Sigil: T.C.o.D - [Walk-In][Modern Fantasy: Cycle 32][O/A]

[Flakkky]

Lian Feaorne

((O.O.C: Like a dummy, I keep forgetting to quote you.))

[-The Golden Flower-]

arrow The Market Ward

Redwing Thief

Redwing had eventually found a short sword that she could afford and though it was simple and not enchanted it would do. It was short of like her life. She paid the man who seemed pretty calm and alright with selling a young girl a sword but better for her. After she got her sword and kit, she headed towards a bench where she could sit down.

Redwing heard the child crying out of course but to her it was one more familiar sound in the big city. People were in trouble in the city, and there wasn't anything she could do to fix it. That guy Trees or what ever he was called tried to fix the corrupt place and she didn't even know what happened to him. He was probably dead again. Probably.

Redwing couldn't focus on the problems of the city, and the people in it she had problems of her own. She instead turned her focus on her short sword and got to work studying it. Maybe she could find a place to practice with the sword before she tried to use it.

[Li the Fox]

˄Sigil – Rooftop near the Mage's Guild – With Hitomi˄
˂Thinking. Remembering...˃

“You called out for me?” The voice was smooth and charming, casual in it's delivery. It came from above the woman, and if she looked up she would find the source.

A man with chestnut hair and a lithe build hovered above her on the wind. Some might find his features attractive. A slightly pointed chin with a defined jaw line, similar to many elves. His face was deceptively youthful, and his bronze skin was unblemished. The dark flesh made it seem his golden eyes were aglow below his dark brown brows. An impish smirk was on his lips. While exotic appearing enough, it was probably the long tail of a fox, black and snow tipped, nearly brushing the bottom of his feet that stood apart. Or perhaps the vixen like ears that stood from his head, growing brown upwards like his hair but black tipped, white on the inside.

He wore a hooded tunic of mostly black, long sleeved, with circular patterns running along of mostly yellows, reds, and oranges. It was reminiscent of a dark and smokey fire. Of a sun setting against heralding storm clouds. The tunic was of leather craft and form fitting, but left a bit of his midrift bare, as were his pants but neither were too tight to restrict movement. His footwear was nothing outstanding; black boots that no one would take notice of truly. On his lower back rested two sheathed kukri blades, each sheath engraved with unique ruins.

His form would slowly lower upon her notice of him, and he would turn his attention in the direction she had been gazing in. A group of people caught his attention far off. His eyes focused and they made out two figures in particular. One he recognized from earlier. Tresondros Ecstuffuan, some faction leader. A man of the men or so he was told. Looked like the hero type.

Golden eyes shifted over slightly and froze on the second man. Draped in a storm coat, a dark red shirt beneath. Dark hair and crimson eyes. He recognized this person from a long time ago. So long he thought him dead. Tales and battles he'd witnessed himself with people either long gone or scattered now. Mad Hatters, Witches, and Dragon Riders. Another life time ago it seemed. This man stepped right from it. Yet there was talk that this man was man no more. Roen. A devil they said.

Li silently landed on the rooftop beside Hitomi but his attention was drawn from her and Kali. It drifted from the men below, though they hadn't been forgotten, to the ruined Mage's Guild beyond. As soldiers surrounded Roen he wondered what part the man had played in the events. Curiosity mostly and it subsided quickly as he turned to look at the fair haired girl beside him.

“Your memories are back. It's a good thing I was already here in Sigil.” His eyes slid back over towards the Mage's Guild. “Good thing it still exists. Do you know why you were sent here?” He lifted a hand and gestured to the area around them. “To the great City of Doors! Are you here to get into trouble? Or what?” He asked with a sly grin.

Hitomi Ishida

Tres Ecstuffuan

Not Roen

[Lian Feaorne]

Epic Myth

arrow The Market Ward


Lian looked up to Frankie, still flashing puppy dog eyes and starlight up at him. She could tell who was the easiest and who was the more difficult of the two. Tyrone didn't trust anything at first glance like Frankie and Frankie had a soft spot. She cast Tyrone a very quick glance, her eyes narrowed. She knew that he knew but if there was a middle ground she would find it. Lian's eyes widened when she was picked up and placed easily on Frankie's shoulders, her hands still gripping the pillowcase with her only bit of food and kept herself balanced on top as much as she could. There was a second purpose to sitting on Frankie's knee...Her legs felt like they were going to give out. If she had to guess, maybe she had lost a substantial amount of blood before the change. Lian smiled. "Whatever you say, Mr. Frankie. I'm a tough cookie but this helps...I wasn't feeling so good."She said, lowering her head so her chin was resting on top of his hair.

They started walking and Lian paid attention to where they were in relation to the Fal'lain Corp building. There had to be a computer somewhere that she could use to contact Yai or someone in Sigil. They wouldn't see her face and at least she had some means of contact...her wrist unit was long gone nor would it fit on her tiny arm. She would have to think of a way to make one. Lian's eyes wandered up to the new scene before them and the sight of the floating hill. She had never seen it in Sigil but then again, there were some parts of the city she had never been. "No...Well kinda. That's strong magic..."She noted, yawning a little.

As for a name...She scrunched her nose a bit. She couldn't give them her real name...but she had one name that her father many thousands of years ago used to call her when she ran around and tripped on things as she was growing taller. "Charmaine ...but my Papa used to call me 'Twiggy' on account of I'm taller than some girls. You can call me 'Twiggy' too."She answered. Charmaine was the human equivalent of her real name at least and having plant-like names for Elves wasn't uncommon.

As for her magic, she raised her free hand and looked at the palm. She didn't know if she could actually use it...but she could give it a try. Lian/ 'Twiggy' sat quietly on Frankie's shoulders, staring at her palm and letting the sounds of the city drown out as she listen to just the sound of the heartbeat in her ears. It was there she could feel it like a small flame in the pit of her stomach. She still had her magic, but in this tiny body, it was only half as strong...which by human standards was still pretty dangerous to be around. "I can make things fly...make fire and a few other tricks. I know how to make things too."She said with a serious expression. Lian sighed and settled her head back down on top of Frankie's. "I'm too tired to do it right now."

[SIash Ex]

[!]Empyrae[!]
Face East…
[]~O~[]

[!] ~”..You will all burn…”~[!]

For a moment, her khol-ringed eyes blinking in the vestigial glamor, Djadi was not sure what had happened.

Part of her wasn't even entirely certain why she'd bothered with the attempt.

There had never been a moment when the Atmani believed herself superior to the Baba, or even equal. The urge to prove herself, and display the power she knew was her right, had swelled within the undead like a rising tide; bursting forth, and then raging for all eyes to see. She still felt the tingle of magic all around her...knew that the arcana had not abandoned her yet.

All the same, Djadi shook her hooded head and refocused; trying to understand what their instructor meant by 'field trip'.

[!] ~”…As I have burned..”~[!]

XxTheVeganVampirexX

YummyBiscuits

[SIash Ex]

[!]Sigil City :: Market Ward[!]
...Dead…
[]~O~[]

Eric was not as beholden to his Fury as it might initially seem, but...rather...was more like a nuclear reaction; immense potential, and yet somehow contained.

He'd sniff at the air as Jinsoku came running in, punch chambered, and then simply step back; moving just out of range; weaving his head away from the strike with an almost mesmerizing grace. He didn't even bother to lift his hands...not yet...keeping those vicious knuckle-dusters down.

It was an insult to the other fighter, honestly. A way for the Tiger to let his foe know that he wasn't taking this seriously...but that was all part of his nature. The eyes of a predator reflecting only what Jinsoku wished to see, and nothing more.

His feet shifted, ready to side-step should the 'wolf' attempt to press in.

ImNoHero

[Tres Ecstuffuan]

Lady Gilaen

Lovi pushed him off. Of course she did. He was floundering like a fish out of water, and kissed with about the same ease. It was a disgusting display...which was an astonishing feat, given her professional experience. She sent him rolling off the bed and got up herself. The air in the room went cold, or so it felt.

"Agh!" she groaned to herself as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. He hadn't repulsed her this terribly in a long while. With a heavy step, she crossed the room, grabbing her coat along the way so she could fish for her pipe in an inner pocket. When the thing was lit she filled her lungs with what felt like fire, then pushed the smoke out through her nostrils. It took a few minutes to appropriately calm herself, but then she had she turned to look on him through new eyes. Was this grim, pathetic mass all that was left of her lover? Gods, she hoped not.

"I'm a distraction, then, am I.." she said quite bitterly, though with a smooth, even tone. She folded one arm over the other and shifted her weight to one side. She was looking down on him now, deciding his fate after this failed attempt at intimacy. He'd come to her as a client, so it was just as well that she'd start treating him like one. Lovi took another deep breath of smoke and held it for a while, before letting it spill back out with her words.

"Were you hoping I'd overlook this pathetic display for a bit of gold?" she gestured to the whole of his being. Sad, but critical eyes took in the sight of him from head to toe. He was visibly weak and vulnerable. Part of Lovi wanted to comfort the poor man, but her pride and, I daresay, her heart were a bit too wounded for it now. "If you want to treat me like a stranger and pretend you're just a simple John, then by all means continue as you are now." She spoke with a calm clarity, removing her shoes in the process, then jewelry. "I'll tell you how sweet and sensitive you are for taking the burden of grief upon your shoulders. I'll tell you it wasn't your fault, and give you all the passion I can offer without real love or sympathy. And in the morning I'll leave with little enough compensation for the effort."

"And where will you be, then?" Lovi emptied the ashes of her pipe into a tray on the table before setting it aside. "Sitting here, still wallowing in your own pathetic misery. Until, of course, you call for another distraction, at which point, you can find somebody else..." She looked at him with a similar seriousness now, looming closer with short, steady steps until she was standing over him.

"I'm not your casual distraction, and I'm not your nursemaid. You started this damned "revolution", and if you can't accept the consequences of what you wrought, then clearly you never cared in the first place. Not about Sigil, the people-" It seemed as though she were about to add more, but she bit her tongue. "I know you're hurt, but you won't heal at the cost of my dignity. If you're ashamed of us, then say it. If you want me here as a pro~

Motel - Guildhall Ward

"No!", he interjected.

_______He'd find himself on his feet again as the words erupted out of him. Standing face to face with her he continued looking stern but with a fierce yearning in his eyes.

"Never of you. -Never- of us.", he looked away and pointed at the door.

"I thought things would be...further along by the time you came back but...You are here now and if you stay well, Sigil is about to become a very dangerous place."

______Tres struggled to affix his gaze to her and speak what he knew to be the truth.

"Every time my life has crumbled down upon yours, you stayed around and you got me through. At the end of it all, no matter how bad it got, you were with me. Lovi I want you here with me, more than I have wanted...needed...anything in my entire life but...", the wideness of his gaze in that moment spoke of the horror he had just experienced and the worry it levied upon his mind.

"Today I gazed into Oblivion. The material proof that all things can come to an end. I would give everything to keep you with me, I would change the world and make it make you happy...but I do not know if my everything is enough."

[YummyBiscuits]

The Reader

He remembered the moment, when it happened, even to this day. Centuries ago, it had happened, and he still compared that day to the celebration of a mortal birth - in the same way many would come together in order to celebrate the birth of their flesh, so did he when the day rolled around - but in it's stead his birth had been one of the spirit, for they were congruent in that measure as a baby's flesh existed for months before it was born and it was merely a celebration of the transition from one state of being to another, all it's "birth" was symbolic of would be that fateful step from blissful unawareness into something more concrete. And so it was with him. So it was exactly.

Deep within some hovel, The Reader awoke. He was startled, for a moment, as to where he was - it was a nightly thing now, to forget what he had done the night before, or even the few nights before, when he had located some nice home to stay in - and he quickly identified the place as a cellar. Deep within that makeshift chamber, The Reader felt the sun beginning to set, and he knew then that it was in fact time to get up. Stretching long legs up from the dirty, mildew-stained ground and brushing that same dirt from a sleeveless jacket and the matching bishop sleeves, he was unsurprised to find feet raining down bits of dust and sound as they paced in the room above him. The people who owned the house were nervous, anxiously awaiting his first footsteps into their den, and they could sense his waking like a mouse could feel somewhere in their carry that a hungry cat was approaching. While it was unlikely they remembered the exact details of his arrival and they may yet wonder as to why their well manicured and entirely aristocratic, subtle and seductive, guest had required them to board the windows shut and refuse to open the door for even the peskiest neighbor, they did understand that this very guest had not only the power to coerce them, but to do much worse if the whim fancied him for even a second. And so it came about that for the day, the four of them all, sat in the house and worried at whatever piece of cloth they could hold onto, and worked hard and quick at any task they could manage. Only once had the father, a tall and thick man with a bald plate and similarly covered in hair as if the follicles had decided to migrate across that massive body, dared to open the cellar door in some hope that he might just be able to vanquish this monster that decided to use their home as a layoff point. He was greeted with a wall of such malevolence and coagulated magnanimity that the knife he had gripped until his knuckles were white wiggled free of that death-vice and clattered against the floor, while he barely managed to keep his balance and stumble his way back out and shut the door on that fearsome enterprise. They would have run then, should have run if the situation were any different, but that very power had bound them furiously, knotting around their necks equal part noose and choke leash, leaving them to sit and wait the long twining hours between sundown and sunset.

The Reader pushed himself off of the floor, savoring for a long while yet the menagerie of energy which had collected about him where the light hadn't reached for years, and definitely wouldn't touch with the house so furiously bolted up. He tugged on his vest once, twice, and even as the dirt-stuff fell to the ground in equal parts manual labor and magical working - he didn't have to smell of that dirty floor even if he had slept on it through the day - he saw the little wraiths that his presence brought into being with such power around him; one moment they were skittering through the air like raving mad and starved beasts of such low intelligence they thought it wise to attack their progenitor, but even as their mouths unhinged and their fangs bared, black death flitting it's way between those needle-fangs and across long, blood-red tongues, their essence was taken in for sustenance, whatever little appetizers the demonlings could provide. He climbed the stairs, old and sagging near the middle, before his precarious height allowed him to push the door open.

He emerged, one long fingered and pale hand raising to brush the shoulder length hair out of his eyes and across the back of his head. Long, thick, and a lively light brown, it showered along his shoulders and across the top of his jacket, and he shook it for exaggerated effect. His eyes, possibly the most defining feature of this man, were a bright but somehow dead-looking grey, like little chips of ice that were but a brief membrane into oblivion itself, down and down and down again into the infinite abyss. Besides that, the knee high boots of a supple calfskin bulged gently around his calves while muted cobalt leggings hugged his legs suggestively. A sword and it's matching sheathe would stare from his hip, adjoined to a thick leather belt and a shining gold buckle, it's hilt inlaid with sapphires and a cherubic, smiling face laid out across the guard in such a way as to suggest that possibly, this demonic blade were in some way a farce, it's power sent on something much more melancholy if not entirely agreeable.

In his other hand, near his belly and made too plain to see, The Reader held the blade which the older man had dropped, his slender fingers wrapped around the horn-inlaid handle in a tender, almost maternal way.

It was then that the man heard the call, ignoring for a drawn out instant that the family unit had risen from the table together with chair legs screeching against old wood floors, and instead tasting the air for that unseen message.

Come to the city, it whispered in his ear, come and claim your place.

It was hard to ignore that, it always was. His eyes blazed golden in his skull for a single second before the color disappeared and the glacial grey returned, but the family had seen it, and The Reader had felt it thrum through him with a sudden heat. But, he deliberately defied the order, whispered as it was, and made his way towards the abandoned chair, which he derisively sat down on with a creak to his bones that might have hinted at his age. Was his true age closer to five hundred years now? It was another meaningless fact The Reader had left to the winds, he may have been thousands of years for all he knew and his carry as well as his manner in these things would have been the exact same. And yet, in the moment that he sat, The Reader felt a slight pang of regret fill him, as if the black chip of ice he dared to call a heart could possibly feel such an emotion. If there was anything he had reason to look back upon and sigh with ill ease, it would be the slow change of his ways, from the set down and well placed regent into something of a wayward son, itinerant and hopping from unwelcome home to horrid hovel and cave in equal measure as necessity dictated and laid out before him, hoping from each in the hope he could find a brief respite from day's special brand of scorn. The Reader could have, in turn, avoided the danger that came in his passing; a day or two was the most he could manage these days, with prying eyes all about and even his magic - which he considered impregnable - wouldn't last that long and surely he'd end up, in the middle of the day when he was the weakest, with someone running into town screaming about some seductive devil come to coddle on their blood and fear, screaming about the horrors it had committed and that it would continue to commit if they didn't form a lynch mod that instant and go in holy relics held high. He could have gone, in a single instant filled with sorcerous intent, and saved himself all of that trouble. What was it now, the third day here? Who knew, except for this fine family?

They had retreated into a corner, and as he set the knife against the wooden tabletop, he peered through the haze that a small oil lamp had cast around the room in some vain hope of dispatching the evening's shadows. Surprisingly, it was The Reader who reached a hand across the table, pulling the glass hood away from the wick even as the tips of his fingers burned and he had to pull the charred skin away from the superheated stuff, and turned the wick up with a quick turn of his wrist, cutting the time the lamp would burn in half but suddenly showering the room in a bright light that burned even his eyes. With light enough to study the family in detail now, he hadn't really spared them more than passing glances even as he'd bound all their wills to subservience, The Reader could really drink in that palpable air of fear about them all. There was the couple, the large hairy man and his slight thing of a wife. She was probably beautiful once, the lacking air of her lips hinted at sensuality and the casual lit of her eyes said that once, a smolder could have inspired bloodthirstiness in even the most abstinent of men and her bosom had been pulled at from child rearing, leaving once full breasts to sag obscenely. There was a son and daughter, the girl just entering the cusp of womanhood and seeming to have inherited the full force of her mother's charm but also the confident carry of her father - a dangerous combination if used correctly - and the boy was just beginning the first of many growths that'd lead him onto gaining his father's size and strength.

It was all as it should be, he decided with a grin, displaying teeth just as beautiful as the rest of his body.

Quietly, he flexed the mental portion of his mind, a compelling that even after three, maybe more, days to weave away at the edges, still held enough sway that the girl was forced to react to his willpower, whimpering softly as her arms and legs moved of their own accord and for whatever reason her mouth and throat refused to work if she would have screamed out for help. Her parents watched in horror, equally unable to react even though The Reader could feel their bluster and their anger and their desire to do something, anything, overrode whatever survival instinct was still alive in their bodies, while the girl turned towards the kitchen and grabbed at a clean goblet, and came to the table. She was forced to bare her forearm before The Reader and she was equally forced to look him in the eye as she did it, as she took that knife off of the table and held her pale arm over the goblet. He could smell the blood pumping through the veins that were close to her skin, he could see how her heart sped up when she saw the hunger pouring out of his eyes, turning them into black coals that were as bright and as deadly as the sun. He could see her struggling against the willpower, trying to regain control of her errant flesh, but either she was too weak at this point or there simply wasn't a way to subvert it. She wanted to scream, but couldn't, and it took only a measure of The Reader's power in order to enforce the binding on both she and her parents. The knife rose, and with an awkward slash, it bit down deep into the flesh of her arm, deep enough that it was fatal, and everyone in the house knew it in that stark instant as the blood drained from her face and she managed to mostly fill the goblet before her balance failed her, and she fell to the floor a terrified wreck. He indulged her resistance then, allowing it to slip just enough that her pained whimpers became something a bit stronger, with relish he heard as it turned into the dying gasps of a girl who wanted just a few years more, to feel the loving embrace of a man at least once, to finish the embroidery her mother was coaching her through, anything. But it was to no avail, and The Reader took the goblet up in his hands, and sniffed at the blood. There was not only a delicious, wonderful mixture of resignation and sheer terror that took her over to the afterlife, and he gave a short wave as her spirit was pulled away and lost. The blood was important now, and he brought it to his lips, slowly.

The first pull was always the sweetest.

While he was disappointed he hadn't yet learned how to absorb the delicious vitality and youth and vital energies, god knows what else, directly instead of having to filter it through such a medium as blood in order to sustain himself. He didn't much mind it, at this point, he was simply accepting of the fact for the time being he was forced onto the level more fitting of an animal rather than the cultured and seductive facade he wore, retaining a relatively human identity instead of allowing that to slip and becoming ruled exclusively by his instincts and his hungers. That would be a sweet sustenance indeed, if he could ever manage to do it. But yet, the girl's emotions were dying out even as he finished the drink of her blood, and stood from the table, still not completely sated and more than willing to alter his form so that he could bound across the table and tear the throats out of the others. Similar excursions littered the countryside, homes bereft of life and merely bloodied wrecks of their former selves, with bodies splayed in the most unnatural positions for some sick demon's glee. It already began, the tips of his fingers quickly calcifying into claws that dug into the table, his muscles popping and weaving as they remade themselves into something entirely predatory. He growled, somewhere deep in his gut, a sound that made, even against The Reader's will, the younger child piss himself in a mess as he suddenly let out a single strangled cry that shook through the house and almost startled the parents into shouting action.

Power, the voice was back, whispering sweet nothings into The Reader's ear, don't fall back upon your old ways. Come already.

His eyes narrowed, dangerously.

The parents wouldn't know what really happened that night. They never would, he knew. Their expressions went blank as he passed them on his way out, a wave of his hand pressing their memories and squeezing out the pulp until it could be replaced. By the time he was stepping into the portal, they wouldn't remember he had ever entered the house in the middle of that rainstorm, they'd only remember that they'd boarded up the house just in case the storm got bad. Someone had rearranged their cellar for whatever reason. Their daughter, their sweet,sweet flower of a girl, she had taken her own life without telling a single person why, and by the time they found her, a bloodied knife in her hand and a look of terror so well etched on her face, it was too late for any intervention, and they buried her out back beside her grandfather. They deserved to be together, even in death, she loved him so much.

This monster, this particular brand of devil, he didn't leave a trail behind him.

It was here that The Reader, Jean Baere as he was known in life, would enter Sigil and hiss when he realized it wasn't quite dark yet.

[Flakkky]

The Dapper Duo

Tyrone Tyson
&
Frankie Jack Washington

Market Ward...

Fire? Make things fly? Create things? Both Tyrone and Frankie were intrigued that a little girl, especially one named Twiggy, can do all that. To them, magic was some fabled thing told in whimsical stories or shown on TV like in Disney movies. It felt real when experiencing it through some form of medium, and no matter how much they wished as kids to discover they were secret magicians or had Dragon Ball Z powers, it was fake. An abstract thing created by their imagination.

But as they walked underneath the floating hill, the idea of magic became more real to them. Even though they have been in Sigil for a couple of weeks now, their skepticism clung to them as some desperate self-denying measure. Because if they really think about, all they understood and knew before Sigil was a lie.

“T-that's incredible,” Frankie blurted.

“Yeah, kid, it is,” Tyrone said. When Frankie wasn't paying attention, Tyrone looked sharply at Twiggy and made eye contact. He was trying his best to read the child's motive, if she had one. And hell, who knew if she was a child in the first place. For Tyrone, the child and her measly bean-can holding pillowcase rubbed him wrong, because she reminded him of when he was a child crying in the streets for attention. And then those people who stopped to help, he would rub them blind...

He looked away before Frankie's attention returned. “To a couple of regular dudes like us, that's stinkin' amazing. I wish I can make fire, it'll save me on lighter fluid for my Zippo.”

They passed a wall of stone that had fell and looked weathered from the passage of time. Underneath them was an uneven road of bricks plagued by thick weeds growing between the cracks. When they rounded a corner where a huge, gnarled tree stood, they found a fork in the road. One path clearly led to the bustling bazaar that both men grew to love. The other path was dark and sinister looking and flowed underneath thick ungrounded roots that formed a sort of arched hallway. Large enough to fit a small party that walked shoulder to shoulder. High enough for Twiggy to stay on Frankie's shoulders.

Dark enough to be scary.

Frankie started toward the bustling bazaar.

“Hold up, where you're goin'?” Tyrone asked, standing his ground.

Frankie stopped and stared at him questionably. “To the market where there's people and pockets to pick and light.”

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” Tyrone said. “Don't tell me you're going to wuss out because the woods got dark. You don't know what's in there. Could be... what? Fairies and pixies and a friendly, talking reindeer with a big red nose?”

“You're ********' with me right?”

“Look, I'm going to scout the market, get some info on this part of the neighborhood. Why don't you and the kiddo hang ten. Keep an eye on her, y'know, she doesn't look all that great. Just be ready to get going like grease lightning.”

Tyrone gave them a two-finger salute and his infamous slick smile. His eyes were fixed mostly on Twiggy, glinting with distrust. Before he left, he reached out and snatched at her pillowcase. He might have ripped it out of her hands, but if she was as tired as she looked, it would have been easy. That and he was pretty fast with his hands.

“The hell, Tyrone!”

“Gonna need it!” He yelled before walking into the direction of the bazaar. He removed the can of beans from the pillow case and tossed it over his shoulder. Frankie caught it.

Shaking his head disapprovingly, Frankie took Twiggy from his shoulders and set her down on a soft patch of grass. He crouched beside her and sighed while turning the can of beans in his hands. “The guy's as dumb as a sack of rocks but he got a knack for mischief. Dude's gifted when it comes to finding trouble.”

He looked nervously at the archway of roots and darkness. “You wouldn't know anything about that direction, would you, Twiggy?”

Lian Feaorne

((O.O.C: Please forgive me for the auto-grab. I'll change it if you have a problem with it. If not, I owe you one.))

[ImNoHero]

Contained, but for how long? It wasn't like Jinsoku's condition. Anger was an element of chaos. And it would only be a matter of time before that anger consumed Eric, making him even more dangerous and destructive than he could imagine to be at this very moment. All it took was the proper provocation. Simply put, he was a threat to Sigil. The City of Doors which was currently the only city Jinsoku had successfully protected and would aspire to continue doing so.

His job fell short as assumed. And as Eric rocked back just enough to miss it, Jinsoku shifted his left into the lead, while retracting that right fist. As his left came into the lead, his leg lifted from the ground, positioning itself perfectly as his weight rocked back on his now planted right leg. His left heel aligned with the hip, bent at the knee. And without a pause, with perfect fluid grace, he executed a left sidekick. His aura remained the same, mild yet consistent. His charcoal iris' began to glow a blue so bright, they almost appeared white.

Battle Points: 10

Slash Zinrai

[Lian Feaorne]

Epic Myth

arrow The Market Ward

"Humans in Sigil can learn magic too. It just takes a little while. I'm an elf so I've had a long time to learn."'Twiggy' nodded. These humans were definitely not of the Gaia Planar variety. They seemed to be...wary of what they saw. It was a good thing to have in Sigil considering nothing was as it seemed. Tyrone seemed to catch that when they made eye contact...but Frankie? He took it for what he saw in front of him. When they stopped at a crossroads, Lian looked around at where they were in relation to her company building. It was still the Market Ward, but this area was...sort of like an odd leftover of space that hadn't been developed. Nor could it. Much of it was either so magic-bound it couldn't be altered or something in the dark woods made people wary. There were still undiscovered corners of Sigil if you went off the beaten and stoned roads.

While her attention was turned to the dark tunnel of woods in the middle of the city, she felt a sharp tug on the pillow case and soon a hard jerk that sent her tilting. Tyrone took the pillowcase from her, the small elf glaring at him as she crossed her arms on top of Frankie's head in disapproval. At least he left the beans. The Pillowcase she could do without, it was just an extra. Lian felt herself be lifted and eased onto the grass. She ran her hands along the mix of brittle and green surface. It did make her feel at ease...but also terribly homesick. She listened to Frankie, eyeing the can of beans in his hands. "My...Mama would have said he would make a good elf. Being unseen and unheard is an elf thing."She said, shuffling over and carefully taking the can of beans from his hands, turning them over in her own as she tried to think of a way to open it.

As for the woods....

Lian looked over, stared and shrugged. "It's a wood nymph's hollow. That would explain why there's a woods in the middle of the Market Ward. Nymphs are good healers..."She said, but perked her ears for a second, her face reddening a little. "Nymphs are like faeries...but instead of being tiny they can change into trees and grow things. This whole area covered in grass might be part of what they made."

She turned her attention to the can of beans, then turned it over so she was looking at the top. She tapped it with her fingers, thinking of a way to open it. Lian raised her tiny index finger, dirty from rummaging around in the dust and dirt of the abandoned market and squinted at it. At the tip of her finger, it started to spark and slowly turned into a small flame. She was hungry and without a can opener, the only way she could get it was either to blow it up or try to cut a hole in the lid with heat. She would rather the second method. Lian looked up to Frankie, smiling and wiggling her little finger flame.

[Trexasle]

Mechanical Failure

The clacking of metal to the stone sidestreet could only slightly be heard through thecrowd who had proceeded to scream. A while armored panther ran through Sigil, a bad on it’s back. It’s claws dug through the grown with each and every step, the people in it’s way were either plowed under the creature or simply jumped away outright. It It seemed to be in a rush, the bag seemingly heavily even though the creature was running on all fours it seemed to take the load fine, if a bit buckled down. The claws themselves began to glow a hot red color, each time the claw collided with the ground the glow became brighter. The Animal took Sight of Lian and the other two males who was obviously in it’s way. It gave off a distorted roar, one that might actually have sounded familiar to Leon if she noted the frequency. It sounded almost like a robotic cry, as if the creature was crying inside of his armored prison.


However the cry did not last for long, It would stop right next to Tyrone Claws digging into the ground, the panther now proceeded to hiss, another distorted sound, which certainly wouldn’t be pleasant to the ears. It was staring at them in some sense telling them to move away or that they’ll be next under his claws. The creature now stared down at the three, and then in back of him, he was being followed by what seemed to be the few brave citizens that it had wronged. The bag contents began to leak from the top showing the content of the bag, Gold and lots of it. It would seem that the armored creature was nothing more than your common thief. One had to wonder however, how it obtained the tech, especially being nothing more than your petty thief.

Epic Myth

Lian Fearone

[Flakkky]

The Thug Warriors

TRANSFORM~!

Tyrone Tyson (Invisible)
&
Frankie Jack Washington (Shield Up)

Market Ward... is in a frenzy!

Tyrone barely entered the throngs of market goers when calamity struck. Different folks and creatures alike cried out unintelligibly as the people dispersed in all directions in front of Tyrone. Caught off guard, Tyrone froze, something he didn't do very often, but he too was new to this world and its unpredictable nature like Frankie. When he could finally see through the crowd and the dust that they kicked up, he glimpsed at an armored feline, a large one at that with glowing red claws tearing up the stone beneath its paws. Tyrone witnessed it barrel over a poor couple, but strangely it would come to a sliding stop in front of him.

While Twiggy was going to burn a hole into the can of beans—and Frankie would admire this feat of magic with boyish awe, betraying his rough and tough appearance—Frankie thought of the Nymphs as being nymphomaniacs. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue, although, with Twiggy being there in front of him, he stiffened his lip and let it pass. Unlike Tyrone—who was most likely on the edge of being a Nymph, the procreative kind, not the turned into trees kind—Frankie could keep his mouth shut.

But he let loose a scream when a metal jungle cat appeared from nowhere in front of Tyrone.

“What the ******** is that?” Frankie said, jumped up, and faced the creature with balled, trembling fists. There was a thirty foot gap separating Tyrone from Frankie and Twiggy's position which left him isolated. “Move it, Tyrone!”

Tyrone snapped to. “******** me,” he said and bolted to the side. If he got that far, he leaped over a barrel of grain and bounded over a stand of bread and baked goods. He would roll into his landing, head over heels and come to a sliding stop on his backside surrounded by boxes and aisles of food.

And as he did this, his clothing transformed. The sleeves of his navy-blue blazer tore off his arms into millions of whipping tendrils that surged into the back of the blazer. What remained morphed into a hood and cloak. His pocket square unfolded and swirled around his lower face. His slacks changed into loose leggings with cargo pockets. His loafers changed into brown boots. His simple light blue long sleeve shirt became of wool, thicker and tougher.

At the end of his maneuver and transformation... he turned invisible. Although, from Frankie and Twiggy and the metal panther's perspective, he was gone among the vending stands already.

Secluded, Tyrone looked down at himself in surprise. “Whoa... what happened to my hands? Where the hell are my legs? Where is my body? Man, I gotta be tripping balls!”

As for Frankie, he underwent his own transformation after Tyrone did. His black one-button Tuxedo, shirt, vest, slacks and dress shoes changed into plate armor like that of a medieval knight. Everything was as black as the night except for the higher portion of his breast plate and gorget, which was like a metal neck protector; that portion was purple with rims of pink.

The only thing that remained uncovered was his head and his hands.

Frankie looked down at himself uncertain of this new development. His attention returned to the threatening feline monster. He figured it wanted them out of the way. “Let's just move to the side, real slow like, okay, Twiggy,” he said in a hushed voice and started to shuffle to his left. He made sure to keep Twiggy behind him the whole time as they moved. He didn't make plans to die to a oversize, mechanized cat.

In the mean time, the angered citizens following behind the panther might have caught up by now, and started throwing rocks, spells, and whatnot at it.

Tyrone would have been freaking out, since one, he was invisible, and two, there was a giant metal panther with a bag on its back rampaging. But the sound of coins hitting the ground caught his attention. From his position, he could look under the tables and see the panther's paws and the loot he was dropping... gold.

Lian Feaorne

Trexasle

[Lian Feaorne]

arrow The Market Ward

Twiggy grinned, wiggling her little finger and was about to press it into the top of the lid so she could get at the beans inside. She didn't mind eating them cold. It was actually preferred where she came from along with a bit of toast and eggs. She paused, looking up when she heard the chaos. Ahead, she could see...Oh no...Lian could tell right away that it was a Liger Suit. She had spent enough time fighting and arguing with Terrance to know what it looked like...but this one was all white. A new model? She slowly got up to her feet, her hand dropping the can of beans as she stared at it. It almost broke her heart to see it acting like this...Was this an AI malfunction? Had Terrance finally gone mad? Lian caught the glimmer of something on it's back...her eyebrows knitting together in an angry furrow.

She watched as Tyrone transformed into something like a Ninja and Frankie, a knight. They were kidding when they said the suits were magical in a way. They were Fighter Models, probably from local magic shop looking to make a few warriors out of thin air. Both didn't seem to know what they would do though. Twiggy looked up to Frankie, staring at him then wandering her eyes down to the Liger Suit in front of them that was screaming...And she had to wonder if the person inside was Terrance at all. It sounded confused and in a lot of pain. She stepped around Frankie, slowly approaching the Liger Suit. Here she was, stuck as an eight year old and probably get crushed but in this moment she forgot all that.

Lian approached it, standing in front of it and staring into it's eyes as much as she could. "Take off that suit before you die. It's not worth it."She spoke to it, calmly.

Epic Myth

Trexasle

[Zeonis Mieriba]

Tres Ecstuffuan

Li the Fox

Alarmingly Charming

Zeonis glanced around the room nervously. His eyes darting from patron to patron. Discomfort etched across his face. A familiar aura was making it's way towards the tavern. The person would be here within minutes,. Zeonis knew who it was, and the pain they would bring with them. "Al'hara...if I fight were to break out in this place. Would it be out of the ordinary? Also...how quickly can the guards get here if a fight were to happen?" Zeonis kept his eyes fixed on the door as he spoke. Any moment his retainer would arrive, and he could only pray that his retainer would be merciful.