Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Aldriem, Jun 8, 2015.

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  1. The man deftly pulled out his blade from his assailant-to-be and with a graceful twirl, wiped the blood-soaked blade on the assassin's garments themselves before he fell to the cold marble floor with a dull thud and a faint groan, his heart now pierced and bleeding all over the beautifully painted marble, a look of terror plastered on his pallid face.


    The longsword was in its sheath and the attendant who had been cowering behind a column all this while slowly crept out from behind the pillar, shaking from head to toe, a golden royal gown in his hands.

    "Mi-milord, are y-you okay...?", the attendant whispered, the same terror on his face that the assailant had on his face.

    The half-naked man who had his back turned to the attendant presently turned around to face him, raising both his arms as he did beckoning for the gown.

    "A-At once, Your Highness...!"

    The attendant scuttled forward and draping one sleeve over the man's right hand, carefully circled around him draping the other sleeve on his left hand and then shifting the hem to arrange it properly.

    "That was..." the man began in a strangely sing-song, almost lost tone, "... a nice warm-up. Exercising is nice for the body. Won't you agree, Desmond...?"

    "Y-Yes, Your Highness Lord Zeneth."

    "But do tell me, what's so terrifying about me...?" The look on his face was that of amusement, replaced then by a smile as he turned his head to regard the shivering attendant. He looked back at the corpse bleeding all over the floor.

    "That...?" He continued on, "Oh, that was nothing. I am a bit rusty is all. Would you mind clearing that up...?"

    "Y-Yes at once, Your Highness. If you would proceed to the throne room, they await your return."

    "Ah, but of course. Then I shall go..."

    King Zeneth was tall and graceful, his jet black hair-which he tied using a blue ribbon-falling all the way down to his belt and his pale skin a sign of the partial albinism that he had, and that also made his eyes a beautiful blue instead of the red that people with albino usually have.

    Pushing aside the tall double doors leading into the Throne Room, Zeneth walked into the brightly lit room chock full of people whispering and frantically waving at each other, obviously well-aware of a break-in and attempt at assassination.

    Quietly pacing in, as if gliding, Zeneth took his place on the throne taking in this most anxiety-inducing scene in front of his eyes.

    The throne room was a massive hall with rows of columns on both sides and a raised platform with stairs leading up on one end and huge double doors on the other end. The massive throne was at the top of the raised platform with two smaller thrones on either sides of the throne and furthermore, a number of seats on either side of the hall each of which was attached to each of the columns all of whom were arranged at an angle facing the throne. The hall was lit up with light pouring out of chandeliers hanging from the arched ceiling with golden lining.

    "Silence..." Zeneth raised his voice over the din drawing the crowd's attention to the throne.

    "I am well aware that you are all concerned about my well-being and hearing about this assassin must have made you all very anxious. Well, you shall all be happy to know that the threat has been eliminated, all thanks to my trusted personal guards who were present in the chamber with me at the moment the vile assassin showed his face. I am safe and healthy."

    Upon finishing his speech, the crowd shuffled at their spot unsure of what to do.

    The double doors were pushed apart as a number of figures, most of whom were dressed in armor and battle clothing walked in, all of them moving in sync, their weapons catching the light and shining even as the fabric on their clothing fluttered as if trained to do so in a certain way. Their boots rung out altogether causing a din greater than the one that had just been going on.

    "Leave..." Zeneth raised his voice again causing the crowd to turn and look at him once more. "... NOW."

    The people who had gathered moved to the sides of the hall to allow these figures to pass in unhindered. Shifting uneasily behind the columns, the common men left the hall shutting the doors behind them.

    "Come... my Angels. My Harbingers of Order. My Assassins, my Knights. My Regaliours."


    As with everything, even a generation has to end and that is what was happening at the Throne Room this day, the outgoing Regaliours had all gathered.

    "I do hope you hold no regrets at all," Zeneth chimed as he climbed down the stairs approaching the center of the Hall where the Regaliours now stood facing the double doors. "Can I request you all to take your Helms off and hold them at your sides...?"

    The Regaliours one by one started reaching for their Helms and as they took them off, one could see that they had indeed carried the weight of the world on their own shoulders. Each was scarred and marked in the most brutal ways. Some wore eyepatches, others bandages and padding. Others still had a face full of scars and such. Each of them had served and had paid greatly for it and it was time that they rested for they had indeed earned an eternity of rest.

    "Desmond," Zeneth started, ", call the young Regaliours from their rooms. They need to be up here within the next 15 minutes. Hurry now."

    Desmond bowed low and at once left for the Rooms located on the lower levels of the Needle-shaped palace as the sun peeked out from behind the Mountains to the east. Dawn had struck.

    "We have a new era to usher in."
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  2. Silence.

    The most beautiful sound in the world. It allowed one to focus without effort, make peace without ignorance, and remain still with only but a thought. These were the thoughts of Terumi within his room before he submitted himself utterly to his training. The man was positioned upside-down, kept in place only by his legs positioned on opposite walls in the corner. He wore only a simple set of black pants, and his red braid hung downward towards the stone floor. Positioned in such a manner, Terumi put his hands together, as one might when in prayer, and pulled his upper body forward, so that his torso was parallel to the ceiling. He held there for a second, and then slowly let himself back down. Then repeated the process. Each time he let himself down, he let out a sentence, almost like a mantra.
    . . .
    "I am a weapon."
    . . .
    "A weapon's purpose is to kill."
    . . .
    "Through sharpening myself I find purpose."
    . . .
    "Through this purpose I find life."
    . . .
    "And should life falter."
    . . .
    "Then this weapon's purpose is served."
    . . .
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  3. "Ms. Rikka, you are to be in the King's presence within 15 minutes."

    "Alright, understood!"

    Yukigani, or Yuki for short, put down the tools she was working with. Rising from her workbench, she moved to put on her suit. She undid her ponytail as the extra bulk prevented the mask and suit from fitting properly. She opened up her closet, pushing past her various normal clothes, and grabbed the suit, pulling it out of the closet. It stood on its own, though the head of the suit was separate. The girl with bright red hair pulled the mask over her face, completely obscuring it. It was see through from the inside, so her vision wasn't affected. She input a command into the suit, causing it to open, steam rising from it as a whirring noise signified the successful command. She stepped into the now open suit before inputting another command, closing the suit around her. She threw a punch, then a kick, then leapt into the air, throwing one more kick. She smiled, so far so good. She threw a magnet, sticking it to the wall. She launched herself over there, stopping the magnetism before she moved too fast. Detaching her weapon from her back, she gave it a few swings before being satisfied.

    "Everything is working fine, looks like I'm ready to go," she declared to herself, reattaching her weapon to her back. It was time to go see the king. Time to really become a Regaliour.
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  4. Ausular hummed happily to himself as he polished his new pieces of armor, gifts from his family to celebrate this day. It was custom made for him by the best smiths in all of Faltheast, easing his mind of the thought of a stray bolt lodging itself in him. When he could see his reflection in his pauldron smiling back he laughed and said “A glorious day, wouldn’t you say so.” Receiving no response he then stood up and began to place his few pieces of armor on himself. He admired his appearance for a few moments before going over to where his blade lay and after sheathing it, attached it to the side of his belt. He then heard a knock on the door and a voice spoke up “Sir Tillo, his majesty requests your presence. “On moment.” Ausular responded as he quickly slipped a small flask into his boot. He then opened the door and walked out into the hall, saying “So where are all my merry brothers and sisters in arms?”
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  5. Odette had not been expecting to be called so soon. The attendant entered, delivering the summons, and Odette had grimaced. She looked down at her hands, covered in the same grease and solvent that no doubt streaked her face. She was dressed in work clothes, mottled with blemishes and streaks recording years of hard work. Her rifle was in front of her, fully disassembled, glistening with the lubricant coating she had almost completed, the drifting sun catching pieces closer to the wide open window and glittering in rainbows of reflected light. She thanked the attendant without turning, realizing a second later the servant had already departed, and began to make ready.

    She felt herself began to hurry, and quickly corrected herself. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast, in both marksmanship and in day to day life. With practiced precision she donned her uniform, combing her hair as best as she could and tying it up with a subtle blue ribbon. She pulled on her work attire, tucking her cowl in a back pocket as she made to reassemble her weapon. She did so automatically, hands knowing the exact order in which the pieces must go, and her dexterous fingers knowing exactly how they fit together. Within a pair of minutes she was ready: rifle slung, clad in black, ammunition and tools secured in a pair of hip pouches. She jogged out of her room, humming to herself quietly, and arrived in the throne room without pomp or circumstance, quietly taking in the scene and waiting to be addressed.
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  6. . . .
    "I am a weapon."
    . . .
    "A weapon's purpose is to--"
    A brief knock came at the door, which caused Terumi to let out a sigh and open one eye.
    "It's open."
    "You're needed in the grand hall, by order of the King."
    ". . . I see. I'll be there shortly."

    So it was time. The young man pushed himself off the wall and back-flipped into a crouching position before standing up. Within minutes he had garbed himself in the black and grey clothing of his uniform. Meant less for defense and more for both camouflage and stealth. He donned the gauntlets and boots that were his weapons and headed up to the throne room.
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