A R G E N T III XI I X VI. IV III I X IV II. OOC Thread | Character Thread Some time ago Within the marble walls of Kelda, blood and hate blooms forth like new year's harvest. Strung up from poles on high windowsills, the new attractions of the city slowly creak as they hang. The corpses of Keldian soldiers, citizens, or women alike - any Keldian who was too foolish or proud to leave their great city has become a source of entertainment for the hate-filled masses in the walls, a way to fulfil their hunger for vengeance. Any Keldians not hanging or laying dead and dismembered in the streets, fight valiantly, or hide away in the deepest of nooks and crannies, waiting for the screams to be over. Smoke looms over the city, but only certain buildings burn within the marble-crafted capital, leaving the arsonists igniting others and house interiors to keep them occupied instead. And at the entrance gates for our great city Kelda, now long busted open and completely destroyed, a trio of nooses are saved for certain people. The despised King, his wife, and his son. One of the three tasks of hate-filled zealots seems to have been accomplished so far, as a once-beautiful lady in a royal dress and with flowing blonde hair, swings with the cord hatefully forced upon her neck, pale-faced. And if you listen closely, above the grunts of battle and the clashing of steel and flesh, you'll hear the chant that's spread like a plague amongst the people. "I AM THE BLOOD! I AM THE BODY! I AM THE BLADE!" What is the purpose of this chant? It has none. Created by someone with no intelligence, as all brainpower has been converted into rage and battle. And one at a time, this phrase spread for no reason, leaving all fighters with a permanent choir's chorus as they hack and slash away. Certain remaining Keldian guards have racked up a bodycount that would once get you a medal, and the others? You know where they lay. At the pinnacle of all this, in an unknown yet high-up area, a King watches over the spoils of his work, an enscribed golden blade uselessly held at his side, his figure huge with gold-tinted armour and royal wings. After getting a good view of his great city of Kelda, a hand falls onto his shoulder. "It is time we took our leave, Ser." A fancily-dressed man, his black wear adorned with medals and with a wide hat sprouting tufts of combed black hair atop his head, stands by his King. His advisor, and the King's helping hand through this madness. "So these were the consequences." The King's low voice comes, made metallic, through the small slit of his winged helm. The advisor looked into the smoke, before his eerily calm head turned back to the King. "Do not think about it." The advisor mumbled offhandedly. "In your words, Ser. 'There is still one thing I can manage to make this right again'." "Argent." The King remembers tonelessly. "...Argent. We've gathered all we can. Now is as good as a time as ever to get things started." The advisor paused, adjusting his hat. "With all due respect, Ser. There is no more time to stand here and let yourself be broken. The time has come to forget and look to the present day. You are the only one who can do this, and there is still a chance, Ser." A long pause came, before the King's metal body turned around slightly. "What of my son?" "He lies safe. He is helping to build our new fortress as we speak amongst the many others." "..." "Ser." The advisor leaned in slightly. "Snap out of this state. For the good of everyone. You were a King, were you not?" "...I..." The King paused, before suddenly something seemed to click in his head. "...No. You are right. It is time to stop this useless mourning." Clenching a gauntlet-encased fist at his side, the King turned around, and stepped up. "It is time to build the world's retakers. ...For Argent, now awaits." CHAPTER I I am the Blood The Present Considering everything, a fine day blooms forth above the fourteen applicants. Set within a low dip in the forested hills, the fourteen have been waiting outside of the walls of The Argent Foundation for quite some time now. In the waiting, they've grown accustomed to what Argent's fortress looks like from the outside. High, crude yet steadfast stone walls surround a wide perimeter, likely raised from the ground with Rewrition. Atop the walls, archers and crossbowmen are eagle-eyed as they watch the surroundings, looking down to keep an eye on the fourteen every now and again. The entrance: a classic crude wooden drawbridge-above-a-ditch, though this ditch was heavily spiked, with armoured men with spears and greatswords ensuring only Argent members would operate the crank. And the entire fortress seemed to be coated in moss and foliage, giving it the impression that it was abandoned from a distance, yet also allowing it to blend in somewhat with the deep green trees and long wild grass of the area. Chatter, occasional loud shouts, and the soft and controlled clashing of sparring steel and wood could be heard within Argent's walls. Every now and again, a member or a group of members would exit the drawbridge, from the lowest of ranks to some of the highest, looking curiously at the fourteen new applicants before speeding off on horseback or foot. The placement of Argent would make it very rare to randomly stumble across, but if one did, and was found without Rhyzen's letter... it was likely they would be taken in, dead or alive. But all of these fourteen hold Rhyzen's letter. And why they were here now, taking up arms for this unknown 'Argent', varied wildly for each person. Not too long ago, a tall man clad in brass armour with a grey-feathered cowl came out to examine the fourteen. From his mane of grey-brown hair, and his heavy, half-shaven beard, with pale skin, this man had been from Blenngham originally. On his brass armour, a delicately-sewn badge with an intricate pattern of four stars around a capital letter 'A' was present, indicating a high rank. Accompanied by two lower-ranks who validated all of the fourteen's letters to ensure their legitimacy, the Blennghammen man had simply told the fourteen to: "Wait here." And that was what the fourteen were doing. A huge variety of people from all across the world, they had found themselves here from their long travels more or less at the same area of time. And in their waiting, they knew little about Argent - the fortress that would change their life - but they knew one thing for sure: If they were accepted into its walls, life would be anything but easy. But that was the price a hero - a world's retaker - had to pay.