Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Axilmeus Steel, Jan 15, 2015.

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  1. [​IMG]

    The date was June 30th, 30XX. That was the day the people of Andria would remember forever. A new generation of magicians would be born, one that far surpassed any group anyone had seen before. Of course, every blessing comes with it's curse. You could say that the birth of this power was the universe's way to prepare Andria for the terrible threat that loomed overhead. What role will you play? Will you fight against the darkness, or become part of it? Only time will tell.


    The wheels were turning. The gears were grinding. The knight smiled as he looked out into the open world before him. The misery, the pain, the torture that lay in his future. He would ensure that those resting their heads in the capitol would soon be resting under the ground. This was his play, his story. He was the writer and the lead actor. They called him the one that walked in the dark, but some knew himself by another name. A "man" clad in black armor who was more devil than human. The man who beckoned souls to their doom beneath his almighty throne of shadows. In recent years he had settled on a name that fit him. This twisted being thought it very fitting to his persona. He called himself... death.

    "I believe it is time. The curtains are opening. My actors are getting ready. For look! O'er on the horizon there is a handsome man. His golden hair shines with that very some glint which the sun reflects in his wine glass. He dips his bread to soften that meal in his hand, but ironically he similarly has grown soft and worn. His grand arena, the Coliseum now opens, but every day he looses his grandiose. Soon that puppet won't be worth playing around with anymore. And behold! Even a great princess who's beautiful red hair could make any man wild now begins to age. Although she is only 30, she's past her prime. The princess will die along with her country. And this woman's sister? Her fate the same as the rest. To rot and decay at my feet. Though I longed for the shimmering blue mane of that girl at one time, I now grow weary of such human pleasures. For truly the identity of death is only befitting of a god! But alas, these meek warriors do not ally themselves with just dust. I see people rising over the horizon. They come now. A new generation preparing to slay me. That is far too bizarre to happen in this plane however. Unfortunately for them.... DEATH CANNOT BE KILLED!" he paused for a moment, then took a bow to no audience in particular, "Prelude and muse end... Actors interunt... Scene 1 begin."

    Scene I: The Birth of a New Generation
    #1 Axilmeus Steel, Jan 15, 2015
    Last edited: Jan 15, 2015
  2. [​IMG]


    The sound of metal splitting torn through the air of the Royal City Police HQ, and then...silence.

    Zensuke panted, beads of sweat dripping down his lean, defined torso as he crouched down and reached out a hand. In his grip, an ebony hilt formed, before a long ebony blade formed from the hilt, jutting sharply into the air. The sharp blade promptly turned an almost sapphire blue, shining brightly against the mottled blackness of the engraved hilt. Zensuke narrowed his dark eyes, before suddenly blasting forward at an incredibly surprising speed.

    Dust blasted back from his bare feet as the young prodigy crossed the center of the room, nimbly and powerfully flipping high into the air, just as a gigantic metal disk blasted from the training room's metal wall at the speed of a bullet, heading right for the boy's face. Still in mid-air, Zensuke twisted sharply, narrowly allowing the disk to pass by his bare side, while he clenched his manifestation with both hands on the hilt, turning around and slashing powerfully through the air. The glowing sapphire energy blasted forward with his slash, forming the arc of a blade as it sliced cleanly through the gigantic metal disk with yet another screeching sound, sending two steaming halves of metal blasting towards the walls with the force of a missile.


    Zensuke landed silently on the ground, from where he had fell from several feet in the air, flipping backwards a few feet with the force of the landing. The glowing plasma faded from his manifestation longsword, leaving a sharp, long ebony blade jutting from the engraved hilt, rather than the powerful blue energy. Zensuke slowly sheathed it on the royal ebony and sapphire sheathe on his back, and with a sharp 'clasp', both the sheathe and the blade disappeared in mystifying blue particles.

    "Training hard, Zen?" A rather snarky voice sounded from behind the young boy, whom only wore a pair of dark blue sweatpants. Still a bit winded, but surprised at the intruder, Zensuke twisted on his feet and brought his fists up in a strict, sharp formation, eyes narrowing. Often other police officers swamped the boy with swords and fists, to see if they could overpower him. It never once worked.

    A blonde man stood at the entrance to the training room, sunglasses on his snake-like eyes. "Calm down. There's been reports of gang violence in Lower Royal City. Go out and take care of it." Ah...another impromptu mission, probably created by sis to keep him on his toes. Zensuke nodded once.

    "Sir." He said curtly, turning around and heading towards the showers. A smile formed on his lips. He loved serving the Royal City.

    A young, leanly muscular teenager with dark, feathery hair and pale skin walked down the busy street of Royal City, hands resting in his pockets. He wore a pair of comfortable, yet presentable black battle pants, tucked into black boots with dark blue buckles. On his torso, he wore a form-fitting dark shirt, while over that, a royal black long-coat swished with the brisk wind, with sapphire blue accents on the seams of the durable, yet rich fabric. A shiny, small badge glinted on his upper right arm, sewn into a white band. His Destination? Lower Royal City.

    "I wonder what gang it is this time..." He thought silently to himself, crossing through yet another alley-way, and quickly slipping through a hedge. Within minutes of walking, he entered the slightly shady and seedy neighborhood, where most gangs fought, and where the...poorer citizens stayed. By now, he could even see a few shady, bulky men watching him like predators. Zensuke only gave them challenging glances, and his badge flashed in the morning light. They promptly stayed away.
  3. Terral was sleeping comfortably in his chambers, having the dream. Not a dream, the dream. Terral didn't have any other dreams now, just the one.

    A man of stunning good looks with long golden locks like a wheat field on a summer day, green eyes like a forest in spring, and the body of one who'd triumphed over great foes stood atop a hill, his hair blowing softly in the wind as he overlooked the castle of a local lord. It was an old fortress, incredibly sturdy and defensively built. The lord wished to give his thanks for having eliminated the leader of a group of criminals. Terr walked, his legs capable of incredible speed moving slowly down the grassy ground of the hillside. He felt his bare feet against the grass, and decided to make a showy enterance. He began the move faster, his feet slapping against the earth. Faster still, he flew down the hill, a blur clad in golden-yellow silk. Then, pushing his legs downward, he pumped them both at once and sent himself flying through the air, whooping with delight as he leaped far into the air. As he descended, he made a slide out of pure chromium, rocketing down the ramp before leaping out once more, this time sailing over the castle wall. He landed atop the ramparts, right next to an astonished guard, "Keep up the good work," Terral told him before dissolving his slide. The guard didn't speak to him, that should've been a sign. He made a staircase out of chromium that took him from the top of the wall to the courtyard, which he dissolved once his bare feet touched the cobbled stone. Two men pushed open the dual doors, and Terral stepped through. The lord seemed nervous, that should've been a sign.

    Adanto, his aid and protege woke him up before the dream was finished. "Sir," the young Redmage said respectfully, "You requested that I awaken you before lunch, so that I may take you to oversee the royal process today." Adanto was a sweet boy, and good with a hammer. He didn't talk much either, at least not around strangers. "Right, right. Bring my chair and I'll get into it." Terral instructed groggily. With effort, the once incredible hero pushed himself into a sitting position. 25 years in a tower hadn't been wonders for his physique, and arms that once fought off armies of bandits or marauders with a chromium halberd now struggled to lift the body of an old man. He lifted himself into his chair, and Adanto quietly pushed the once great mate to his destination in a small wooden chair with wheels on it.
  4. Queen's Court, in the Lower Royal City, was the sort of inn one went to only as a last resort. Either you'd been turfed out of the other, more respectable joints or you were so hard up for something you couldn't get elsewhere. It was a fine old building, or at least there was a fine old building under there somewhere. If you scrubbed hard enough. The name came not from royalty, or at least not from proper royalty. This used to be the home of a rebel queen, a deposed ruler from another state that had risen up against her and cast her out, a queen-in-exile. Queen Messandra of the Opal Islands might not have had much of an army to speak of, but she knew how to throw a party. And here, in these debauched halls, she held her court.

    In a high up room, golden light is striking through slits and onto a very well-used bed. The light is too old for dawn, but mornings were something Black Sheep definitely enjoyed the beginnings of more than the middle or end. He rolled away from the light in his eyes with a groan and kicked something out of bed. "Gemm' breakfast."

    As his former bedmate slid on clothes and muttered foulness, Black Sheep dozed. He knew there was something he was supposed to be doing today, but last nights wine was weighing on his mind still. And what was last night's boy called? Fine thing, dusky eyes, arse like a plum. Sat back too much and wanted all the work done to him. Mm. Not time for such thoughts though. Sheep rarely went back for seconds unless there was something truly exceptional on the plate. And Edric - that was it, Edric - wasn't quite exceptional.

    Edric came back carrying a plate of bread, cheese and bacon. He was wearing loose undergarments and an inviting smile. Sheep slid up to take the food then span Edric round and sent him off again with a broad-handed smack on the plum. "Somethin' to drink." Stupid boy hadn't even brought water. He began to eat. The cheese was cheap and tart; the bacon crisp and plenty; the bread had sawdust in the flour. But it filled a hole and chewing got his wheels turning again. Yeah, finding the old crew for a check-in, see how things were running around Widow Street in his absence. That lad Peanut was the last chief he'd left in charge, but things might have changed over the last couple of years.

    By the time Edric came back with water, Sheep was up and dressed. The food was gone, the water followed quickly in strong gulps. There was no goodbye kiss as Sheep strode out of the Court and into the street. Step one of his return visit had gone well, committing his favourite sin on the sheets of a royal bed. Step two involved heading down the way and stirring things up for the local constabulary by getting back in the game again, if only for a few days.

    Sheep swaggered head and shoulders over most folk in the street and he'd long ago learned how to carry that extra height and weight to his advantage. His leathers, his stubble on the thick square jaw, the jagged not-quite-military haircut. People got aside for him. Down the way, some of the older types recognized him on sight and gave him some beautifully filthy looks when they thought he couldn't see them. When they could see him looking, they smiled and offered fruit and produce. Wasn't that long ago that Black Sheep was an unholy terror to shop-owners up and down the city, Lower and Upper, running a protection racket that he'd lived high and wild on for years to come. The Widow Street Blinders had been cracked down on some, moved into vice and general violence without a strong guiding hand, over the last few years. But the game was the game.

    The Old Granary down by Magister's Wharf was still carved with the Blinder's colours and he was able to get his way in easily just through bluster and scale. The young ones didn't recognize him on sight but the sergeants did, plus the patter and cant hadn't changed overmuch that he couldn't make himself known. Gonophs and sunnelclots, all that. Lot of new faces, lot of product moving. Sheep smiled to see it all going pretty well. But more than a few lads carrying whistlers and coshes. He tags down one of the passing by youngers. "What's all the brass for?"

    "Blinders and the Freemen havin' a drag-out down Craven Way" was the most he got out of the multiple sources he tried. Two of the city's gangs having a war, that meant streets would be getting bloody soon. Especially since the Blinders were involved; their name came from their weapon of choice, razor blades stitched into the brim of their hats to use as hidden weapons.

    This was too good an opportunity to pass up. Sheep smiled, tucked his hands in his pockets and took a stroll down to Craven Way to take in the show..
  5. With the sun well above the horizon, the military base was abuzz with activity as soldiers went about their business. Metallic clangs filled the air as the practice grounds were put to good use, punctuated occasionally by the ever-loud roar of instructors. Inside the buildings, stuck away at desks, officers worked through and shuffled paperwork about. Essentially, people were busy as they were ought to be seeing as it was approaching noon. Even with 90% hard workers though, there would always be that 10% of slackers, and it wasn’t hard for most people to guess inside which portion Eori fell into.
    Slumped out on his bunk, warm sunshine spilling all over his face, Eori mumbled something unintelligible as he rolled over to try and get the light away from his face. Clutching the sheets tightly as he squirmed about, given the state of his bed, it didn’t really make anything much messier. Peaceful, if slightly uncomfortable, sleep would not be allowed to continue for him though, and three resounding bangs shook his door frame once more. Blinking blearily as he rolled over to glance at the shuddering door, Eori rubbed his eyes as he muttered something about it being too early for this. It seemed that the man outside was getting quite fed up though, with how the volume of his voice had been steadily climbing as the banging became near constant. “Gonna break the damn door down,” he muttered as he watched the lock jiggle and shake in its position.

    With the promise of a verbal lashing should he open the door, Eori nonetheless calmly got himself dressed. It took him only a few moments to don his uniform and he gave it one look over, making sure his equipment was secure just as the ruckus outside settled down. With a final glance around the room he strolled over to the window, opened it fully, looked out, and with a nod proceeded to swing himself out and over. Ah the faces of some of the newbies on the training grounds just outside was priceless.

    Kicking off the building as he approached the ground, Eori threw himself into a roll as he hit the ground, bleeding away the excess momentum before standing up and brushing himself off nonchalantly. Giving the shock onlookers a dismissive wave as if to return to their duties, he was glad to see that the staff on hand at the moment weren’t the ones to care too much about his antics. A few had chuckled, others had just ignored it as they had learned to do, while a few looked on disapprovingly but had long since given up actually bringing the matter up further. With that issue settled for now, Eori looked around as he wondered what to do now. He had escaped the unusual awakening, so finding out why his days of rest were being interupted was probably a good thing to do next.
    Fixing his hair a bit as he walked towards the administrative building, he noted that the base seemed to be a bit more active than usual. More people were around than usual and moving with a sense of urgency, tension in the air for one reason or another. Figuring he’d find out soon enough, Eori nudged the double doors open and slipped in to look for his direct superior.
  6. Aversa sat in an open field area, prodding and stabbing at the corpse of a long dead field mouse. She would nod occasional, sometimes brush her hair out of her face, and sighed. She should be practicing fighting right now, but her mother's influence had still clung to her. What if, one day, she had to do some dire task that required knowledge of the internal organs of field mice? As bothersome and trivial the notion was, Aversa couldn't help but take it to heart as she continued to prod at it. Someone was going to look for her eventually, and when they found her, she would make her best efforts to ignore them. Nothing irritated Aversa more then being interrupted in her research. The kinds of people who couldn't respect her field of work were bothersome and useless. Much like the field mouse that Aversa was examining. "It's a case of starvation..." She noted out loud as she turned away to scribble down notes.

    In this book Aversa had, were notes about various animal types, that got noticeably thicker as days wore on. There were a few bloodstains to be found, as well as minor rips, but anyone who knew Aversa well enough would know not to touch the book if they wanted to keep their limbs. "That makes it the 5th one today... Food shortages..." Aversa mumbled, her scribbling getting more fast paced as she continued, it really seemed to any outside observer that she was very invested in her work, when in reality it was just another normal research project, that would look exactly the same next time she investigated a corpse. Aversa had to hurry with her work, it wouldn't be long before someone came to lecture her about not physically training. Mentally training was far more important then physical training, but the military had none of that.​
  7. Aramia woke up earlier than usual that morning, more like she just slept a couple of hours and suddently woke up all sweaty and with a broken breath. She got up and changed in her hunting attire: white loose shirt, dark black leather long pants and jacket and a short hooded cape that reached her limb and her hair kept in a practical ponytail. Everyday, as soon as she was up, she took a big bag and got out from the window of her room. She wanted to stay out of that place as long as possible.

    Once on ground, the blond girl raised the hood and went toward the not so distant forest to hunt. Passing almost unseen in the Royal City, as it was so early in the morning, and forgotten as a stranger by those who were already, or still, awake. Arriving at her hunting ground she found herself a good spot and slowly released her powers: a thin, cobweb of blue strings originated from her hands and she set her usual traps around the forest, keeping a string connected to her fingers in case she caught something. The strings were so thin they almost couldn't be seen, still they were lethal for more than just little animals if she had wanted them to.

    As soon as she finished setting everything up she got on a big tree branch and, her back against the trunk, closed her eyes and dozed off. Early as she was, no one but her preys would run into her traps.
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