geoffrey.” She said kindly, relaxing into the velvet green cushions lining the inside of the carriage; though her wings were rather too big to allow her much of it and too wide to allow those around her much room.
“Indeed I thought the attack was far too...lets say variable or erratic to be aimed at one person; especially Lord Ezric. I saw no one who seemed determined to kill him or anyone else. Besides there are many much higher people of standing who organised the meeting, why not let the attack be aimed at one of them. It was after all organised by them. Lord Ezric here only attended the meeting to present his knew discovery and find new accomplices.”

Blueberry felt the damp coldness emanate from this mans aura, circulating the carriage and brushing up against her. She knew what he was, but she would not judge him nor condemn him. He was doing good in the world, that was enough for her. She could deal with his...'problems' in the light of what she knew.
“I do not feel it is as bad as you suggest.” She finished. “One must be calm in all things; there is always a way.”

Geoffrey’s hand still held out to her his drink and she refused. “You need not worry of my nerves, sir. I have trained for worse things than that I can assure you, and indeed have overcome much.”
“And please, you misjudge me, do not imagine me some fine lady. I live among the fields on the outskirts of the city with my clan, where the finest thing I am beholden by is the morning sunrise and the full moon. We are hard workers not idle gentry.”

She noticed his half-mocking humour but also his, if slight, good-naturedness through those words, and found it comical. She continued on in correcting his interpretation of her.
“I do not fear others, it does not serve me. I do not see criminals but honest people trying to do good in the world. I will find myself most happy in being allied to you all.”
“You had better keep that for yourself if you enjoy it so heartily,” nodding to the drink he had now returned to his own lips, “you may need it in the end.” She half-smiled, one corner of her lips curling up, playfully.

As the carriage drew away with ever increasing rapidity, Blueberry heard a wonderfully familiar chirp and her heartbeat quickened. She peaked her head out of the carriage window and held out her hand welcomingly as a small white dove swooped down and landed on her hand.
“Chu’chu!” she cried with delight; stroking the little birds head with the tip of her finger. It sang a song in return. “What news of my family?”
The little dove brought its rounded head closer and made odd clicking noises with its beak. Blueberry listened closely with cool concentration.

Her clan had reared doves for generations and had become famous for it. The relationship between dragons and doves you would think would never be called close, but indeed it had. Perhaps it was the half angel in her clan that so tampered with the outcome. As well as rearing them they had also developed a new form of communication between the birds and often used them for sending messages between themselves.

“I see,” she said quietly to herself. Then looking up at the others around her she replayed a message from her elders. “The elders of my clan our made up of many wise-women and mystics, they often send me warnings or visions they have scene that I should know. This is one such time. Many dangers lay ahead,” she started in a soft tone, “all is not what it seems, there is more to this than what meets the eye. We must be wary. We will need much help if we are to find those who are behind this.”

Then she stopped and thought for a moment, stroking the birds white breast. “I know of one such person - an acquaintance of mine. Hunter Palodin. She is one of the best trackers around, she has great skill.” She looked up at Ezric beside her, “Of course it will come with a hefty price-” she said expectantly, hoping he would cotton on to her thoughts with a knowing look…

 

At this Geoffrey once again arches an eyebrow ever so slightly; he does not respond at once, instead remains slouched against his seat, nursing his flask in a contemplative sort of way -- first lifting it to his lips and taking a swallow, then tilting it a little to the side and peering longwise at it, as though he might be trying to peer through the murky glass and and off to the interior of the carriage on the other side. Finally, both eyebrows now raised in a faintly questioning manner, he remarks:

“All for Lord Ezric? Did I say that... no, I thought not. But I do not aim to split hairs of trivialities. As I said, the crowning achievement on their plan amongst many other goals accomplished all in one swift action. Unless you do not think that bringing the burning building down upon the head of so many troublesome “rebels” were not enough of a finality. It does not much change our current predicament, though you -- I see -- are more intent to look upon the flask as half full. As oppose to the fear I hold that mine is quite empty at present.” He pauses here to cast a suspicious glance toward his flask; stoppering it again, he tucks back beneath his cloak and straightens a little before adding: “As for fear, Miss Blueberry? This world is of three minds concerning those who have no fear for others: The very young, the very foolish and the very dead... I fear many things, myself not least among them.”

 

I hope you dont mind if I jump in. You seem to have lost a few characters.
Name: Esuna
Age: 26
Appearance: young man with chestnut brown skin and sharp features. Bronze eyes and hair that is dark with silver streaks despite his apparent age. Wears fine leather armor dyed blue with the crest of his order on the pauldrons. Carries a sword named Alabaster with improbable qualities.
Species: human/progeny of the divine patriarch
Backround: Esuna has no last name. He is an exile from a noble house of the divine patriach. Since childhood he has been in the care of rogues, sages, and sorcerers and has a strong affinity for the magical. He is a wandering philosopher who studies the secrets of magomii and hidden powers within.
Personality: Esuna may lack appropriate social grace, but he is wise, kind, and truthful

Extra: Magomii is the portion of the spirit manifested in the physical universe. Esuna is also an artificer and uses his inventions to liberate the oppressed.

 

Hey Hex44, yeah sure you can the more the merrier

but just to let you know, when discussing this RPG we refer to this discussion thread - https://www.writingforums.org/showthread.php?t=45035&page=4. we leave this only for writing

were all half-breeds so you'll have to choose something else to go with your human side, theres dragon, demon, vampire and angel so take you pick...

oh by the way you didnt describe the personality of your character, if you could could you please do this on the discussion thread thanks

 

Enter Esuna

A young man came upon a busy road. Carriages from town taking apparent people of importance out into the countryside. He had heard the commotion in town, screams and the clashing of metal. Even now he could make out several building burning against the starlit sky. He wasn't often a fan of trouble. Some how he could sense it in the winds as the carriages rattled past that those within them had something to do with it.

He put a hand on the cuirass of his leather armor. Th alchemist had dyed it blue with white joints and piping, the regalia of his order which he had sworn against explaining to those outside his province. He notice heavy clouds beginning to gather over head a good omen as it would hamper the movement of a large force. Minutes later cold rain began to fall, soaking into his dark unruly hair and making its silver tips come to a point. The rain pattered down in the exposed mahogany flesh of his face and hands. He grinned devilishly, the weather reminded him of home, yet he was here of a mission give only to him and still he was unsure how to accomplish it. At his side pulsed his blade, Alabaster, sensing his uncertainlty. The weapon had a strange way of knowing when the young mans mood would change. Ever since it was forged from the living soul of a principality it would only be draw from its scabbard by his hand. The young man had no idea of how to communicate with a sentient weapon but when he touched the hilt it spoke to him, sometimes guiding him, sometimes giving him access to a greater range of powers. He put his hand on the hilt of Alabaster now and threw his consciousness foward, gathering details of the nights events. After a few moments he gleaned on fact several times.

MURDER. Rage boiled with in him, he redirected it, it was of no use to him now. Taking a few cleansing breathes to calm himself, he uttered a promise he would die before breaking. "I Esuna, true son of Drajon, master of air will destroy those who seek the lives to those who cannot change their blood. Be it partial or full all is sacred before the eyes of truth."
Again he took a few cleansing breathes, knowing for certain those who he saught out had already passed him and by now were far ahead. So he ran, the wind carrying his heels.

 

Hearuk City of angels

Meanwhile high above the intangible city of Hearuk, where the angelic ones, dwelt a young cheribum flew fervently, careful not to cause alarm amongst the other choirs in flight but with speed enough to travel swiftly to the ziggart, Andei, where the seraphim worshipped. All around her those with wings and those without sang praises, played elaborate instruments, and painted marvellous murals to the divine patriach and his kin. Nothing in this city was tainted by the physical world. All was made of light, and crystal, and precious metal. And in the hidden places it was rumored that rooms were surrounded by sound. The thought of singing a place into existence made the little cherubims' head spin. There was so much about the glory and majesty that the Father had allowed her kind to master in this city she found it hard not to be proud of her race.
Alas, pride would surely be her downfall if allowed herself to embrace the thought, but with the overwhelming love of God so close she felt it foolish to turn away into sin. She was not like her half brother Danil at all, though she sorely missed his fellowship and love. Even his pranks at her expense. He was so lively before his fall all of those years ago. She shook the memory of her lost brother away as she landed in front of the doors of Andei. Her small wings fluttered tirelessly as her bare feet touched the smooth crystal plane that served as the ground.

Looking up at the huge doors which gaped open, welcoming all though accepting few, she felt a nudging at her consciousness, a warm gesture of Gods' affection, she was doing the right thing. With the grace of a dancer she walked through the doors and into the foyer where seven seraphim sat above a plane of onyx in the shape of a cresent moon. They all spoke musically amongst each other, deciding matters that were far above the head of a lowly cherubim. She bowed her head in respect and let the angels finish their discussions, her brown locks falling down over her pale face.
In unison, each one turn toward her, their faces a flash of unspeakable light and their voices gentle and kind. "What news do you bring, Miria?" They spoke as one. Miria, it was something.about they way they pronounced, almost as if mocking her. For years since her brothers' exile she had pleaded before these same judges begging them to petition God to forgive Danil but to no avail. It was almost as if the Divine Patriarch had left or was missing...
"Bring news from from Tandor" she said lifting her dazing voilet eyes to their shining visage. "There was a small uprising at their gathering place. It seems as though a mortal lord wishes to unit the races as equals. He also a escaped a handful of those unlucky enough to die on the flames or by the sword, may God bring their souls to rest." She reported softly. Miria had no strong dislike of the half breeds, her own brother was one of them, most humans who lived many virtuous lives became members of the host.
There was much confusion in her heart on why God would allow these creatures to live yet permit the rest of his creation to shun them... and each other. This was another thing which was not for the understanding of cheribum.
"We know of this event for we have seen it come to pass. And we of know who's hand moves the peices." The choir replied. Then their voice suddenly turned stern "Miria! We have reason to suspect your brother and others whos blood is mingled with that of ours have been led astray by their ambition! You will go and tell him; he will be accepted into the city should he leave his current fellowship and nay look back. He and those others whos mothers shared our faith. Should you fail you will be accursed just as he was. Never to return to the bosom of God" the choir paused allowing this truth to sink in. Around them against the great crystal walls of the ziggarut their voices echoes and boomed in her ears.
"Amen" Miria replied knowing she had no choice in the matter. She cast her head down m, eyes welling with deep sadness at the prospect of being cut off from the creator. "You must leave now little one." It was a single voice. The voice of a woman coming from the seraphim which sat in the center of the rest. Miria knew this one to be truely kind, she would offer her wisdom and sing with her when she missed Danil. "I will bestow my blessing upon you before you undertake this trial. May you and your kin return to the father soon.
Miria opened her mouth to speak but found that she had not the power to. Instead the lone seraphim spoke through her saying praises and incantations of great power. Miria hands came to her mouth where she discover a milky lavender fluid trickling from her lips and tongue, sweet to tasted but dense and cold in her mouth. She looked up at the seraphim as they watched her, once a lowly cheribum transform before their eyes. None seeming surprised in the least. Slowly, painfully Miriam grew into a fuller form of a woman. She grew taller and more defined in muscle while here hips grew wide and shoulder slightly broadened. She felt the structure of her face shift and her hair grow long and wild. Even her wings changed the small feather wings she had love so grew and became less substantial almost ethereal. She dropped to the cool crystal floor and found that it swallowed her and she was falling. "Your voice will shall become irresistible to men, suggestion is a powerful..." was the last she heard from the seraphim as she hurdled toward the mortal realm. For the first time in her existence she felt the icey tendrils of fear grip her. And then blackness consumed her mind.
Miria had become one of the fallen.

 

As the carriage traversed the land, the wood boards that suspended the passengers bounced and creaked. Most of the passengers did not mind, content to have escaped with there lives and a rich man to feed them. However, Drake was not aware of this. He'd been knocked unconscious from a falling rafter, and was only now waking up.


His vision was blurrey, threads of light littered the images before him. "Oh Lawhd... is I..." He turned and saw a pair of feathery wings "Oh..." he said to himself with a disappointed tone "Damn it...I'd planned on dieing in a MUCH mor-" The figure before him began to come into focus, he could faintly make out the pristine scaled face of Mrs.Gold. "Oh...Is that you Blueberry?" The Half Dragon nodded. He turned and saw a collage of shadowy figures, slowly shaping into familiar faces. He scratched his head and felt a series of bumps upon it. He groaned and patted himself. He then turned toward the majority of the carriage passengers "errr... are we alive?". One of the passengers nodded. Drake sighed happily, glad to still be a member of the physical realm. "Oh good...were are we?"

 

A low and rather odd chuckle issued from Geoffrey’s seat at that, “A hard head indeed, Master Drake, even for a dragon. Or a partial dragon at that. A pity so much effort was spared on the skull that little enough was left for the contents! Unless your kind do have a penchant for taking the brunt of a falling timber full upon their crown...” His words were not spoken unkindly, rather with a flat kind of drollness that seemed again to be his own form of faintly debasing humour. “Still”, he continued on, voice softening a little now to a more conversational tone, if still containing a hint of that same dryness “I must admit that I am distinctly impressed. We shall never lack for a battering ram from this point forward, so far as we can keep the thing most firmly attached to your neck.”

“As for where...” Geoffrey gave another pause and turned, neck craning to the side as he peered through the shutter off into the dust and haze beyond; it was difficult to see much of anything without, at best the vague forms of halfbreeds thronged the streets, and though the carriage still carried along at a brisk pace, the driver seemed more intent on using his whip upon those hapless pedestrians too slow to escape its passage than the horses themselves. “Somewhere betwixt meeting hall and Lord Ezric’s manor, I should say” he finally gave out with an indecisive shrug, letting the shutter fall to with a careless flick of his wrist; the dust and general din from without were again brought down to a soft murmur, competing now with the creak of the carriage itself as it rumbled along the street.

Seemingly preoccupied for a moment, Geoffrey fell to picking at some bit of lint that seemed to have attached itself to his glove, before venturing to add -- his words now obviously directed toward Blueberry, though he did not so much as look toward her person when speaking. “And what else, Miss Blueberry, might you tell us about this Hunter Palodin? For all my talk of the commodity known as “loyalty” but a few moments ago, I cannot help but have the subject still upon my mind...” He looks up briefly now, hastily adding “Not, of course, that I wish to infer anything about your... acquaintance... No, merely curious. Cynicism has not led me astray thus far, and I do not yet mean to again abandon it so swiftly.”

Something in his own words seeming to have given him cause for thought, Geoffrey trails off into another brooding silence, attention once again diverted to a careful examination of his gloved hands.

 

The wheels in Drakes head began to quicken in pace, he thought for another moment, groaning as he remembered the sudden surge of pain that had over taken his body. He felt his head again, feeling at the injured areas. "Timbers...really?" he then chuckled, pointing a shaking finger at the knowledgeable man. "hard headed...Ha! Fair enough...fair enough" he wriggled his hands into one another and starred at the man, emitting a jagged grim "I like you mate..." He Then turned his attention toward Ezric. It filled Drake with spite knowing he was in the care of a man he distinctly remembered disliking, but the saftey of the vehicle was an uncharacteristic charity, his mind rapidly began tracing memories of the night prior, the archers...the fire...A dark knight who had caught Drake offgaurd and...Ezric acting noble...for a change.

Drake sighed, and spoke with a somberness in his voice" Lord Ezric...thank you...turns out you're much more decent then I'd thought" The words he uttered stung him as he spoke them, but they were all true. A man willing to save a half-breeds life deserved a respect.

Drake starred out the window, admiring the chaos outside. He saw a homely looking woman with a pitch fork, wailing at a group of hooded vandals. There was smoke in the air and splintered pieces of wood strewn across the grounds. "I gotta ask...Who do ya thinks done all this?"

 

On the outskirts of Tandor

The hunt had begun. Four massive hounds dug their claws and snouts into the ground anticipating tearing the flesh from live bone. Their master stood at the alphas' flank, a tall entity himself being dwarfed by their massiveness. He watch as they pawed the earth and cried out in horrible howls, enough to frighten a valiant dragon into shock. He smirked then, a terrible expression to behold upon his twisted face. He was called Maj by his masters. In turn he called his hounds Majit after himself. All four of them Majit and they only knew to devour on command. The beast stomachs were always empty to make them more ravenous during each hunt. And when they would find hunt, they consumed all meat in their path, bones gore and all, leaving only messy smears of blood on the ground and walls. He smiled rottenly this time imagining the carnage his demonic children would wreak upon this cast off town. The order would come soon, for now his hounds would have to wait.

 

Drake continuously starred out the window, his mind now clear and filled with dreadful ideas about where the attackers hailed from and what their motives might be. He tried to look upon any group of attackers for clues to there origin. He remembered the few he'd dealt with earlier. "They had tiny frames..." He reached to his belt and took a drink from his last green vile. He whiped the liquid from his lips, happy to feel strength return to his body. "and none of em could fly up at Mrs.Gold...That rules of Angels and Dragons" A thought that put his mind at ease. "...They were organized, don't know how else they would have made it inside without causing a scene." a chilling revelation filled his mind, he tore himself from the window to address the others "I didn't see no folks dressed in black when I was inside either! It's like they just ....just popped in from thin air...how's that supposed to work?"

 

Excerpt from the histories of Kaizo

THE DIVIDE

... and seeing that man had the capacity for both great kindness and great malice the gods separated the Angels and Demons from his realm, placing the winged ones above so man would aspire to be like them and the foul ones below so man would trample him underfoot... and there came a day when when a demon renounced his habit of sin and walked into the daylight to join man, but could not for man had forgotten him and cursed the sun against him... drank mans blood in retaliation, making the tainted man his brother and thus the vampire was born...
Seeing the plight of their creations the gods took up the beating heart of Kaizo and formed it into a great beast to bring order to the warring races and peace amongst the wandering demons... The angels saw this and asked the gods why they had fallen from favor for they had unwittingly grown proud of their station and began to make war with the gods' new creation calling them dragons..
Unsure of how to sooth their creations or unwilling to intervene the gods retreated for realms unknown, save one, who smote the earth and caused much death among all races... with no will to fight any longer the five race withdrew into their own kind... and so began the separation.

 

The cold, sharp blasts of water trickled down my back dragging some off the surviving dirt with the icy tears. I didn’t mind the cold it eased my sore burning muscles, evening out the temperatures warring within me. It had been a hard adventure this time; I should’ve taken the break my dad offered. The grimace came easily; whenever dad offered his holidays it meant camping out in usually rainy Faerie swamplands. Just because the stuck-up, tyrannical true breeds disallowed half’s, it was the most ludicrous thing I had ever heard. Though I was young for my breed which was half Vampire from my mother and half Angel from my father, I still had 107 years on me. My ears pricked up at the strange flapping hum that was heading my way. I considered changing into my dragon form, but decided against it grabbing a small knife from my black boots instead- it didn’t sound too loud which at least meant it was small. Small things could be dangerous, I should know, I was only 5ft. A small white bird landed peacefully on my shoulder and pecked a kiss on my cheek.
“Chu Chu, my friend what are you doing here?” The bird nuzzled me once more and dropped a small piece of battered parchment in my hand. We needed a better form of communication, though it made me sad to think I wouldn’t see Chu. I unrolled the papyrus and read the following words.
Hunter, I hope you are safe and well, as you are most likely in some type of trouble. (Make sure my Chu Chu is not hurt while sending the message to you). I need your help with a mission; we need your help with some tracking. It’s for a good cause and well it would be a personal favour to me.
When you come – don’t mind his lord, he’s quite irksome but a good creature and whatever you do don’t fight with him.
Loving regards
Blue
I huffed with annoyance, who did she think I was - I would never let chu be hurt. I smiled over my lost holiday and started packing my things. Blue always gave me some interesting work, I would never be bored.

 

"Alright Blueberry" said Ezric "I will pay the fee for this new person" He then began to explain the fullness of his plan to the newcomer "Geoffrey, I have a proposition. In my case is something called black powder. With it I will create great cannons, that can bash though walls, and handheld... firearms that can punch through solid plate. At this moment I have spent vast sums of gold, to a guild of alchemists, although I fear my coffers are starting to visibly depleate. They say they have almost perfected a prototype for one of the weapons it is called an arquebus, which as I mentioned fires a lead ball that can punch through any armour. Once we are freed from this city, I will launch a mangificent campaign. Soon all of Kaizo will be my domain, and I will be Emperor Ezric I of House Storm. Of course you will all be high officials under me. And after that I will make many and more innovations to my weapons. My new Kaizo shall be ruled by technology, imagine it. We could rival God himself.