Impetus (Peregrine x Ragamoofin)

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Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#1
It was misty.

Faint beads of water floated through the air, turning the sun into a nebulous orb, and buried the horizon in obscurity. The mist seemed to ebb and roll like a tide, one moment pulling back to grant a hint at the distance, before tumbling in once more to shroud everything in tenebrous grey.

There was a figure sitting at the bank of a river, seeming to waver in and out of sight. The water at the edge of the river seemed to lap in time with the roiling fog, reaching up the shore as though striving to touch the bare toes that sat just out of reach of each ripple.

The mysterious figure remained sitting perfectly still, and if it wasn’t for the ceaseless motion of the water and the sound of gentle breathing it might have almost seemed as though time was frozen.

After an uncountable length of silence, almost as though moving unconsciously, the figure’s hand dropped down to brush against the ground, nothing but the tips of pale fingers scraping across the pebbles. Eventually one smooth, grey stone was pulled away from its fellows, and a moment later it was pinched between thumb and forefinger, absentmindedly rolled back and forth as though the motion might somehow reveal the little rock’s integrity.

However, only seconds later, a casual flick of the wrist sent the pebble skidding out into the thick air. It was quickly swallowed up by the mist, but even the fog couldn’t swallow the sound of it landing with a faint plink in the water of the river. Then all was silent once more.

In the distance, the splashing sound of oars reverberated.

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“Right!” A shrill voice cut through the dense fog, followed moments later by the sound of several paddles plunging into rapid water, and guttural groans of complaint as an equal number of men hauled against the wooden handles.

The prow of a riverboat abruptly appeared from the fog, veering wildly off to the side, barely steering clear of a wide ripple in the water that hinted at the sharp rock that lay just below the surface. A bug-eyed man hung from the front of the boat, held in place by nothing but his own quivering arms. His gaze flickered quickly from side to side, never lingering for longer than a split second, as he desperately sought out any indication of impending destruction that might be hiding within the turbulent water, which bucked only a few feet below his toes. Abruptly his already round eyes seemed to grow even wider, and his sharp voice abruptly squawked out again, this time filled with a hint of panic. “Too far. Too far!”

Only a moment later, a rocky wall suddenly appeared from the fog, as though it had simply been conjured out of nothingness. The lanky man whimpered, before pulling himself back up on deck with surprising strength. “Hurry!”

There were groans and a few muffled curses of frustration from the back of the riverboat, but abruptly the prow began to straighten out once more. All the same, the man was wise in his decision to return to the safety of deck, as the nose of the boat scraped jarringly against the wall. The man staggered to the side under the force of the blow, and there was the sound of several heavy objects, abruptly dislodged from their former location, tumbling around in the depths of the boat.

“Damnation, Meb!”

The man on the prow winced as he pulled himself back to his feet, quickly shouting back a quick “It’s not my fault,” as he dropped back over the railing, leaving nothing but fingers in sight. The new position seemed to offer him some measure of confidence, as his words hadn’t even had time to finish echoing before more joined them. “It’s this damn fog! If I was any closer to the river, I’d be underwater.”

There was a grumble from the man who had cursed after the boats scrape with the canyon walls, and his calloused hand twitched as though looking for something to strangle. He took a half step towards the railing, as though to check the damage to his ship, before he spat into the fog, and turned back around to glower at another man whose silhouette had finally resolved into the half-visible face of a musclebound hulk. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a bad omen, captain.” The other man grunted, one hand reaching up to claw anxiously at a matted beard. His eyes flicked rapidly to the left, momentarily landing on a stack of crates that blocked part of the deck from view, before his eyes pulled away once more and he shuddered. A quick snort was followed by the sound of a wet swallow. “Fog thick as soup, been blocking the light all day. The men grow more and more anxious by the minute You’ve got to...”

“I’ve had quite enough of your superstition.” The barking voice caused the bearded man to visibly flinch, despite the disparity in size between the two. He shrunk back slightly, one hand raised as though to placate the glowering sailor, or perhaps to provide as something of a barrier between the two. His hand certainly did nothing to stop the onslaught of words. “We’ve got a shipment to deliver, and a little weather isn’t going to get in my way. I have no use for men who can’t do their job. They can grumble all they like, but anyone too consumed by figments to do their work properly is going to end up in the water, and if you don’t see that it happens you’ll be right in there along with them! Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” came the muttered reply.

The beefy man turned to move away, but was abruptly stopped by a hand on his arm. “We’ll make it out fine,” the captain continued, voice only slightly less coarse. “I’ve ridden this river enough times to know we can’t have more than ten minutes...”

“Left!”

The two staggered slightly to the side, before stabilizing once more. The captain seemed to have forgotten where he left off with his words. “The canyon will end soon. Just keep everyone on task, and I’ll make sure they get something good at Ilsworth.”

This earned a bit of a lecherous smile from the other man, and he tugged at his beard again. “I’ll see to it.”

The captain’s words proved true soon enough. It was possible for everyone onboard to feel the moment the canyon came to an end and the river widened and slowed, even if the fog kept the walls of the canyon out of sight. It was as though the world, which had been tugging away under their feet up until a moment ago, suddenly grew tired of its dangerous game and settled down to rest. In the back of the boat several men finally released their paddles, digging cracked fingernails into calloused palms in an attempt to ease some of the stinging from the hours of work. Meb scrambled back into the boat, before slumping against the railing and letting his eyes drop closed for a few minutes.

He was brought abruptly to his feet again well before he was ready to stand up by the sound of heavily booted feet stomping their way up to the prow. The captain gave him a withering glare, but didn’t otherwise say anything as he too moved to lean against the railing, his gaze turned out towards the water instead of in towards the ship. It was clear he was waiting for something, straining his eyes against the fog to catch a telltale glimpse of something other than water. But as the light grew ever dimmer the misty weather seemed to draw closer and closer to the boat, as though looking to swallow it whole. A wrinkle formed in between the captain’s brows, and his gaze never wavered.

Finally, after the foggy darkness had nearly grown impenetrable, a light glimmered in the distance. For several long moments the captain didn’t react. His eyes had played so many tricks on him by now, and he didn’t dare call out early. But this light didn’t fade, and was soon joined by another and another. Abruptly, before the captain even had a chance to turn around and let out a cry, the distant fog was stained golden. “Ilsworth hoy! Everyone get ready to dock. Hurry it up, unless you want to spend the night on the river!”

Before his voice even had a chance to stop echoing through the ship, the sound of countless pairs of feet stomping upon wet wood reverberated through the air. Men poured out from under the deck, lining up against the railing, before a hoarse cheer arose at the sight of the glowing city.

“Get a move on!”

The men turned and began to move towards their various positions across the boat, when a sudden trace of movement caught their eyes. Something was stirring from within the shelter of stacked crates that had seemed to catch the eye of the quartermaster several times over the course of the journey.

Several of the men instantly froze in place, while the rest suddenly picked up the pace of their steps, scarpering off towards their various duties. Those who remained behind were able to see a thin figure, cloaked in black, straighten from within the boxes. Despite the looseness of the dark shirt and the cowl that rested across her shoulders, it was impossible to fully hide the alluring outline of her figure. A few of the men gazed hungrily at her half-hooded features, but quickly looked away as she began to look out over the deck, lust instantly being replaced by tight expressions and averted eyes. Those who had found themselves with frozen feet quickly began to move again.

With the combined efforts of the crew the riverboat moved closer to the shore, and gradually began to slow. Just as the wooden planks of a dock came into view, the boat’s motion seemed to stall out completely, almost as though the river’s current had completely stopped. Or so it might have seemed if it wasn’t for the sound of splashing oars, and the occasional jolt as the men fought the motion of the tide. A few particularly bulky individuals hurled themselves over the edge, crashing into the dock and heaving the boat closer with the ropes that had been wrapped around their shoulders. They tied the boat down with quick, efficient knots, ensuring that their transportation, and the goods upon it, wouldn’t be swept away by the current over the course of the night.

The sickly yellow light from the village reflected wanly against the lone woman’s pale skin. A strand of white hair slipped out from the confines of her hood at the tug of a stray breeze, and Amaris’ fingers twitched up irritably to shove it back into place within the fabric. Even with the fog obscuring her view, it was possible to make out the ruined wood of the dock, which spoke poorly for the state of the town at which the boat was planning to moor for the night. All the same, the moment the ropes were fully secured and the boat stopped wobbling, Amaris strode her way quickly over to the gap in the railing, where several of the boatworkers had started to swarm.

The moment they saw her coming they staggered back several steps, and Amaris didn’t hesitate to march briskly through the opening they had provided. She crouched slightly at the edge of the boat, before dropping down to the dock, even her slight weight causing an ominous, damp thud from the old wood. She straightened from the cat-like crouch in which she’d landed, and quickly resumed her brisk march towards town.

“We’ll be leaving at dawn. Sharp!” a voice called out after her. Amaris did little more than raise a hand in acknowledgement. She didn’t stop moving until she’d gotten that river out of her sight, and wood had been replaced with loosely fitted cobblestone. It was only at that point that her feet came to a halt. The faint sound of her sigh slipped out among the fog, and it might have almost been possible to see some of the stiffness that left her shoulders as she finally relaxed.

Amaris had been traveling down that river for weeks now, transitioning from boat to boat and replacing one crew of burly men with another. She’d been working her way steadily north for the past several years, chasing a man that might as well have been a figment, and by the time she finally caught up with him she’d grown to have a mild distaste for the frigid weather that had seemed to follow her wherever she went. And so she’d decided that she was going to head south until she found a day without a cloud in the sky, when the heat of the sun caused the land to waver before her eyes.

Instead she’d ended up in this frigid little town enveloped in fog. The sigh that escaped her lips this time sounded far more like a snort of indignation than a breathy complaint. She knew she was only going to be staying here for one night, until the river boat moved on and she was able to drift away along with it, but it still felt like the town was mocking her. Amaris could feel herself canted slightly to the side, the cobblestone street having sunk from it’s original position. Several of the cobbles had been completely displaced, but no one had taken the time to fix it. Amaris wrinkled her nose for a moment before the expression faded, and she started moving forward again. Some of the indignation seemed to have left her, but she still paused to shake her head at the sight of a guttering candle in a streetlamp. The light was refracted wildly across the street by a spiderweb crack that ran across the glass. A sudden gust of wind hurled down the alley, tugging at the edge of her cape and the hem of her shirt. It caused the candle to gutter, which in turn made the fog look as though it was swirling about her, drawing her in like a branch caught in a whirlpool. Amaris’ head tilted slightly to the side as she waited for the little light to go out, but it stubbornly clung to the wick, and as the river breeze subsided it returned to its usual flickering light. Amaris shook her head and moved on.

One street after another after another. Every one filled to the brim with dark fog, cold air, and the occasional puddle of water which she had to step wide around to avoid wetting her boots. Some dark, viscid substance she couldn’t quite identify seemed to have taken a liking to this city. It coated the cobblestones on the edge of the road, and even pushed its way up the sides of buildings, clinging to damp wood and cold metal alike. Amaris’ fingers rubbed together slightly, the faint motion the only hint that she might be uncomfortable in this place. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been in worse places. It was simply that she couldn’t imagine what could have degraded a town, which should have grown rich of the coin of passing sailors who had no other option but to stop and spend the night, to this point.

It wasn’t until Amaris had walked another couple blocks that she suddenly, and rather abruptly, realized exactly how deserted this town was when the sound of staggering footsteps suddenly reached her ears. She turned around abruptly, only to catch sight of a middle aged man shuffling his way towards her. There was a slight gauntness to his face, only heightened by the traces of jaundice that marked the whites of his eyes. Amaris would not have been surprised to see that his fingernails were the same, slightly sickly yellow color, except for the fact that his hands were buried in the depths of brown sleeves. His slow pace didn’t falter as he moved closer to her, but Amaris wasn’t worried. There was a vacantness to his eyes, something that promised this man was far more a threat to himself than he was to anyone else.

“Excuse me,” Amaris asked quietly. “Can you tell me where the inn is?”

The man slowed, staggering faintly as though he only knew how to move at one pace, before a wrinkled hand emerged from within his overlarge jacket. A crooked finger pointed off down the street, in the direction they were both walking.

“That way?” Amaris clarified.

The man nodded, and Amaris offered him a half-hearted smile, bowing her head slightly in thanks, before she was abruptly brought to a halt by a croaking voice. After so much still and quiet it cracked through the misty air like a whip, even though he couldn’t have been speaking much louder than a mumble. “Bet hurry and get ‘nside. ‘S almost night. Be here soon.”

“What, what will?”

The man simply shook his head and shuffled on, turning down a street a moment later. Amaris had no choice but to walk on herself.

Despite the lack of any sort of details in the man’s directions, Amaris found the inn soon enough. It wasn’t hard, as it must have been placed right at the center of town. The only one of the buildings she had passed so far that exceeded three stories, Amaris imagined it must have once been a fine place to stay . Now she could only see it as something to shelter her from the chill of the fog.

It was only as she drew a little bit closer to the door that Amaris abruptly realized that everyone who had been missing from the streets must have been located within this very building. Even through the thick stone walls and the heavy oak door, she could make out the sounds of numerous people crammed together into a small space. It wasn’t truly loud, she was uncertain if anything in this town was capable of making any more noise than a murmur, but the very air suddenly seemed stained with arrogance.

Amaris abruptly found herself wondering if it wouldn’t just be better to turn around and spend the night on the ship, but in the end she pressed her lips together and raised her hand to the thick handle that marked the entrance to the inn, before pushing her way inside.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#2
It was a depressing sight to see leaves of green turn brown like muddy water, roots cold and moldy, the damp air not helping in the slightest. The ground sunk in around his boots, a sucking pit in the place of every step he made, mud up to his knees and halfway to his elbows. Hell, some had even got on his braids. The lettuce had spoiled, again, which wasn't at all surprising given the weather, but Ansell had held onto the slim good that this patch would make it. Hope apparently didn't make roots take well in mud. With a sigh full of discontent, Ansell threw yet another head of wet and rotten lettuce into the pile behind him, smashing into heavy chunks when it hit the others, rolling away to sink into the mud.

The garden was a disaster. More specifically, his garden was a disaster. It was small and pitiful and muddy, but it was his. With the leftover seeds from the planting down half a season before, Ansell dug out a stretch of land all on his own, toiled and got dirty for the satisfaction of calling something grown there his. It was such a simple fantasy, one Ansell was sure wasn't so absurd. He'd grown crops before, when the season was more giving and wasn't as cold, now it seemed like the whole of nature was out to undo his work. Granted, there wasn't much to begin with, wasn't that enough reason to leave it be?

His answer came in the odd growth of cabbage among his lettuce. Nature had spoke, and it said no.

How crops on the other lands grew, Ansell would give his ear and his patience to know how when everything was so wet. Frustrated, Ansell gave a huff, boots slipping in the patch as he pulled on a soaked lettuce head, the leaves crunching into a disgusting mess in his hands. The roots came free, Ansell falling back with a shout, back hitting the lettuce pile with an sopping splatter. Groaning, Ansell raised his muddy hand, glaring at the vegetable that had caused him so much trouble. "Just grow, damn you." Ansell said aloud, as if the lettuce was meant to obey him. A piece of it came loose, falling to bounce off his stomach, stuck in the mud when it hit. Ansell groaned, letting the lettuce drop next to him.

In his fall, Ansell hadn't been hurt at all; oddly enough, the pile of ruined lettuce provided a rather soft landing, albeit much more mushy than Ansell preferred. It was cold, most of them crushed flat under his weight, the earthy slip of mud somewhere up his back. Ansell could stand the mud, digging around in that came second nature to him, but the peculiar scent of bad lettuce was not something he could bring himself to ignore. It smelt bad, not horridly so, though Ansell couldn't begin to imagine how he must've smelled.

Ansell was no stranger to strange scents; the life of farmer came with that weird territory. In his family, it was something of a bragging right, what mess you'd gone through for the good of the farm. Half the stories from his siblings made Ansell's stomach turn with the mere thought, the ones from his parents were startling, to say the least. Ansell wanted to keep his breakfast down, so he'd avoid those thoughts for now.

Ansell's back was cold, and sitting around on a pile of bad lettuce wasn't doing him any good. Hands over his knees, Ansell shoved himself forward, careful this time to keep his balance as to not go headfirst into his garden patch. Former garden patch, now it was just a muddy patch, useless and mocking. Staring down at it, Ansell could only sigh. "Maybe next season," he said to himself, trying to boost his spirits. Maybe one day he'd get his plants to survive Ilsworth, until then, it was back to tending to the crops out west. Facing away from the patch, Ansell started towards his home.

The mud clung tight to his clothes, skin chilled and breaking out in goosebumps, Ansell shudder. If there was one thing Ansell prided himself on, it was his resistance to the elements. His childhood spent in Ilsworth had acclimated him to the cold, and he had plenty of fat to keep him warm. Ansell had grown to be short, far below the average height in Ilsworth, and as a result his body packed on weight much easier. It had it's benefits, eating as well as he could and laboring out in the fields. What he'd missed in height, genetics gifted him in strength and endurance. Not a bad trade, in his opinion.

Home for Ansell was a short walk away from his garden, the fog hiding the shape of the house from him until he closed the distance. Had it been a clear day - whenever those came around - Ansell wouldn't has doubted someone being able to see him from the house's second story. Ansell's garden was essentially just a stone's throw out in the yard, but with the fog covering everything up, it was easy to forget that. Sometimes, that seemed like all Ilsworth was good for, forgetting what went on when the fog rolled in and the sun went down. It was like a sickness, an illness that made people just forget to care.

Ansell found the porch of the house, taking a moment to sit down on the steps, still cold and covered in filth. Ilsworth was glowing through the fog, the lights from the city visible when the air shifted just so. It was all so strange, seeing the place from the outside, a light from within the folds of mist. Leaning back, the steps creaked.

Ansell sat, and watched as the sun came closer to the horizon. The winds changed, Ansell shivered, and the fog shifted again. It seemed to dance, formless clouds of darkness that swayed over the land. The light of Ilsworth looked go be swallowed up, taking away any sort of view worthwhile. It was getting dark, being out when it got late was a bad idea, no matter the view outside. Standing, Ansell went up the remaining steps, pushing the door open as a gentle heat washed over him. Breathing deeply, Ansell was welcomed with a lovely scent, a rich stew sure to be over the fire. He'd change and see what was cooking, it'd be nice to have something hot on his stomach after working in the cold. A bath would be nice, too.

Thinking fondly of the typical pleasures that awaited him inside, Ansell went in and shut out the creeping chill on his heels.

The farmland was quiet, interrupted occasionally by an echoing bleat from far away. The fog only seemed to deepen as the day went on, rolling over the pastures, world looking made up of fog. The sun broke through the clouds above, shining down and reflecting madly in the fog, color going ghostly like waves of smoke. The sunlight lasted mere seconds, the clouds coming together again to cast a shadow over the farm.

A shift in the air disturbed the roaming fog, a heavy wind slamming against it and, although briefly, clearing a great area from the abundant fog. Within the space without fog, a wind picked up and cut through the clouds, the fog rushing back in double time when it did. Gaps, soaring and stretching from that strange empty space, keeping back the fog yet hidden by it. The air was heavy, a dreadful weight settling in the fog. The gaps made from flowing air, visible only sue to the fog, moved. In fact, they moved with purpose. Without stepping, carried along by the very wind it was made of, the hidden thing glided across the farm, fog curving like water around a river stone.

It's presence was strong, an attraction in it's odd shape that drew water droplets from the fog, a drizzle in it's wake as it began to ascend. Cold wind whipped and trees bent strongly, threatening to snap once they were directly under the thing flying overhead. It flew and spun, like a storm that had came out of nowhere, it brought a shower and gusts closer to the city.

The farm was quiet once more. Within the home, a wind entered through a crack in the door. Ansell shivered, and held his arms, rubbing them to try to warm up. Shucking his boots near the door, Ansell crouched and set them right by each other, keeping the muddy mess to an absolute minimum. As eager as he was to clean up, Ansell had more manners than to just leave a mess for someone else to clean up. That was just rude. Tugging on his pant legs, Ansell kept the mud around his ankles off the floor as he walked on his toes, hurrying through the living room to get to the bathroom. His entrance didn't go unnoticed, as the sound of his mother's voice met him from the kitchen. "Ansell, how's your garden doing?"

Ansell sighed, shaking his head and frowning intensely at the memory of all the lettuce that had done to waste. "Terribly!" He replied, unbuttoning the clasps on his overalls, stepping out of them as cleanly as he could. He stuck out his tongue at the splatter of mud on his socks, they'd have to be washed, too. "Everything turned rotten because the roots the roots got too cold," he explained, pulling off his socks, tucking them in the pockets of his overalls. "Or, maybe they got too much water. I'm not sure!" The ground was wet, and it was cold, for all Ansell knew it could've been both.

"Again?" Came his mother's response, sounding just as surprised as he was. "Well, there's always next year, honey. Maybe try potatoes then?" Ansell let out an amused sigh, a smile coming to his face. In his experience, potatoes grew just about anywhere, even in that pot that he kept in his room for a few months trying to see if they'd grow indoors. As it turned out, they did; the hard part was getting them back in the ground afterwards. "Hurry in, Ansell, dinner's almost ready. I'm making stew!" Well, at least his nose was right. Ansell would have to rush through his bath, but at least he'd get to eat. Off to the bathroom, Ansell folded his overalls against his chest as he opened the door.

———–––––––

The sink was halfway full, Ansell pouring the last of the warm water he carried by basin in. He touched it, a warmth covering his fingers. It would grow cold if he didn't hurry. Holding back his hair, Ansell took a deep breath and lowered his face into the water. With nothing more than a handful of soap lathering his hand, Ansell scrubbed his face, coming up for air and to rinse away the dirt. His nose burned from where a scratch got covered with soap, sputtering into the sink when he gasped at the pain and sucked a mouthful of the sudsy water. Coming up to breathe heavily, Ansell blindly reached out for a towel, damp cotton growing even wetter when he patted at his face. His eyes burned, but at least he was clean.

Ansell's hair spilled out in curly bunches around him, shining with water from his rushed wash of it. It was dark, a true brown that appeared nearly black except in light, coiling tight and close to his body. It was also very long, something Ansell was proud of; it actually looked like he had some new growth. When he pulled a strand to it's end, curious to see just how long, Ansell was glad to see that it finally reached his waist. It almost snapped back when he let go, rejoining the rest of it.

There was no time to mess around braiding his hair back up, a bun would have to do unless he wanted a cold stew as his dinner. The mirror had become fogged from all the running water, Ansell using the wet towel to clear it as best he could, tilting his head until his reflection was in the corner of his eye. Ansell reached behind himself, gathering up his hair in a massive bunch, binding it all together with a hastily done braid made into a hair tie. Ansell shook his head to test the bun, feeling and seeing his hair bounce around his head. He stared at his reflection, enjoying the almost...rabbit tail look of it.

"Well, that's as good as it's going to get, I suppose," Ansell mumbled, turning his back to the mirror, patting his bun until it was only damp and not wet. His shirt, thankfully, had only been spotted with water, and his pants were dark enough that any water would've been hard to see. It wasn't worth fretting over, really.

Reaching into the sink to lift the stone plug, Ansell let the water drain out, manually pushing whatever dirt clung to the sides. The mirror was still foggy, but that would take care of itself in due time. Ansell placed a hand on the mirror, clearing a swatch to look at himself. His eyes narrowed at his reflection, as if seeing something he didn't like. "You're awfully quiet today," he said to himself, tilting his head in bemusement at the mirror. "What? Don't tell me you're feeling bored, or is the weather getting you down?"

Blinking at the mirror, eyebrows furrowing as he stared a little closer at himself. "Uh, hello? Are you ignoring me again? That doesn't work, you know." Still nothing, only the sound of the final portion of water going down the drain. Ansell swallowed hard, using both hands to clear the mirror entirely. There was only him, the subtle onset of nervousness in his features; sweat on his brow, the twitch of his lips, darting eyes. Now that he was scared into taking every little detail into scrutiny, Ansell felt off.

Displaced, a feeling that was disorienting and sickening in equal measure. Ansell gripped the sides of the sink, unyielding stone helping to steady him, ground him in himself. Physically, Ansell was fine, he could do with some rest, but nothing that would make him feel so strange. It was a sensation Ansell hoped to never grow accustomed to, feeling out of himself, a part of his very being elsewhere.

Ansell closed his eyes, on the verge of panic, and felt the power of a storm flow into him. Shuddering as a chill came upon him, Ansell's bones felt cold and fragile. A wind was tucked in his chest, a downpour running over his thoughts, the fog becoming his breath. Lights, lanterns with tiny flames, buildings full of life and streets made empty were lost inside him. The storm came over, and devoured a flame.

When his eyes opened, Ansell felt the storm call to him, a whisper on those winds. The mirror stared back at him, and Ansell looked away. He had to go, something was very wrong. Ansell ran out of the bathroom, cutting straight across the house back to the door, shoving his feet into his boots while he stumbled with the locks. His mind wad racing, fear overtaking rationality, every thought feeling untrustworthy.

"Ansell?" He stopped, the door opening with a breeze rolling over his still damp hair. He shivered, looking over his shoulder to the concerned face of his mother. Her eyes, the color of wheat and holding such fear, they nearly broke him. "What's going on?" The question was simple, the answer was much more complicated. Ansell turned his gaze from her, staring at the threshold of the door.

"It's out, again." He said, sticking a hand out into the air, fingers kneading his palm. "In the storm, over the city. I can feel it." A gasp came behind him, a pit of guilt digging deeper into his guts. "Don't worry, mom, I'll be quick and...in case I can't get back before night, I'll stay at the inn. I just - I have to go." A protest came from his mother, but Ansell was already out the door, the last words on his lips a goodbye.

He stood on the porch, the fog as deep as ever, the sky a shade darker from the plunging sun. Ansell would have to hurry, and so he did. Ansell ran off the porch, into the fog, and over the hill. He ran without stopping, not pausing for rest when his sides burned and lungs heaved. The lights of Ilsworth were in his sights, and Ansell felt the storm closer than ever. It was all around him, in the mist, the wind, even the rain. Ansell left the farm, following the downhill trail into the city.

Grass turned to dirt, and dirt gave way to cobblestone. In the shadows of buildings, he walked, breath coming out like great clouds. The storm, both high in the clouds and low, surrounded him. There was an energy in the fog, one that felt familiar and charged. His legs felt unsteady, his chest filling with an anxious thrum. He had to find a place to stay, figure out how to suppress the power in the storm even sooner.

Alone, Ansell walked through the streets, fearing something even more than the darkness of the city. Ansell's ears ached, not just from the cold but from the whispering. It was ceaseless, voices that were spawned by the storm, by the thing in it. It felt mocking, spoken in a language Ansell couldn't understand, each word making a shiver break over him. "What are you trying to do here?" Ansell asked, and for a moment, there was silence. The voices returned again, just as angry and numerous as before.

Overhead, lightning flashed in the clouds.
 
Last edited:

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#3
As the heavy oak door admitted her to the interior, a wash of warm, stale air rushed over her. Several people who had seated themselves near the door turned to stare, prompting her to quickly step in and let the door slam closed on the cold, damp, misty air that had flooded in after her. The men, for every person seated around the nearby tables was such, didn't immediately turn back to their own conversation when the door was closed again. Instead one of them nudged the other, as all of their eyes lingered on her.

Amaris didn't bother to dignify their actions with so much as a passing glance. Instead she turned to face the side, where a middle aged man with a rapidly growing bald patch was standing with his back to her, struggling to reach the last mug right at the back of a top shelf. Her progress was impeded by the fact that tables had been scattered across the room seemingly at random, and groups of large men clustered around each of them. If the fate of the young woman carrying a tray covered in several mugs and a plate of wilted looking greens was any indication of the fate she would face plunging into such territory, Amaris had no intention of wading casually into the mess. She twisted back and forth among the tables, one hand continually tugging the hem of her shirt down as stray hands reached towards her with every step. There was a strained, rabbit-like quality to her eyes, and Amaris couldn't guess as to why she didn't lash out at such behavior.

A further moment of study revealed the weapons casually cast to the side under tables and the legs of chairs. The limbs of crossbows crossed casually over grips or blades of swords, and the pommel of knives stuck out of waste bands all throughout the room. Now that she was looking closer, she could see the rough padding of heavy leather on shoulders and chests, and the occasional glint of chain poking out from under coarse fabric. These were warriors.

Amaris' arrival seemed to provide a brief reprieve for the serving lady, as she tipped back her hood to reveal fine, smooth features neatly framing lidless almond-shaped eyes. By now subtle nudges with feet, or less subtle ones with elbows or fists, had drawn the attention of every man in the room. Reluctant to stand still any longer, Amaris struck out into the tables, her jaw set and her shoulders back. Whether it was her sudden arrival, the paleness of her skin, or simply the bold determination with which she walked through their midst, no one reached out to touch her. None of that stopped them from looking, however, and several of the men near the serving girl reached out with clawed hands. She yelped as one of them pinched her.

“Hurry up,” he groused, barely even turning to look at her as his eyes stayed locked on Amaris. “Spend all day driving monsters from town, we expect at least a minimal level of service for our efforts.”

Not warriors, then, but monster slayers. It didn't change much in Amaris' eyes.

The girl trembled slightly at the hunter's words, making it more than obvious that the 'services' they demanded were anything but minimal, but she started moving again anyways. Her actions seemed to break the spell, as men turned back towards their own tables and began speaking again, although not ignoring Amaris fully.

Amaris allowed herself to relax slightly as she stepped up right in front of the counter. The man behind the bar had long since noticed her arrival, and moved to match her as she leaned forwards slightly.

“I need a room,” Amaris said, flatly, cutting off any chance for the man to make smalltalk. Not that he had looked so inclined. “One night only.”

The man's lips pressed together, before he licked anxiously at the corner of his mouth. Amaris twitched a brow impatiently, and he finally began to spreak. “I'm...”

However, before he could get more than a single word out, his voice trailed off as he caught sight of something over Amaris' shoulder. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Amaris turned slightly as well.

One of the hunters had risen from his chair, accompanied by encouraging pats and slaps from his nearby companions. His eyes turned to lock onto Amaris, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. Amaris turned away before he could take more than a step, missing the flex he threw that sent his tones muscles rippling.

If he was discouraged by this faux pas, he certianly didn't show it. “'Ello, lovely,” he drawled, the twang that must naturally color his words slurred by the numbing effect of several mugs of alcohol. Despite that he still managed to walk in a straight line as he made his way over to the bar, before leaning against the counter. One strand of golden hair broke loose from its fellows and fell across his forehead. Either he didn't notice or he thought it looked cool, because the curl remained there as he began speaking again. “H'ant ya heard? Illsworth ain't so safe any more. Dark creatures roamin' the streets at night. Why don'tcha come with me, darlin'? I'll be sure to keep you right safe tonight.”

He smiled winsomely, or so he must have thought, but Amaris didn't spare him more than half a glance. “I can take care of myself.” Her words were clipped, crisp, to the point, and utterly dismissive. Perhaps if he was sober the hunter would have caught the hint. Or perhaps not.

“Come now, lovely. Don't be like that.” He leaned in closer, trying to prompt her to turn and look at him again. “Lady like you should have a man to take care of 'er.” His hand thumped to his chest at the word 'man', as though volunteering himself for the job.

“I repeat, I can take care of myself.” A trace of venom had entered Amaris' words. He didn't take the hint.

“Nonsense.” He lifted his hand, placing it firmly on Amaris' shoulder. “I am...”

There was no telling what he was, because a split second later he was on the ground, his arm wrenched up and wrist pinned into a lock, the stool that had been right behind him skittering across the floor. For a moment the hunter was too stunned to make a noise, the air trapped in his lungs, but that was broken a second later when Amaris foot flashed out, slamming into his shoulder and popping the joint right out of its socket. Then he screamed.

In an instant the place was dead silent, and everyone was staring. Amaris didn't seem to notice. Her lip twitched in disgust, and she bent down to hiss at the man whimpering on the floor. “You, are a nuisance.” Abruptly she released him, and he scrambled away, the other hand reaching up to cradle his wounded shoulder. “Learn to take a hint,” Amaris continued, as though she hadn't just popped a man's arm out from his shoulder. “And consider yourself lucky to have gotten off so light.”

“Light?” the hunter repeated, a strange, strained giggle slipping from between his lips. “Fuckin' bitch.” He finished scrambling his way to his feet his face a mask of anger. “Fuck you think you're doin', attacking a hunter. We're the only thing keepin' this li'l shithole standin'. Y'are gonna have to pay for this.” Despite his fierce words, he continued to step backwards, towards the security of his friends, who had stepped forward behind his back.

Amaris turned slowly, her face a mask of ice as her eyes flicked between the gathered men. Despite the apparent difference in their attitudes, her words matched his ounce for ounce when it came to venom. “Cunt-faced, pansy ass pussy,” she spat, every word clearly articulated and spoken in a cool, level tone. It somehow made her aggression all the more frightening. “Against a real warrior, it wouldn't make a difference if there were another hundred of you toddlers here.”

There was a moment of silence after her insults, before it was filled with the sound of bodies shifting, knuckles cracking, and teeth grinding. Amaris shifted her weight slightly, as one hand moved up to secure her satchel behind her back.

“That's enough now!” squawked a voice from behind the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, Amaris caught sight of the balding innkeeper, his knuckles turning white as he clutched at the edge of the counter. “I won't have f-fighting, you hear?” His words might have been more compelling if they hadn't cracked in fear.

Eyes wide, he cast a fearful glance at the hunters that filled the inn, few of which were still seated. Then he turned to Amaris. “You need to leave, miss.”

“Me?” Even with her words as level as they had ever been, and her face a stone mask, it was easily possible to make out the affront in her words. “He lays his hands on me without permission, and now you are telling me to leave?”

It wasn't quite possible to tell what the innkeeper was thinking, but with the way his gaze kept flicking back towards the looming party of hunters, it wasn't hard to guess. He was far more afraid of offending them than her. “Yes. Please.” He shrank back in fear as Amaris' eyes went cold.

The promise of conflict that seemed to hang in the air like static lingered for a moment, until it suddenly seemed to discharge in a flash of light that flooded through the windows, followed almost immediately by a sharp crack that the thick wall of the inn did nothing to suppress. Several people flinched in surprise, and the young lady who had been serving drinks, but had withdrawn to a corner of the room when Amaris had laid down the hunter, nearly dropping her tray. The innkeeper pulled back even further, as though Amaris had somehow caused the flash of lightning.

Amaris, though, wrinkled her brow, turning slightly towards the window. It had been impossible to see the sky for hours due to all the fog, but nothing in the wind or air had hinted at a building storm. Certainly not one that was right over the city. A second later, as though the lightning had been a herald to announce its presence, rain began to pelt upon the roof.

There were murmurs throughout the inn, and several people stared fearfully and uncertainly at Amaris' stiff figure. However, a moment later, another sound joined the rapidly building atmosphere. Unearthly cries echoed through the air, as much shriek as night howl. Behind the bar, the innkeeper shook violently, while the serving girl didn't even make a pretense at confidence, discarding her tray to hurry towards the back of the inn.

On the contrary, the bestial noise seemed to calm the hunters, somewhat. There was, quite abruptly, the sound of laughter.

The hunter who had approached Amaris, and who was still pressing one hand against his dislocated shoulder, let out another barking laugh that seemed almost as unnatural as the creatures outside. “They're 'ere now,” he mock-whispered, before breaking into another fit of giggles. “There 'ere now, and I certainly ain't doing a thing 'bout them.” He turned slightly maddened eyes upon Amaris. “What were ya sayin'? 'Bout a real warrior?” He took an aggressive step forward, flanked by more hunters. Several others followed suit, while others stepped back. There was only a single clear path, and it led right to the door out of the inn.

“Well, go 'head!” More strands of hair had come loose, and they seemed to almost float about his head. His voice gained an almost sing-song quality. “They're a-waitin'.”

Amaris didn't hesitate, and the calm expression on her face was genuine, not simply a mask for fear. She turned and strode briskly towards the door, uncaring as the men moved forward to close her path behind her. One pale hand reached out, closing around the doorknob. However, just before she pulled it open she hesitated, turning to face the room at large. A vindicated spread over the hunter's face, convinced her hesitation had to do with a reluctance to leave. He couldn't have been farther from the mark.

Amaris locked eyes with him, and there was steel in her gaze. “You only get paid so long as you kill things, isn't that right?” Only silence greeted her question, but Amaris didn't seem to notice or care. For the first time her rigid expression was broken, and the cracks revealed a smile filled with bloodthirst. “I'll see to it that none of you see so much as another copper.”

Before anyone could reply she was gone, the heavy door slamming closed behind her.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#4
Where the forest creeped near the city, the lightning struck, trees and ground alike torn asunder by the blast. The exploding branches caught fire, kindling for only a moment before the second bolt hit, a fire leaping from one canopy to the next. Soon, a stretch of the woods had been consumed by flames, the rain, and all other wetness, suddenly away from the fire. Lightning struck a third time, and that's when the sound of beasts filled the air.

Hunched over and gasping for air, Ansell fought to keep himself conscious, an angry heat building in his chest at the underhanded method of the power in the storm. Ansell gripped a loose stone, back against the side of a building, his breath coming in shuddering spurts. He grimaced, showing his teeth as the wind whistled around him.

It was the storm, the whole thing was the storm's fault, but Ansell knew that the lightning and the thunder and the wind was nothing more than a shell; a vessel, an essence that was displaced from himself manipulating the elements. Walking against the wind, Ansell shielded his face to look up, a swirling overcast staring back at him. Gritting his teeth, Ansell couldn't help the fee that wormed inside him. "Jukheyrthileth," Ansell said, name of the spirit bitter on his lips. "What are you doing?"

For all the power it could muster in the clouds, it was still so limited. To be honest, Ansell had been expecting a tornado. Snapping at the thought, Ansell shook his head. It had already made itself a thunderstorm, Ansell couldn't imagine what he had to do against an all out force of nature. It had successfully tied their awareness together, attempting to disorient him with the lightning on the forest, basically throwing his mind into the fire it created.

The call of monsters rung in his ears, painful among the sound of a forest fire stuck in his head. Ansell put his palms against his ears, wincing at he onslaught of noise. God, his head was pounding. "This isn't funny," Ansell whispered, barely able to open his eyes without an intense pain finding him, the crackle of lightning and fire feeling deep in his skull. "For goodness's sake, you're attracting the monsters!" The storm only rolled with thunder, a wayward bolt of lightning dashing across the sky towards the canyon. Ansell could only stare, feeling powerless to stop the entity.

Ansell needed to get inside now more than ever, not wanting to push his luck staying on the streets if the monsters were out. He was panicking, or, at least, about to start. His heart was fluttering in his chest, breath unsteady and harsh, and his thoughts were away from him.

Yep, he was panicking. Scared out of his wits, Ansell ran, hoping to find a hunter - someone to help him. The inn. The hunters were always there, they could help! The thought hit him just as he was about to crash into a wall, rounding the corner and almost slipping on the wet stone, scrambling for his balance and just barely finding it.

Through mist and rain, Ansell found the light of the inn, his eyes catching the sight with a new break of hope in his chest. The door opened, and a figure had stepped out, and they looked...different. Ansell slowed, down the street but able to see the unfamiliar person. A life in Ilsworth meant that he knew when someone wasn't from around the place, even the hunters had made their unique place in his mind, but Ansell had no idea who was this.

With all the urgency from before, Ansell ran towards them, not sure what to expect from them. It could've gone better.

"E-excuse me!" He said, or really, gasped breathlessly. Sweat on his brow, rain washing the salty streaks away, soaked to the bone and shivering. Ansell hardly noticed, but someone else would've. "Are th- hunters! We need them!" Pointing aimlessly, trying to focus on the forest, finding that was impossible since the town was in the way. He could see it, though; the image was in his head, how the fire was spreading, the beasts making their way out. "They're coming, the monsters! We have to get out of here, they'll tear us apart!" Searching around for landmarks in he mist, Ansell spotted a far off sign, one he associated closely with a bakery.

"We can hide," Ansell said, devoid of any real emotion. Then, a moment later, he was practically jumping for joy. "We can hide!" With that, he was off and running. "Please, follow me! I know where we can go!"
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#5
The rain swallowed Amaris as soon as she stepped out the door, plastering her white hair to the crown of her head and causing her cloak to hang limply off her shoulders. Pockets of water pooled in the folds at the top of her bag, but not a single drop of water penetrated the carefully cured leather. A gust of wind tugged at the hem of her shirt, and would have sent her hair whipping if it wasn't soaked in water.

Anyone else would have shivered at the abrupt change in temperature, but Amaris didn't even react. In truth, compared to the sub-zero winds that had burrowed into her skin while she worked in the north, this could only be called barely cool. She gave only enough consideration to the matter to offer the sky a disgruntled look, as though she took personal offense at the fact that it would drop such cold water on her after she'd come south in an attempt to find warmer, more mild weather. In the next moment her eyes moved away, turning to stare down a street with a half-lidded gaze that hardly seemed appropriate for the dark, stormy night and the howls of monsters in the distance.

Anyone would have been able to figure out what drew Amaris' attention. There was the sound of splashing feet landing heavily in the rivulets of water the storm had already created, echoed through the narrow street and distorted slightly by the downpour. Amaris waited lazily for the figure to consolidate through the downpour, shifting her weight slightly to one foot, allowing the other knee to bend.

Less than a moment later the figure consolidated into the body of what most would probably have called a young man, but Amaris couldn't deem anything other than a boy. He seemed startled to see her, although it might have been fear that widened his eyes and tightened his lips. Amaris prepared to step to the side, allow him access to the hunters that had already sworn they would do nothing, although they might change their tune if someone convinced them their primary source of income was at risk, only to see him skid to a halt in front of her and start speaking.

The sound of the monsters must have left him somewhat scatterbrained, as he seemed to swing from thought to thought and emotion to emotion as quickly as the shifting wind. Amaris stopped caring about what he was trying to say after the word "hunters" passed his lips. Yes, monsters. She was well aware of their presence.

If he wanted to hide, his best bet would be to step inside that inn, and cower with the rest of the hunters. Then again, if those monsters actually managed to make it all the way to the inn, he'd end up just as dead as the rest of those bags of blood. Not that she had any intention of letting that happen, as much as those men and the innkeeper might deserve it. She'd sworn she wouldn't allow them to see a single monster ever again, after all, and she fully intended to hold to that promise, even if it meant saving their miserable hides in the process.

The kid, on the other hand, certainly didn't deserve to run across any monsters. He'd even offered to share his hiding spot with her, and as unnecessary as the gesture might have been it still showed surprising consideration for her with the fear he must be feeling. If he ran off to gods knew where, who knew what might find him before she managed to lure in the pack.

Amaris reacted almost the instant he started moving, and he hadn't made it two paces before her hand closed over his shoulder, heavy and reassuring. "You should head into the inn." It was the first time her words had contained any gentleness in several months, perhaps in several years. The attempt came out slightly rusty, but it was still different from the cold aloofness she had maintained up until that point. "The hunters are in there, but no monsters will be making it that far."
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#6
Ansell was actually shocked that he hadn't gone anywhere, pulled to a complete stop by the hand of the stranger, muscles refusing to budge forward from the simple touch. Mentally, Ansell was alight, a liquid heat pooling from his chest up into his cheeks. He flushed, face growing hotter than the rest of his soaked body was. The hunters were still inside, they weren't even out yet and the beasts had been howling for ages! Under the woman's hand, Ansell's shoulders shook, barely able to contain the biting remarks that wanted to come out.

"They're useless!" Ansell suddenly shouted, gasping and loud over the whipping wind. He turned so fast he nearly slipped on the wet stone, glaring death at the inn's door. "All of them! Useless, greedy layabouts!" As mad as he was, Ansell didn't care if they heard him. Hell, he wanted them to. He wanted them to know just how he felt about them.

Ansell collected himself, breathing hard and spitting out the rain that gathered in his mouth, hair wet and flat against his face in twisted waves. "If they're in there, I'd - I'd rather be on the street than be around them!" While that may have meant he would've been torn apart, Ansell couldn't bring himself to care. The so-called ''hunters'' were disgusting.

Breathing to calm himself down, Ansell lowered his head, feeling shame well up where his anger once filled him. "...I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't had s-shouted." In his head, Ansell winced at the sight of the beasts running out from the smoking forest, Ansell growing just a bit more upset at the amused state of being the entity was in. The storm was only getting worse, the entity going too far and he'd yet to bring it back in. He couldn't just hide, he had to do something.

Looking up, eyes shining regretful and timid, Ansell spoke as steadily as he could. The woman was, quite frankly, unnerving to be around. He didn't know why, but his gut feeling never lied. "Please, don't make me go in there. I-I can help!" Ansell shrunk back like he'd been burned, instantly regretting his split second offer. "I'm no good at fighting, b-but I can, um, do other stuff." Jumping at the clash of lightning that flashed overhead, Ansell raised his head and stared at the stormy clouds, the fog shifting momentarily.

His entity had became a storm, the elements at it's command were nothing more than extensions of it's will, Ansell could feel that. If he felt it, maybe he could do the same. Ansell could take over, fight the entity for control of the storm, use it to help defend the city instead of endanger it. It was a long shot, one Ansell wasn't sure he could actually make, but he had to do something.

The rain pelted Ansell's face, narrowing his eyes at the heavy droplets. He shook his head, blinking away the stinging rain in his eyes as he looked at the woman. He shivered, not out of cold, though. "I think I m-might be able to do something about the weather." He told her, not expecting her to believe him.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#7
"Sure, kid." It was impossible to tell from Amaris' tone of voice whether or not she believed the rain-drenched boy. Perhaps the most believable conclusion anyone could reach was that she simply didn't really care. It didn't matter to her whether or not he stayed, or what he did if he stayed. Nothing would affect the inevitable outcome of the fight that was about to begin.

And, in many respects, that was true. No matter how dark and foreboding this mountain valley was, no matter how much the residents might fear the creatures that had ventured from the ancient forests to hunt them, it was far from the truly appalling landscapes that had formed within this world, and could not match the hellish creatures that thronged within them. If there were, there would be nothing left but corpses.

Corpses, and Amaris.

All the same, there was more concern in her for the young man's well being than her stonish facade might imply. It was clear that he thought as little of the hunters as she did, which was, in and of itself, sufficient to put him in her good graces. Add that to the fact that he had now twice offered to provide her aid at risk to himself, however unnecessary it might have been, and Amaris now had to ensure the boy lived through the night. She would have preferred he retreat to somewhere safe, where she wouldn't have to split a part of her attention to ensuring he came to no harm, but as much as her previous words had been a dismissal they were also a covert promise. She'd keep him safe.

Physically, at least. She couldn't do anything about his mental health.

"Suit yourself." There was no time for further conversation. The hounds had been lured in by his shouting, and had bolted through the alleyways. Now it was easily possible to make out the sound of their feet striking against the ground and their raspy, panting breaths. Shadows bloomed from within the rain, resolving as the monsters hurdled closer.

Calling them hounds was, unsurprisingly, generous in its assessment. They were only vaguely canid in appearance, and that only because of the long snouts that jutted in front of their nose. However, ten eyes lined their head and all the way down along their nose, each eye blinking irregularly. Large, almost insect-like mandibles jutted from each side of their jaw, and when they snapped at each other their cheeks stretched wildly, revealing the curved spines that lined the entirety of their mouth, which would make it so that any prey they bit would have to rip itself free to escape from the bite. Even their body managed to pervert the lupine form, with unnaturally long, bent legs that hunched their backs and caused them to walk with an odd, skittering step.

However unnatural their forms might have seemed, the purpose behind them became clear half a moment later. As more shadowy figures began to gather, one of them abruptly lunged forward, stretching out like a spring, covering easily twenty feet in that single leap. It was easily possible to imagine the kind of distance they'd be able to cover running full tilt. Nothing human would be able to escape them.

Amaris didn't so much as flinch at the monster's provocation, instead spreading her arms wide as though to embrace the horrific creature. It snapped at her, much too far away for her to be at any risk of getting bit, and let out a degenerate, gargling impersonation of a snarl, before skittering backwards to melt back in among its fellows and the mist.

The number of monsters continued to swell, growing from a couple to a couple dozen as the seconds passed. The sound of gutteral growls continued to grow in volume and intensity, but Amaris didn't falter. Nothing in her expression had changed from that same, stock-still gaze.

For one moment it seemed as though the rain around Amaris was growing darker, thicker, as though the droplets of water had somehow been drawn to fall towards her. Half a second later and, even in the dim light of the stormy night, with nothing but the guttering streetlamps and the faint golden lines that managed to slip out through the cracks of the inn's shuttered windows, it was possible to make out the brilliant crimson hue of the "rain".

Blood flooded from Amaris' forearms, long tendrils that swirled around her, merging together before splitting out again. Every passing moment saw the ropes of blood growing longer and thicker in short, shuddering jerks until she was surrounded in far more blood than seemed possible for a human body to contain.

She spared one glance for the boy, just long enough to take in his shadowy form, make sure he was still there, still alive. Then her eyes were turned back towards the pack, which had briefly shied back, but was now snapping and roving with increased ferocity, a barely contained excitement that was certain to break loose into slavering chaos at any moment.

"Come on, bitches," Amaris stated, as though they could understand her.

It didn't matter. They came.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#8
As worked up as he was, Ansell was visibly taken back by the woman's casual...well, it wasn't exactly dismissal, it just sounded like she couldn't care less. Ansell bowed his head, not knowing to feel. He shook his head, and stepped closer to the inn, staring at the side of it where a rickey ladder lead up to the roof. Ansell, knowing his personal capabilities, couldn't stand a chance against the incoming threat. As much as he wanted to stay away from the hunters, going to the room would give him the room and relative safety needed to rein in his entity.

Finally raising his head, Ansell pointed to the ladder, making his way towards it with haste. "O-okay then! I'll head up so-" Head snapping around at the distinct patter of the literal pack of beasts that came flying out onto the street, Ansell's breath was lost and his words got caught in his throat. "Oh no," he whispered. He looked to the woman, scared for her life and his own. He hadn't even got on the first rung of the ladder, the beasts were just that fast. It was his shouting, it had to be his shouting.

The woman hadn't moved. Why hadn't she moved? Ansell mulled it over quickly, scared silly and wanting to tell to her to climb with him, then it hit him; he got a good look at the woman, and just stared at her. The way she stood, the way she was so uninterested in the beasts, it was the look of someone who'd done it all before. The sight was breathtaking now that he'd properly understood it. This, this is what a real hunter looked like.

Ansell lost his breath a second time when the rain turned thick and red around the woman, more and more of it coming from her arms, Ansell's mind fighting against the possibility of it being blood. It couldn't be, there was too much of it; he could bleed a couple of cows and still not have that much around. Ansell froze on the spot when she looked at him, then looked back to the beasts. What was she?

As the woman taunted the beasts, Ansell scrambled up the ladder, slipping on every other rung, breath looking frozen in front of his mouth as he hurried. Ansell just about threw himself on the roof, rolling on his back into a puddle of water, soaking him even more than he was. "Get up, get up!" Ansell told himself, pushing at the roof until he was on his hands and knees. The rain came down harder, a heavy sheet that just kept coming, any light from the streets utterly gone. Ansell was essentially in the dark. He stumbled as he stood, not sure if his next step would take him back over the edge. Ansell eventually settled, as steady as he was going to to get on the dark rooftop.

Ansell closed his eyes, taking him to a darkness no different than the one around him. The storm was all around him, Jukheyrthileth in every drop of rain, every current in the air, the clouds and lightning; all of it. Now, it was Ansell's turn to take control. He could see it, feel it, awareness shifting into higher levels as the entity was revealed to him. The storm must've stretched for miles around Ilsworth, and yet Jukheyrthileth was so small; limited, really, confined to a form that was disposable. Such a storm was unsustainable, it would eventually run it's course, and the entity knew that.

"Unlike me, that form won't do, will it?" Ansell asked to the howling wind, feeling a grip of freezing cold plunge into his lungs, shocking him into gasping. Hunching at the waist, Ansell struggled to fight off the pain, numbed and stinging. For all his pain, Ansell smiled, knowing just how easy it was to rile up Jukheyrthileth. "You can't hold it together, you're using too much, it'll disperse and you'll be left with what? Dry lightning?" Ansell laughed, reaching above his head, palms to the sky, head following the motion.

"I'll take over from here!" With that shout, Ansell thrust his own will against the entity's, and the fight for the storm began. Lightning clashed in rapid strikes, lighting up the sky, the rain coming down even heavier than it was, the wind blowing hard enough to make some of the buildings groan under the strain.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
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On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#9
The rain fell harder, beating down on Amaris. If she hadn't already been soaked, the next few seconds would have been sufficient to drench her to the bone. With the rain and darkness obscuring everything from sight, broken only by the intermittent but equally blinding flashes of lighting, it had to be impossible for Amaris to be able to see exactly where the hounds were.

It didn't matter. She didn't need to see anymore. Her blood filled the air, and every faint vibration raced into her, painting an image of the world around her. Even at a distance she could feel the heat radiating off of them, feel the way their footsteps disturbed splashed of water, and their jaws snapped open and closed at nothing.

That was nothing compared to those that had already charged her. They flung themselves wildly back and forth, trying to get at her past the swirling barrier of blood tendrils that surrounded her, lashing out on occasion to drive them back again.

Before too long one got frustrated, letting out a screech of indignation before charging at her. A tendril lashed out with blinding speed and the monster died instantly, cut in half from spine to belly. The tendril split before burying into both sides of the corpse, sopping up the blood. Were it possible to see, it would have been easy to notice the way the tendril became off-colored, a polluted sort of maroon that seemed to have far too much green in it.

Driven mad by the smell of their comrade's blood none of the hounds hesitated any longer. Even those circling in the back gave up on their hesitation, charging forward with abandon, biting anything that got in their way.

Blood flew as the hounds fell. The tendrils began to look swollen and bloated as they filled with the blackish green blood of the beasts, before silently exploding with enough force to lift one of the nearby hounds off it's feet and send it crashing into its fellow, chest cavity torn open as sludge-colored maggots of blood burrowed into the open flesh before dissolving.

Several of the hounds had circled around her, but their attack from the rear proved equally as futile. At least for a moment. As several other of Amaris' tendrils exploded a gap formed within her defense, and one of the hounds sprung forward without hesitation, widespread fanged mouth closing over her shoulder and biting down.

Amaris didn't so much as flinch. A ribbon of blood emerged from her shoulder, slicing the beast's head off before shearing off the part of her own shoulder its fangs had latched onto, the action undertaken with a casual disregard for her own flesh. For a moment her blood cascaded freely, before...

Her shoulder was smooth, intact flesh in an instant. It was like blinking, or a rubber band snapping back into position. One moment there was a gaping, bloody wound on her shoulder, white fragments of bone peeking through ruined tissue, and the next it would have been impossible to tell she'd been wounded if it wasn't for the gaping hole that had been torn in the corner of her shirt, and the crimson of her blood that still stained her shoulder.

Even that reminder was gone an instant later, as every drop of blood was sapped up by a tendril, before she turned back to fight the hounds.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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I'm fine with both.
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Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
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Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#10
For a while, Ansell felt away from himself; quite honestly, it felt like his body wasn't much of one. He was ungrounded, nothing more than a very persistent and stubborn consciousness in the fearsome weather. It would've been a fascinating experience had it not been for the equally determined spirit fighting against him. They were both up in the clouds, now, their struggle made apparent in the flash of lightning that came almost constantly.

Ansell felt like he was losing, not only the battle but himself. He was being drug further into the storm, stretched thin and frail, easy pickings for the entity. It was as taxing as Ansell imagined it be, the tenacity of the spirit proving to be as strong as ever. Ansell was slipping, out of himself, body and all. It seemed to be over, the storm returning to it's intensity, lightning flashing only every other second. Then, it all stopped, and Ansell pulled hard.

The craziest thing was the fact of his success in that. The entity was being pulled away from the storm, back into Ansell, taking the control it had into his own power. Temporary, with how it had raged before, but maybe just enough to help with the beasts. The sky lit up, countless bolts lancing far, far past the city, off towards the horizon.

Feeling returned to his limbs, an electric pulse thundering in his veins, heart a storm in its own right. Ansell gasped, jittery and unable to stand still, the air tasting charged around him. He was buzzing, like he'd been struck by lightning. Ansell could barely hear anything over the trembling atmosphere he'd apparently conjured around himself, rain still beating down hard, but the sound of a fight was impossible to ignore. The woman, Ansell thought, was she okay?

Ansell ran to the edge of the roof, catching himself on the ledge to peer over, seeing much better than before. No surprise there; Ansell was kind of glowing, a light dividing under his skin like lightning. Ansell looked to his hands, seeing his bones through his illuminated flesh. He blinked, shocked. It didn't hurt, just felt seven kinds of funny.

The woman, in a word, was fine. She was surrounded by what was - blood, like canopies, a glistening and morbid tree growing out of her. The beasts came, and fell, sliced to pieces by her strange power. The blood, there was so much of it, foul and plentiful for the woman.

Ansell would be lying if he said he didn't feel sick at the sight. It was horrendous, stomach turning and gruesome. Ansell couldn't imagine the pain of being split apart like that, torn to shreds without mercy. As horrible as it looked, it was working, the woman was winning. Ansell yelped at the beast that lunged at her and actually bit her, wincing back and cutting himself off from screaming. The beast, instantly, was dead. She seemed fine, but how?

Ansell shook his head, throwing out the thought of what was going on, trying his best to focus on what had to be done. The beasts wouldn't stop, not until they were all dead or the woman was. Ansell gathered his power, an almost tangible bond right up to the turbulent skies, fingers quivering as he cleared his mind and thought of one thing: lightning.

The rain stopped, fizzling before it hit the ground, a great light filling the clouds and the city below. The air shook, the loudest thunderclap thus far marking the descent of a great bolt of lightning, branching and splitting as it soared towards the hoard of beasts. It was blinding, impossibly fast as it touched down. A second sound, an explosive pop.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
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On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#11
The stopping of the rain was far more startling than it's sudden and unexpected increase a minute ago had been. The fight seemed to freeze, as though the cessation of the rain was triggered by some time magic that had suspended everything in that moment.

Amaris felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and for one moment she felt a premonition of danger, something strong enough that even her dulled senses were able to pick it up. The hounds were much more reactive, broken free of whatever figment had held them in place to try and scrabble away. It was far too late for that.

As though someone had flipped a switch in her brain, all she saw was white.

She almost screamed, but the air was frozen in her lungs even as her legs spasmed underneath her, causing Amaris to topple down on top of the cobblestone road. The small part of her brain that was still even vaguely functioning knew that her heart was stopping, every nerve in her body fried, and none of the hounds that had been hit would be able to survive the pure damage that had been done to them.

And then, one blink later, she was fine again. What kept her from moving wasn't any physical disability, but a lingering uncertainty of where she was and why she was here. It took a few minutes further for that sensation to fade. Then she sat up.

All around her, the few remaining hounds that hadn't been defeated by her before the bolt of lightning had fallen down upon them were now nothing but burnt remains, with a small patch of charred flesh. For one brief moment Amaris considered the fact that, a moment ago, she had probably looked like that. Then she turned around, her eyes drifting upwards to lock onto the figure crouched at the edge of the roof.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
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No Preferences
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I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#12
It was over before he knew it. The howling and dying sounds of the beasts had stopped, as had the rain. And yet, Ansell felt something was very amiss. Once his sight had adjusted and returned to normal, Ansell blinked away evaporated tears and stared down to the street. He swallowed back bile at what he saw.

Bodies. Fried by his lightning and dead, the ones left over from the woman's massacre of them, anyway. And just like that, it hit him. Ansell nearly threw himself over the ledge, eyes going wide and static at the sight of the woman. She was just like the rest of them, fried, struck by a lethal bolt. She had to be dead, and he killed her. Thunder rolled in the clouds, tears budding at the corner of Ansell's eyes, sizzling away before they made it down his cheeks.

Ansell raced to the ladder, a glowing blur that zipped from one point to the next. The moment his hand touched the metal rail, it was electrified, Ansell almost jumping back at the not-unpleasant feeling clinging to his bones. Hands back on the ladder, Ansell threw himself over the ledge, grip loose around the rails as he slid down. His shoes touched a puddle, drying before he took another step. Rounding the side of the inn, Ansell expected to see a charred corpse, instead he found someone who was anything but. Standing, well and good, was the woman he just killed.

To say Ansell was surprised would be a gross understatement. He approached her in an instant, lightning still in his body to aid him, staring over her with glowing eyes. Those eyes immediately turned dark, a pitiful whimper coming from his mouth. "I'm so sorry," Ansell began to weep, tears only going so far before turning to steam. "I-I just want-wanted to help you, I didn't mean- I'm so sorry!"

Ansell just stood there, holding himself, looking like a breeze could knock him over. The weather started to pick up again; a drizzle fell, the wind strong and whistling, the occasional flash of lightning in the dark clouds. It seemed in Ansell's command of the storm, it had became closely bound to him, responding to even his emotions. With how sorrow and regret had swallowed him, it seemed he was quickly becoming a threat to the city himself.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#13
It was uncertain what exactly Amaris had been preparing to say to the young man, but all her words were carefully repressed as she saw his heartbroken expression, or the drops of moisture that were leaking from the corner of his eyes before abruptly evaporating. No one in the world would doubt that the kids guilt was sincere. Even Amaris couldn't bring herself to blame him.

"Good gods," Amaris sighed, one hand reaching out to close over his shoulder as his words sputtered out and rain abruptly began to fall once more. "Get it together, kid." If the lightning that still glowed under his skin was any concern to her, she certainly didn't show it. "That might have been about as reckless of a decision as you could have made, but you got lucky and it turned out alright, so don't go freaking yourself out."

In the distance, Amaris could hear the sound of wood straining as it was buffeted by the wind. Somewhere, the storm was picking up even more speed, and threatening to tear someone's house apart. But comfort had never been one of her strong suits. Instead she turned, drops of blood beginning to emerge from her forearms before rapidly expanding into ropes. Each strand dove for one of the corpses, while a few others set about mopping up the street, picking up the puddles of blood the rain hadn't managed to wash away.

When each tendril removed itself from a corpse a second later, the bodies that were left behind were desiccated, seeming completely devoid of moisture. There was no way she'd let the hunters take credit for her kills, even if people might believe them. The blood gathered together, forming into a knotted ball before suddenly starting to compress, drawing backwards towards her arm as it did so. Only a moment or two later there was nothing left but an abnormal marble perched on Amaris' forearm, the size of a coin. She pocketed it.

"The hounds are dead, so let's get you home, kid."
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
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No Preferences
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I'm fine with both.
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Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#14
"B-but I hurt you!" Ansell tried to reason, at first reaching out to the woman, snatching his hands back before he could even enter her personal space. He had to remember he wasn't exactly himself at the moment, not with a storm's power flowing around in him. The woman, bravely, just touched him and wasn't immediately destroyed again. However, Ansell didn't feel so unstable, his physical form was actually holding up much better than he'd imagine. His hands, arcs of white lightning clinging to one finger to the next, was a different story.

"I killed you." As Ansell's voice broke, so did the clouds, letting loose a new shower of freezing rain as Ansell wept. The scene was almost poetic in nature; as Ansell cried, so did the skies, bursting open with icy tears.

Wiping his face, attractive arcs sticking to his cheeks, Ansell went still and gasped at the bloody tendrils looked to feed on the corpses littering the street. He swallowed hard, a furiously strong tingle in his throat. Ansell didn't want to find out what his insides were making, so he looked away from the bodies.

"Home?" Ansell parroted, a wary expression coming to his face. It was easy to see how Ansell's tongue moved in his mouth through his teeth, the organ like a length of plasma, on the verge of speaking. Ansell looked down at himself, drenched, dirty, and not to mention glowing. Ansell balled his fists, a stunning discharge jumping out to strike a nearby lantern, Ansell leaping at the sound.

He grit his teeth, unfurling his fists as he forced himself to calm down. Right now, he was a long away from calm, but he least he could do was stop crying. The buildings couldn't take anymore.

In, out; the wind responded in turn, blowing back and forth through the buildings. Release the storm, break the bond, be normal.

Somewhere in his mantra, Ansell had closed his eyes. He opened them, expecting to see non-glowing skin; no such luck. Ansell almost swore, substituting for stomping his foot, a thunderclap booming in the clouds. "I can't, I can't let go!" Ansell groaned, his whole body buzzing as he tried to force out the power, doing nothing but glow brighter than he was before. "Come on, go!" Ansell threw his hands up, as if the power would leave him in some bolt of lightning. If it was only that easy.

Ansell felt a panic rise up, an icy grip on his hearts squeezing so tightly. The wind turned sharp and cold, a wintery breeze ghosting over the street. The wind speed had dropped, thankfully. The buildings no longer groaned in protest, now that was only the sudden cold to worry about. "I ca-can't go home like this! I-I haven't told them yet!"
 
Last edited:

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#15
Amaris had nodded in response to the boy's parroting, releasing his shoulder and turning to go, as though she already knew the way to go. She didn't of course, but would have been easily able to rely upon the boy's subtle movements to guide her in the right direction.

If he had moved.

Instead he stood still, seeming to discharge more and more power with every passing moment. The innkeeper, who had only barely opened the door to the inn to peek outside, since the sound of the hounds keening had been silent for a while now, slammed the door shut as more lightning jumped out of the kid, letting out an earsplitting crack as it slammed into a metal lamppost.

She gave him a minute, half recalled memories of the lightning that had fallen from the sky to attack the hounds and struck her instead giving her a sense of exactly how little control the kid had over his abilities. Amaris had no particular fear for her own safety, as nothing this boy could dish out would possibly harm her, and she didn't feel any particular consideration for this town either, but if the boy's reaction to her own temporary incapacitation was any indication of things, he would respond much worse if he ended up doing any sort of lasting damage upon the town.

Unfortunately, whatever it was he was trying seemed to work about as well as was to be expected from someone with absolutely no control, which was to say not well at all. She turned around, preparing to walk back over to him and get him moving out of the town center and to a place where he wouldn't do any particular damage if his power got even further out of hand than it already was, when she was briefly halted in her tracks by a sudden crack of thunder.

It was easy to read the panic on the boy's face. Anyone would have been able to spot it, and be able to guess the eventual effects of him continuing to panic. She felt a trace of sympathy for him, a brief recollection of her own time as a teenager coming to mind. This was all obviously far outside of his comfort zone, and probably quite new to him. If this continued to get any more dangerous he might end up trying to repress his power completely, which would only lead to eventual catastrophe. And, despite everything, Amaris didn't want that to happen to him. He seemed like a good kid.

"That's quite enough of that, now." Amaris' voice was like a crack of thunder in it's own right, attention grabbing and firm. Whether a conscious or unconscious decision on her part, cursory gentleness having already failed to elicit an appropriate reaction, there was no trace of empathy in her voice. "I'm not going to watch you spiral this situation even further out of control than you've already made it by letting you work yourself into a fit. So calm down, follow me, and we'll get you somewhere you can't do any damage until you are able to sort yourself out."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and started walking.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
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Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
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I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
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Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
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No Preferences
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I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#16
Needless to say, Ansell was well and truly shocked at the sudden change in the woman's tone. He was still again, hands drawn up to his chest, a fretting discharge of lightning leaping from his chin to his fingers. Quite frankly, he looked like any other child that had been thoroughly reprimanded for acting out.

As the woman turned away, obviously expecting him to obey and follow her, Ansell felt an unpleasant sting deep in his guts. Shame, regret, guilt and embarrassment. Ansell knew his emotions had gone out of his control and he didn't need to ravage the city because of it. So, he listened to what the woman said. Easier said than done, unfortunately.

On the verge of crying again, Ansell managed to hold back the rolling thunder his sniffles had become. "Y-yes, ma'am." He gripped his forearms tight, tucked his head down, and followed after the woman. He carefully stepped over the dried out bodies littering the street, not looking too long at them. They lacked any smell Ansell could detect, but the sight of them was nothing short of horrific.

Ansell walked slowly, which, given the unbelievable amount of energy he was storing, was pretty fast by normal standards. Ansell zipped, honestly; with each footfall, he would simply flash forward, an blur from one point to the next. It was hard to control, if he was being honest with him, even harder not to step too far out and end up halfway across town. It wasn't cool, it was dangerous and getting annoying.

In one blink, Ansell was right behind Amaris, the stormy boy waiting until she was further ahead before stepping again, pulling himself slightly to the side so he'd end up beside her. He held his hands together, an almost magnetic force keeping them pinned.

"Uh, ma'am, I-I think I should introduce - ah, introduce myself." Ansell mumbled, eyes to the ground and hair a luminous cloud around him. "I'm, um, Ansell. Ansell Cordell." He waited, wondering if she would even bother to respond to his pitiful excuse of an introduction.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#17
"You can call me Amaris."

She hadn't commented on the way his steps seemed to jump him forward, and to anyone observing the situation it might even seem like she didn't notice, or she was so used to it that it didn't even register. However, Amaris noted every lightning-quick step, and knew just as well that the kid was probably incapable of stopping it. The more she watched him, the more certain she became that his ability to control the storm was not something he was used to. If it wasn't for the relative certainty with which he had suggested he could alter the storm, Amaris would have guessed this was his first exposure to the fact that he was more than simply human.

Either way, it was obvious that this was his first exposure to real power, and despite her harsh words from a moment before she didn't really blame him for his lack of control. She couldn't. But she did need him focused, and as calm as she could keep him.

Besides, there was no reason not to answer him.

"No last name, I'm afraid." Not anymore. Hadn't been for a long time.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
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Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
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I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
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No Preferences
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I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#18
Quietly, Ansell said the woman's name, tongue feeling over the sound of it. He'd never heard of her, in the physical sense and by rumor. A hunter who could control blood and massacre the beasts like they were no more than pests would've been the talk of the town, even among those detestable hunters back at the inn.

Ansell came the assumption that she was new in town, but why? Ilsworth could barely afford to keep the hunters they had, Ansell couldn't begin to think how much Amaris was charging for her services.

Ansell looked to her pocket, where she stored away the collection of the beasts' blood in that strange token.

The woman was powerful, Ansell feeling his guts squirm just from being in her presence. She was powerful and different, Ansell had seen her die and be fine the next moment. Above everything, she was interesting, if only he had the boldness to ask someone who was still a stranger to him.

Down the dark street lit by lanterns that hadn't been blown out, Ansell casted a great light, the unmistakable flash of lightning constantly emitted from him. Even with the beasts dead, Ansell stayed close to Amaris as if more would leap from the shadows his light couldn't chase away.

Static, jump, repeat. Ansell kept up, barely able to recognize the streets when they were so dark. "Where are we going?" Ansell asked, a fearful tremble in his warbling voice.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#19
"Away from town. Most likely out into the woods." Her tone was crisp, no-nonsense, and brooked no dispute on Ansell's part. However, after a couple more steps, she was polite enough to start speaking again, ensuring that the young man was not left hanging with nothing but his own uncertainties. He would be fully informed.

Then again, in some respects, full understanding could be more terrifying than uncertainty. Willful ignorance had its appeals. But she pegged him more for the kind to let his imagination run away with him, than bury his head in the sand. Time would momentarily tell if her guess was correct.

"You are far too out of control at the moment for us to remain in town. Not without you posing a severe risk to the town. There's nothing important out in the woods, and therefore no risk of your powers causing additional problems. As for the beasts, well..." her head turned to the side, back in the general direction of the inn. Under the flickering streetlight, the smile that crossed her lips seemed to tremble with excitement. "I relish the chance to do more hunting."
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#20
Ansell was no stranger to the woods, lots of people had been out there at one point or another. Going on in the daytime was dangerous, yes, but it could be done. Firewood was firewood, regardless of what creatures ran amok through the trees. The fog made everything feel strange, and that peculiar feeling extended into the woods. It was easy to get lost, too easy, one could just as well lose their way back home long before the beasts got to them.

Among that frightening danger, there came the feeling Ansell got when he was one of those lost to the woods. He was found, eventually, brother scared out of his mind when he did, but he got back home. Ansell left the woods feeling like he hadn't been alone. The feeling took a while to shake, took even longer to muster the courage to go out and get firewood from a closer, if not more barren part of the forest.

Ansell didn't want to think about that anymore.

Amaris was right, he was out of control. But there was nothing he could do! The storm just wouldn't leave him, and he was stuck with it, and everytime he got worked up it just seemed to get worse. Would he have to burn it off? If that turned out to be true, spending the power of a thunderstorm would be a feat and a half. As far as Ansell knew, storms usually came undone of their own accord, but he wasn't sure those natural laws applied to storms made by a spirit that sought to cause him as much trouble as possible.

"I won't help if they do come," Ansell said, still mulling over the fact that she'd died by his attempt to help in the first place. "I don't know if they can hurt me like this, but I'll just...get out of your way." It was better that way.