Avioke's ρost-style testiηɡ ♠

[Avioke]

SPAKE: darkred -- MIND SPAKE: same, with -- OTHERS: #78504a

One moment, Baal-Malage was watching over the humans. He did this often. In fact, he did little else. This was their calling, their very purpose - to protect them. And how could he protect them, even if the next time was thousands of years in the future, if he did not know them? Mal liked to think that this was why he had never questioned Ashtia. He liked to think that this was the reason that he was content with their task while some of the others were not. Mal spent more time with the humans, and he had learned to love them as Ashtia did.

Of course, the others did not think so. The others believed that Mal only thought this way because he could not think any other way, though they had never said it. After all, his mind was the Goddess' mind. Mal could see this reason, but he did not think that being linked with Ashtia in such a way hindered his own mind. Rather, it cleared his mind. Living with Ashtia's mind as his own was like living with the veil lifted, Mal fancied, and he rather pitied his companions for being blind to what the world was really like.

In the next moment, however, he felt himself falling. It was a strange feeling, one that he did not experience often. While Mal knew a few of his companions would be filled with varying negative emotions, Mal found that he was feeling something close to happiness. Here he was, getting another chance to serve his Goddess, and walking among the humans again. This is what he loved to do. Serving gave him such a satisfaction that nothing else could give him. He had seen the human civilization enough from above, so while he was falling he merely closed his eyes and felt the wind rush over him, savoring the weightless feeling.

Just before he hit the ground, Mal opened his eyes and braced himself. He hit with a resounding thud, and dirt and rocks sprang up from the ground only to rain upon it and him a moment later. Mal had created a small crater, but it seemed nothing else was damaged. He was in a field with its lush green grass chewed down to an uneven carpet. He took a step and looked around. There were trees on the edge of this field that stretched wide and far, and on the other side was the road with a moldy and pest-infested wooden fence. The field was not flat, nor was it small. Rocks studded the earth and extended out like great reaching fingers. The hills were great rolling waves colored with the varieties of flowers that dotted them.

It took Mal a moment to realize that the objects peering from behind a boulder were people. They were very small people, and when they saw he was looking at them the disappeared again. A few goats grazed not far away, not bothered by his dramatic appearance and uninterested in him thus far. Mal stared at the boulder and turned to face it, tilting his head. He was about to speak when a little girl dressed in an old gray-blue dress peered around the boulder. After a moment she stepped out, pointing at Mal and speaking to someone who was still behind the boulder. An adolescent boy grabbed her hand and pulled back, stepping out to face the object that had fallen from the sky. When he saw the man standing there he jumped and clearly was about to make for the boulder when a sudden realization stopped him. He did not look like he knew quite what to think of the situation. It was only then that Mal realized that the wind was just a bit too chilly. He looked down and lo and behold, he was stark naked. "Ah," he uttered, his voice soft and husky from misuse. Not that it got much louder and clearer when he did use it.

"You're naked!" the little girl cried before she began to laugh, back from behind the boulder. The adolescent boy hit her arm in a panicked way, and from behind a rock peered another girl, who was much older. She stared openly as well for a good five seconds before going back behind the rock and saying something to the boy, who rolled his eyes. When he looked back to the strange crimson-haired man standing in the field, he was no longer naked. Mal now had on his usual garb, tweaked so that he would blend in better with the civilization thousands of years after he had last worn it. It wasn't very fine or impressive, and it was not armor, but it did seem otherworldly, much like his sharp features and harsh golden eyes.

Mal took one step forward, putting his hands up to ease their tension. "I mean you no harm. Where am I?"

Still guarded, the boy nudged the small girl, who looked to be his little sister, back a few steps. She looked at him furiously, then stepped forward and around her exasperated brother. "You are in our field!" A ghost of a smile touched Mal's mouth. Young children always amazed him. They lacked care and were completely naive, but their innocence was something that Mal rejoiced in.

The oldest sister came out from behind the boulder again, unashamed to stared at him now while he was clothed. "This is just a village, Lorae." Mal knew it now, and a map of the surrounding area popped up in his head. He had studied the humans' civilization for so long that he knew the names and locations of most villages, towns, cities, and landmarks.

"What road leads to the capital?" Mal asked gently.

The eldest girl pointed to her right, to the road in the distance. "Through Lorae, which is down that way. Follow the road clean through and you should reach it by days end."

Mal examined the road and nodded. That was his destination - he could feel it. But where were his brothers and sisters? They were not by his side. He looked up briefly. Had he been sent alone? He doubted it. There was no way that any one of them could perform their duty without the other six... but what was their mission? Mal's brow creased and his eyes fell to the road in the distance. He knew where to go. Ashtia had told him. But he did not know what to do. Sure that it would become clear to him eventually, Mal said, "Thank you," before setting off with a deliberate step. Before very long, Mal could see on the horizon, very far in the distance, the form of a great city. That was his destination, the capital of Vartia.

[Avioke]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxcrawling down your spine xx to make you stay. xxxxxx covering your eyes xx I'll make you pay.

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SPEAKING COLOUR: #337777 OTHERS: #997755

"Van, darling. 'Tis not so much bravery as... prudence, shall we say," Barande said. She refused to abandon that nickname. Whether she meant to flirt with him or down-talk him with this method, Shirav did not mind. "I stand to gain much from my bond with you, so why not capitalize upon it? If I treat you well, perhaps I could get an 'advance payment' on our little contract?" Shirav's smile widened a touch and he tilted his head. He did not speak the response that came to his mind then, which was something along the lines of: But my contract is not with you. Barande was making no contract, no bargain, no agreement - she was the payment to the contract between Shirav and her father. She had her perk - immortality. He supposed that that was what she must have been talking of. Goodness gracious, what a girl. Keeping her eyes on the prize. Shirav chuckled to himself.

In response to his attempt to appearing more human in her eyes, Barande scoffed. Shirav didn't think he could get her to believe in his humanity so quickly, but her sure and quick response was almost... annoying. Shirav knew he was a very good liar. Shouldn't she have had to pause, at least for a moment? "I don't know if you've ever been in a fight before, but letting your opponent know that you're exhausted is never a smart move," she said. Shirav let out a short laugh. Of course he'd been in a fight before - quite a few, actually. What kind of culture did this princess think demons had? It wasn't exactly polite society, at least not by their standards. And Shirav wasn't even born into his current position. He'd fought from the bottom up. And he thought it was funny that she thought they were opponents. As if he was, dare she think so, threatened by her. She continued, saying, "Even if I do get tired, I won't show it. You'll only know it when I fall over. That said..."

With all that said, Barande rolled over and situation herself so that she was halfway laying on top of him and halfway to the side. Once there, she wrapped her arms around his torso. Shirav didn't move and his relaxed smile did not change. "I don't think I'll soon tire of talking to you. When I'm with you, I feel like I'm on fire. Princess or not, there are certain games I could play for eternity."

Shirav chuckled again, tilting his head. She didn't quite know the rules to his demonic game, though, did she? "How unfortunate. And I was just about to congratulate you that you were the lucky one of the group. You'll have several lifetimes all to yourself with me as your mate." He was referring, of course, to his little... condition. His grine condition. He had died while possessing a human long ago, the ability of his particular species of demon. As a result he lived only as long as that human had. Then, as he died, a human was born. When that human died, Shirav reappeared in the demon world, just as he was, and lived as long as that human. So on it had gone with Shirav only living for half the amount of years that had passed. So on it would continue. Barande would be alone for about eighty years at a time.

Glancing over his head, Shirav realised that the sun was lowering in the sky. Dinnertime was approaching. He beamed a moment, then sat himself up, along with Barande since she was still situated on his chest. "The castle or Orcus or someone, I have no idea, set out some outfit or another for you. Go on then, go find it. The time for the party is approaching," Shirav said brightly, winking at her. Find it she did, and adorn it she did. She looked rather fabulous, Shirav had to think. She was not so sure. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, her expression unreadable to him. He had remained on the bed and now lay stomach-down with his chin resting in his heads while he watched her. "What? Don't like it?" Shirav wondered.

"Well, it's not that I don't like it," she told him, her eyes still on her very flattering outfit. Really, Shirav did not pay attention to clothing much. Orcus knew that, and so did the silly castle-boy-thing, so one of them could have laid it out for her. It certainly wasn't Shirav. "But I think there are some important parts missing," he heard her finish. Shirav only scoffed in reply. What important parts? There was nothing important about clothing. He turned over to lay on his back, letting his head loll off the end of the bed so he could gaze at her upside down. "Or maybe it has things that could be removed. I know that I'm 'supposed' to wear this thing to dinner, but can't you do something about it, Van darling?" she asked.

"Why would I want to?" he replied somewhat sensually. "I like it. There are no frills or flowery things to get in the way." He chuckled to himself. "Actually, there's very little to get in the way, now that I think of it. But if you don't want to wear it, you really don't have to. There aren't rules on what you have to wear. And if there are, just break them anyway." He grinned. "There are probably female clothes in the closet now. Somewhere."

After some silence, the princess turned to him. "Isn't it about time for you to get dressed anyway?" Shirav narrowed his eyes at the ceiling in thought. He couldn't just go in what he was already wearing? "Someone will be along to summon us any time now." Well, that wasn't true. They were just supposed to go to the dining hall when they were ready. The thing that was making Shirav consider was the question of which dining hall. The dining hall that the demons usually ate in? With all the souls and blood and stuff? The castle would have cleaned that up. Or would they go to the party dining hall, the large one? He assumed the latter, since they would have quite a few lowly demon guests to... entertain that night. The more, the merrier. Just then, Barande said, "Or perhaps you need some... encouragement? I suppose I might be persuaded to help you undress."

Oh, she was just delightful. Shirav rolled onto his stomach again and crossed his arms, resting his chin on his forearms while he gazed at her, a showy thinking face on. "Tempting," he murmured. "But I thought I'd just stay in this. Orcus would be furious..." Shirav grinned at the thought, his eyes trailing to the side. Suddenly, he sat up. "But tonight is a special occasion. I wouldn't dare disrespect all the royalty present with my laziness!" The royalty that Shirav spoke of so enigmatically was not the human princes and princesses. It was rather the wonderful surprise of the demon king's presence. Shirav shuddered with anticipation, leaping off the bed with a good amount of grace and striding into his - correction: their - closet. He went through all the hanging items, throwing all rejected attire out the closet door. He found the pants first. He considered continuing the desert-goer vibe, but decided on something a little more tailored and professional, if only because he was going to soil it with blood later on. What an image that would create. Order and chaos, all mixed into one. Shirav adorned the full pants, then he threw a clean white shirt out onto the bed, then a red and gold-embroidered vest after, and then finally a black suit jacket. He stood in front of the shoes and ties for a good minute and a half, debating whether or not to wear any. He skipped on the blighted ties - horrible things, those - but grudgingly threw out a pair of shoes. He'd probably take them off later anyway.

As Shirav exited the closet, he pulled off his desert-going, open-chest shirt and tossed it over an upright candle stand, whistling a tune. His naked upper body was just as tanned as any Shok-Driran man, his skin clearly rough and wind-worn. Or, it appeared so. Shirav favoured this desert appearance. The scars that criss-crossed his entire body, however, were not a choice. He had earned those from years, centuries of fighting to be where he was now. He donned the shirt, facing Barande with a contented little smile on his face. "Are you ready to experience some rather demonic festivities?" he wondered with a quick wink, the tone of his voice suggesting that 'demonic festivities' included some rather unsavoury actions. Which it did, but it was a different kind of unsavoury. He took a moment to tuck the long necklace of assorted metal beads under his shirt before continuing to dress himself.

Vest and jacket adorned, Shirav straightened himself, making a face at the shoes on the ground. He did not often dress in such constricting, fancy attire. "Orcus is going to love this," he whined, as if this were the worst possible outcome, looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes trailed to the reflection of Barande next to him and a devious little smile came to his mouth again. "Don't we make a pair?" Their clothing did not match, no, but they were both tan, athletic figures with casual, loose stances and easy, smiling masks. They both hid what they were feeling expertly, and they were both, in their own secret ways, determined to be the victor in their new relationship. Shirav chuckled and walked away, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on the shoes that he would more than likely be taking off in less than half an hour. "Shall we make our way up? I don't think anyone is coming to meet us."

Without much more discussion and with a little more outfit adjustments for each of them, Shirav led Barande through the halls. Horrifyingly, they were the first to arrive in the dining room. Shirav scoffed and turned on his heel again. Orcus may be able to see him dressed well - with shoes, no less - but he would never catch Shirav arriving early, or even on time. Looping his arm through Barande's, Shirav strolled through the halls toward the gardens in the back. "I always like to arrive fashionably late," he explained. With a sniff, he re-thought his attire for the eighteenth time, then he stopped suddenly and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and let it hang open. Again, he looped his arm through Barande's and passed the time with a walk.



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these callous eyes x how they i n f e c t your world xx so you pretend to reason x but you've l o s t y o u r s o u l.

[Avioke]

SPAKE: #c78c7c -- OTHERS: #717c7c

Anna Perena had very little time to react. In one second, she was soaring over the heads of travelers coming from all backgrounds. She recklessly drove her horse onward, sure to watch the road for people but doing little else. They could all get out of her way in time if she did not notice them. Perena thought of where she might go, relishing in her freedom and the wind in her face.

While her mind was elsewhere, Anna Perena did not see the flash of a dress through the woods. Over Iacche's pounding hooves, she did not hear the sobbing and panting of the girl making her way to the road, right where the princess would storm over in just seconds.

Too late, Perena saw the small girl. She couldn't have been over seven years old. Panicked, Anna Perena heaved Iacche's reigns back, trying to stop the enormous horse from running the poor girl right over. Too late, too late. Dread filled Perena as she desperately tried to make Iacche turn or rear or something that would give the girl some time to get out of the way. She tried to scream at the girl to move, but her voice was caught. She already feared the repercussions of killing a civilian - a child, no less. How could she ever forgive herself? How could the family ever forgive her? What would her father do? Her poor mother!

A flash of red, and a spray of dirt. Iacche stopped right on the girl. Perena struggled to breathe, looking around wildly. Oh, she hoped the girl escaped. She hoped she wasn't trampled under Iacche. No one would have survived that, let alone someone so small. Anna Perena peered around and there was a woman, armoured in metal plates of the deepest red. The princess stared. She certainly had a presence about her. A presence of power, of stability. There was something about her that made Anna Perena's breath catch. In the strong, capable arms of this very calm woman was the small girl Perena had almost just killed.

Frozen in place, Anna Perena could not dismount. However much she wished she could, she couldn't move a single muscle. She wanted to get down on her knees and beg the girl's forgiveness, to thank the woman and declare her a hero or a knight or give her some sort of a reward. Perena could only put her shaking hand on her abdomen and stare, images of what could have happened flashing before her eyes.

She was brought out of her stupor when the girl began to sob. She cried for help, and for a moment, Anna Perena thought she might be afraid of her. She held out her hand as if to stop her, but the girl's next words froze her again. "You have to, miss. They be bandits at the nearest fork." Bandits. Anna Perena stared, her mouth clamping closed and red coming to her face. Bandits? Bandits in her kingdom? So close to the capital? They wouldn't dare. "Please! They are killing everyone!"

That was it. That was the final straw. Perena gripped Iacche's reigns so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and her face coloured more and more with a deep anger. Killing her people? Perena did not think so. Her head whipped around to where the girl had come from. She could see her tracks. The nearest fork? That would be just around the bend in the road ahead, a little ways north. Baring her teeth, the princess reached down to Iacche's saddle and gripped the hilt of her sword. She pulled it out, the sound of scraping steel filling the space around them. She looked down at the girl, struggling to be gentle. "Past the bend, to the north?" The girl stared at Perena, then gave the tiniest nod. Anna Perena narrowed her eyes and glared into the trees. "Right," she breathed. "Woman, I thank you for your assistance. You will be rewarded. Please relay this information to the guard at the gate, and have a squadron of men back me up." Without so much as a glance, Perena kicked Iacche into motion and turned him to follow the girl's tracks back into the woods so she could attack from the trees.

Through the woods she rode, her anger only building with her speed. The princess expertly maneuvered through the dense trees, her sword out and by her side. In the back of her mind she was hoping desperately that the guard would arrive in time to help her. She knew she couldn't defeat a group of skilled bandits on her own, especially if they held hostages. But mostly, Anna Perena was hoping she would get there before anyone was hurt. The young girl had mentioned her mother and brother.

When she heard screams, the clang of steel, and barked words, Anna Perena brought Iacche to a halt. The horse was not small, and therefore they probably heard him coming. Perena would have to think fast. She knew from experience that bandits didn't care that she was the princess, so commanding them to stop with only her station to back her up wouldn't do much good. So she straightened her shoulders and kicked Iacche on. He stormed through the remaining brush and emerged from the thick woods onto the road.

There were eight of them. One of them was holding a woman against him with his dagger at her throat. They were not a well-off bunch. Anna Perena was not surprised. Any bandit group that attacked so close to the capital was either stupid or desperate. Perena sneered at them with confidence, raising her impressive sword and sitting tall in her saddle. Her dress might have taken away from the menacing look that she was going for, but with her sword raised, the bandits could clearly see that she had the muscle and knowledge to use it. Plus, she was on a gigantic horse. "You are surrounded!" she roared over the sound of their shouting. A boy not much younger than her was forced into a kneel, a bandit holding each arm and a fistful of his hair. There was a sword at his neck as well. "If they come to harm, you will all perish. If you release them and their belongings, we will let you go freely." That was, of course, a lie. But it would be easy to track them. Easier to hunt than to try to kill them on her own.

There was not only eight of them. Anna Perena saw him out of the corner of her eye. He jumped from the bushes and made to grab her ankle. Perena swung her sword around in a crescent fast as lightning, slicing through his leather armour and skin from the bottom of the his rib cage, up his chest, up his neck, all the way to his chin. He fell back, spilling his blood into the dirt. Perena whipped her head around again, glaring down the remaining eight bandits with her bloodied sword held high. "Flee," she spat. "Else I will order my men to attack."

"What men?" one man said, making a show of looking around. Most of them remained unfazed by their comrade's death. "I see no one."

"Be assured," Anna Perena hissed. "When I give my signal, you will see them. I give you a chance to flee. Is the meager sum of gold from these commoners worth your blood?" She gestured wildly to their hostages.

They remained silent. One of them, obviously new to the life, blurted, "'Ow do we know ye won't kill us when we turn our backs?" He was shoved back with a threatening look from one of the older men.

"You don't," Anna Perena snapped. "But you do know that it is your one chance to live. I can see that none of you have been long in this way." Well, that wasn't true. There was one among them, a dark archer near the back, who looked as bloodthirsty as any. He just had to be an archer, didn't he? Perena glared right at him. "Go now and you will be left in peace." Left to rest in peace, if Perena had anything to say about it.

Suddenly, the experienced archer notched an arrow and drew it back, aiming at her. He was steady, cold, and calm. Everything an assassin would be. Perena could not help but freeze. The bow did not shake or waver. He knew what he was doing, and he was aiming to kill. "There is no guard," he said coolly. "Join the boy and his mother, girlie, and you won't lose your life." Well. That lie was a waste of time, then. Which was precisely the point. The guard should be along any moment now, if the woman in red had done as she requested. Anna Perena bit her bottom lip, making a show of thinking about it, then she slowly lowered her sword. The archer smiled a little. "Played pretty brave, didn't you? Not so loud now." Perena narrowed her eyes at him, one of them twitching in annoyance.

To fight and risk the lives of the mother and brother, or to play along? Perena thought fast as she slid her sword back in its sheath attached to her saddle. While she swung her leg over, she pretended to struggle. It was believable, or at least she thought so. She was on a huge horse, and the saddle was clearly not a typical saddle. In the midst of her squirming and struggling, Perena managed to draw the dagger on her thigh and hide it in the midst of her skirts. She went around to the other side and let one of them grab the reigns of Iacche. Someone took her arm and held a dagger to her throat as they searched her saddlebags. The archer kept his eye on Anna Perena, giving her little chance to make any move.

'This whole thing hasn't been very well thought out,' the princess told herself mentally. She was not good at thinking before jumping.

Just then, a deep voice entered her head. It was like no voice she had ever heard, reverberating in her skull like iron bells and blaring horns. She let out a gasp, unable to focus on the words the voice was saying. She did not even realise that there were words until she overcame her shock. Chills went down her spine and she shut her eyes tightly. "Do nothing, princess." Perena opened her eyes again and looked around. Her gaze rested on the archer. Could he have...?

An arrow sliced through the rookie's neck, and then the blood came pouring. He toppled over instantly, and the rest of them turned to face their new assailant up the road. He was uphill from them, holding a drawn black bow. His hair was as red as the blood he had just spilled, but that was the only detail that Perena could pick out from that distance. The archer pulled back his arrow, barking orders that Anna Perena could hardly hear, and launched it. Almost as if he could foresee the future, the man stepped just out of range of the arrow, his eyes intent on the archer. And then the princess could hear something very faint. She almost missed it, but the words seemed to be sent out in all directions, calling for someone. "Seiorai. Esme." And that was all.

While the bandits were scrambling to get themselves in order, Anna Perena brought up her leg and slammed her heel into the knee of her captor. He screamed and she thrust her elbow back into his face. Ripping the knife from her skirts, she grabbed the collar of the lone man holding the brother and pulled him to her blade. It stuck between his ribs, and she took his sword, pointing it at the throat of the man who held the mother. "Release her," she said, only because she couldn't get a clear swing or thrust at him.

[Avioke]

xxxxx

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SPAKE: #494b8b || OTHERS: #998877

Perhaps Ysbad should have been grateful for the extra time to sleep. Instead he was frustrated. For the past week, he had been treated as he had only been treated when he was a child and his few visits since then. The tie between being pampered and being a child was in his subconscious only - he knew, in the forefront of his mind, quite well that royalty were always treated this way, adult and no. But Ysbad could not shake the feeling that he was being looked down upon, as if he could not take care of himself. It was a sore, deja-vu sort of feeling. The Demonai Warriors had never let Ysbad get away with anything, not even sleeping in. Not that he had tried - the years before the Demonai were filled to the brim with formal military training as a foot soldier, so he had learned well enough that his royal blood meant nothing to his superiors, and his superiors had the only opinions that mattered.

Now the sun was rising outside Ysbad's windows. This drapes were closed shut, so he could not see the sky growing lighter every minute. But he could feel it. By that time, it was in his bones. Time to wake, his body told him. But Ysbad's brain said, For what? There was nothing for him to do. He had tried training, as he did when he rose with the Demonai, but the common soldier did not learn how to fight the way that the Demonai Warriors did, and they did not train by going into a full-on fight with each other. Ysbad was used to different ways, and found that he no longer fit in with other soldiers, not even enough to merely train.

Besides, everyone in the Capital looked at him differently, even the soldiers.

Ysbad grunted and sat up in his bed, looking around the room. His childhood room. The feeling in it was eerie. How many nights had Ysbad spent in these rooms, dreaming of becoming a warrior, serving Yiren as he knew he could? And now he was there, with few dreams left. No more ambition, save bringing down Krass. But that was ambition on Yiren's behalf.

Deciding not to mull over things any longer, the middle prince of Yiren slipped out of bed and went to ring the bell for a servant. Just as the tips of his fingers brushed the rope, he snatched his hand away, his brow creasing with a mild mix between disappointment, disgust, and concern. How had he fallen back into the groove so quickly? Ysbad was glad to be used for the good of the kingdom, but he would not be just another part in the clockwork, always turning in the same rhythm just as expected.

Instead of calling for a servant, Ysbad turned on his heel and strode with his hunter's walk, the only way he knew how to walk anymore, to the closet. There he dressed in little more than a cotton shirt and leather pants. He threw a bar of soap and a towel into a bag and put this over his shoulder before he went into his study. He opened the drapes first and glanced at the sky. Hardly light at all. Yes, it was time to be up. Throwing open the shutters, Ysbad perched on the sill. Long ago, around the age of twelve, Ysbad had insisted to be moved into these particular rooms, which were on the older east side of the castle. The brickwork had many footholds, and further down there was a large tree. Ysbad had used this to escape unnoticed many times. His parents had found out, of course. But they found out that he was only adding more training to his daily routine, and they never mentioned it to him.

Now Ysbad left again, wanting merely to avoid passing by servants and answering the questions that they would have. There was nothing wrong in what he was doing, of course. Nothing scandalous, nothing that could ruin any image the public may have made of him, if it wasn't already ruined by his soldiering and Demonai days. Ysbad just wanted to be left along. He jogged through the city, forcing himself to go slowly so the guards were not alarmed at a poorly-dressed, bare-footed man sprinting with a mysterious sack over his shoulder. When he approached the closed gate to leave the city, he scowled and skidded to a stop to stare at the guards standing sleepily on the wall over it. The lone man on the ground took a few steps, squinting at Ysbad, then he had a start. "Prince Ysbad," he said, startled. "I... er, well, you - "

"Open the gate," Ysbad barked, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. His tone and facial expression left little room for argument or questions. The guard shut his mouth and signaled up at the men manning the opening mechanism for the gate. Shortly Ysbad was through, sprinting through the thick woods at top speed. He maneuvered expertly through the brush and under branches. After the years of doing this every day, he'd become very good at doing, well, anything in the forest. Running, jumping, sneaking, hiding, sleeping, eating, hunting, surviving, killing. This is what the Demonai Warriors spent their lives learning and doing. Some learned nothing else.

When he arrived at the isolated, slow-moving river with chilly clear waters, Ysbad was drenched with sweat and the sun was peeking over the treetops. The prince dropped his bag by the shore, then removed his clothes an grabbed the soap to clean himself off. It would take him nearly an hour to return, but other than getting dressed, Ysbad was ready to depart. He had had no nice things before, so before he had even arrived a week again, Ysbad's measurements had been sent and appropriate "prince-like" clothes had been made for him and were all packed, save whatever he was supposed to wear that day. In addition, someone had picked a gift for him to give to his fiancee. Ysbad suspected his mother was behind that. It was probably more appropriate than anything Ysbad might have thought up, if he was forced to, so he was rather grateful. At the same time, Ysbad did not want to give his fiancee the false impression that he thought of those things. He did not. He was not romantic, and he was not generous or kind. He was not sensitive, and probably would not put up with anything from her even if he could tell that something was wrong. And so he would be straight-forward with her, whoever she was. And he would provide his own, more practical gift.

When Ysbad returned to the castle, he spotted the carriage in front of the castle. He frowned. He had not been inside a carriage since he was sixteen. He had always hated the cramped space and forced company, and sitting with two relatives that he had seen for four months and a single week, collectively in the past seven years was not something that Ysbad looked forward to, brothers or no.

When Ysbad arrived at his door, there was a manservant outside, knocking and looking as if he was deliberating speaking or not. He looked nervous. Ysbad cocked his head and remained silent. "Prince Ysbad, you must wake. The carriage for Isreth has arrived and your brothers are heading down now."

"Thank you," Ysbad drawled out, startling the poor boy. The manservant jumped and whirled around, his face red and his eyes wide while he stared up at Ysbad. Curious - he had not known that he was intimidating. Perhaps it was all the sinister rumors of the Demonai that had the boy shaking in his shoes. They certainly did have a reputation. Ysbad lifted his chin. "You may go."

"Yes sir," he replied quickly, sinking into a bow faster than Ysbad had thought possible. He turned to go, then hesitated and turned back. "I am supposed to... help you get ready."

Ysbad gazed at him steadily with a slightly narrowed gaze. It wasn't his fault, of course, but Ysbad became irked. "I will dress myself. You may go." Help getting dressed? What was he, six again? He was a Mother-forsaken prince, not a doll. No less, he was a bloody Demonai Warrior. Ysbad ignored any hesitation that the servant might have had and brushed straight past him, closing his door behind him. And five minutes later, he emerged again. He was in the finely tailored suit that had been prepared for him, however ridiculous it felt, and the horribly constricting shoes that had been set out for him. But his hair was as disheveled as ever, messily tied into a loose ponytail which draped over his shoulder.

When the second prince descended the steps in front of the castle, the queen saw him first. Her expression was mixed. There was a look of satisfaction, of happiness, of disapproval, and of something else that was much deeper than all that. All that must have had to do with his appearance. The disapproval was probably aimed at his hair, which she strode over to try to flatten with her hands. But the deep look that was in her eyes was something that he could not name. Pride? But it was also sad. And she was much more reserved than he ever remembered her being. But of course. They were hardly more than strangers. He looked at her with a rather blank expression, shifting on his feet uncomfortably in the silence. She smiled, her eyes glossing over, then kissed his forehead. "You only just returned home, and you are leaving us again."

Home. The castle had not been his home for a very long time. He did not miss it. Ysbad shrugged his shoulders. "One should be used to it by now."

"One never becomes used to lost children," she replied, her voice even and calm.

With a frown, he told her, "I was never lost, Mother."

She gave him a knowing look and stepped aside when the king approached. He stood level with Ysbad now, and one could see the resemblance easily, except for the coal hair that came from his mother. Two pairs of icy gray eyes locked, each as calm as the other, and the king said, "We had hoped to spend the month with you."

And they had. Ysbad grimaced as he mentioned it. He had received notice almost two months ago of his new fate, which had come as little surprise to him, and was told that he should come one month after. Ysbad had, however, been caught up in a skirmish in the woods with a band of renegades originating from Krass. They had spent the next two weeks investigating it to see if they were soldiers or were separate from the kingdom, and hunting down the rest of their party. Admittedly, Ysbad had not been needed desperately. But he had figured that his parents could wait. He'd save all of them the awkwardness.

And yet, here he was, enduring the awkward tenseness. "I already informed you of the particulars," Ysbad told him dryly. He glanced over his father's shoulder to the carriage, where he spotted both his brothers. "Plenty of time of leisure when Yiren is safe again. Excuse me." Not sure of what to do, Ysbad bowed formally and left them, his shoulders hunched with discomfort. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Ysbad stepped through the open door of the carriage and ducked inside. There were his brothers, typically sitting. On one side was Tristan, the youngest and by far the wildest of the brothers, in a different way than Ysbad. He smelled liked perfume. Wrinkling his nose, Ysbad glanced at the oldest of them, the crown prince. Charlemagne. He was looking through a stack of papers on his lap, with a folder resting beneath them.

Typical. The three of them could not be any more different.

Sitting next to Charlemagne merely because perfume stung his nose, Ysbad spoke not a word. He merely nodded to each brother in turn, and then looked out the window with a hard gaze at the place that had been home during his early years. His parents stood at its foot, staring at the carriage. He shifted and removed his eyes from the window, uncomfortable with any eye contact with the king or queen. Things had changed.

Things had not only changed in him; his brothers were different. Tristan was more different than Charlemagne. Ysbad remembered Tristan being the wild child even then, but as the years had progressed in the army and then the Demonai, stories about the youngest prince had reached his ears. He was a womanizer, and everyone knew it. Ysbad, of course, disapproved. He could not help it. He had never thought well of those that let their instincts rule them. That, and the Demonai never spared harsh words, and they were a very opinionated group. They had spoken very ill of the youngest prince of Yiren when Ysbad was with them. Ysbad had defended his brother at first, naturally, but over time, their words began to seep in and Ysbad could not help but view his younger brother in a different light. Ysbad looked on Tristan for a moment before glancing at Charlemagne, crossing one leg over the opposite knee and folding his arms over his chest. "Good morning," he said stiffly, looking at the floor of the carriage as it finally set off. Only once his parents were out of view of the window did Ysbad look out again.

[Avioke]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxExperience≽ ■□□□□□□□□□xxHealth≽ ■■■■■■■■■■xxLocation≽ Credo Headquarters courtyardxxCompany≽ No onexx

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SPEAKING: #bc3e06 || OTHERS: #3e5871
xxx≽ THE NIGHT BEFORE . . .

"Kinderly is now my coming!" Cendrillon sang loudly, raising her mug dramatically. The ale inside sloshed out and onto her shirt. She looked down at it with confusion while the men around laughed and hollered. She laughed and pulled her shirt up to suck on it, giggling all the while. "Anyone know that song?" she called, looking around the tavern. "What?! No clanfolk with us tonight?! Gods in chains, what a sad lot..." she trailed off, forgetting what she was going to say. then she burst into her song again, under the heavy influence of ales she had consumed in the drinking game that night. Her competition was passed out on the floor. "Into this world with teres and cry!" She leaned over to the man sitting on her right, an impish smile on her face. "I know this song by heart," she informed him.

"But..." his brow knitted and he thought long and hard, looking at her skin tone. She was tanned enough, but she did not have the nutty undertones of the clanfolk that he had met. "But you aren't clan - "

"I'm so glad you asked!" Cendrillon cried before letting loose a hiccup. She giggled again and toasted him before finishing that mug off. She signaled to the barkeep, then told everyone within earshot, "My da raised me. We was nomads, travelin' here and there all the time. Never settled down. Spent a whole a**-load of time with them clans up in the... oh, north of here. Up there," she said, waving upward. "Learned the dances an' the songs. Danced around fires and what-not. Damn, those clan men can dance, too." She reminisced in an old memory, leaning back in her chair and loosening her belt a little. Those clan men could to a lot of other things well too.

A man clapped her on the shoulder. "Then show us a clan dance!" he said.

After a few hoots and hollers, Cendrillon quit her laughing fit and stood. "Litel and povere is my having," she continued, moving her feet. She laughed when she bumped into a chair. She was a lot more drunk than she had thought. "Britel and sone falle I from hit - eep!" Cendrillon slipped on some spilled liquid and fell right on her rump. It took her three minutes to recover from her laughing fit. When she tried to stand up, she only got as far as her knees. Then she slipped to the side and hit her temple on a chair. The world went black.

xxx≽ PRESENT TIME . . .

Cendrillon woke to a screaming headache. This wasn't a strange feeling to her - she felt it the morning after every night she spent drinking in a tavern. For the thousandth time, as Cendrillon opened her eyes in experiment and quickly closed them again, she vowed sobriety. "Gods in chains!" she exclaimed, putting her hands over her screaming eyes. The headache was everywhere. Her temples, in the middle of her skull, at the base of her neck, behind her eyes. And the dizziness. The queasiness was... "Gods in chains," she whispered. She forced her eyes open and stumbled out of the bed. It didn't cross her mind that she never remembered going to bed last night. She just ran straight for the door that stood ajar, revealing a washroom.

After vomiting just about everything she had consumed last night, liquid and solid alike, Cendrillon washed her face and rinsed out her mouth at least ten times. Then she consumed as much water as she could bear and stood straight again. When she returned to the room, she saw that the bed was small and she had been its only occupant. That's good. But just because no one had stayed didn't mean no one had been there. Except she didn't feel like she had been violated. Cendrillon squinted, rolling her shoulders. No stiffness or pain in any muscles - meaning any muscles. Not that Cendrillon was really worried about it. It wouldn't have been her first time, aware or unaware, and she had charms against pregnancies. Cendrillon's only qualm was that she was sure she had been unconscious since she hit her head. And any man who took advantage of an unconscious woman deserved to have his member chopped clean off.

After realizing that she was wearing the same clothes that she had been wearing the night before, Cendrillon came to the conclusion that she had nothing to worry about except the price of the room. She grabbed the cloak she had brought to the tavern the night before, which had been hung over the back of a chair to dry, and she strolled down the hall, her eyes only half-open in order to ward off as much of the light as possible. After thinking about it, Cendrillon donned the cloak and pulled up the hood.

When the barkeep saw her, he jumped. "Up already?" he asked, quirking a brow.

Cendrillon was in no mood for conversation. "How much do I owe you?"

"You already paid for the drinks," he told her.

"I mean for the room," she said impatiently, wishing he'd lower his voice. She gripped the bar with white knuckles. 'Sobriety, sobriety. I swear on my own mother I'll never drink again. Gods in their bloody chains.'

"Don't bother," he said, looking away from her. "We had plenty of open rooms. Consider it a favor."

Oh my. Cendrillon, despite herself, smiled at him. He was sweet on her! She pulled her hood back and leaned over the bar, beaming a devilish little grin. "Why, thanks, friend," she said in a husky voice. "I'll be sure to return the favor someday." And with a wink, she was off. She had places to be. But she took great satisfaction in looking back to see his cheeks colored. He was way too young to be vying after older women like her. But it never hurt to give them a small flirtatious comment for them to mull over for a while. He looked like he needed a boost in the confidence department.

She was hardly within Credo territory before Cendrillon was ambushed. A breathless recruit came at her. "You - missed - everything!" she cried, throwing up her hands. Cendrillon put her own hands up as if to protect herself, shutting her eyes. "Do you know how long I've been looking for you?!"

"Lower your bloody voice," Cendrillon snapped. "I don't give a rat's a** what you've spent your own time doing, just tell me what I got to know."

The recruit clearly thought very ill of Cendrillon, but Cendrillon wasn't thinking too good of the high-voiced, loud, flustered recruit either, so she didn't mind. "You've been selected to go on a mission. Today, I might add. State good or bad, you're traveling with some other recruits to Tamas to root out a dark guild or something. A gang called the Watchers." Cendrillon snorted at the notion of one of the famed Tamas gangs being a dark guild, but the recruit misunderstood. Scowling, she pointed a scrawny, pale finger at her. "You'd best hurry. They'll be leaving any minute."

"Got it, jinxflinger. Out of my way." Cendrillon shoved past the skinny recruit and stomped on up to the barracks. Once there, she rinsed off quickly and pulled all her things together. She packed her tavern-going clothes, but left her armor out. She always wore it when traveling. She put on the padding, then strapped everything on herself. It was matte black and trimmed with gold, with the chainmail, cloak, and skirt to match. Cendrillon was not particularly rich, but doing jobs around Agriand had given her enough gold to get some quality equipment, including this custom-made set of armor, her black sword, and her black shield. She was a Black Knight, so she might as well dress the part.

With her saddlebags over her shoulder, Cendrillon trotted down the stairs, her black half-skirts and cloak trailing behind her. She was glad to pass the sassy recruit from before, who stood in the foyer with her friends. Cendrillon looked her in the eye and saw recognition but also surprise. The armor could be intimidating, especially since she wore it effortlessly. "You forgot to mention that the mission was for the most promising recruits, jinxflinger!" Cendrillon called. She walked backwards so she could face her, shrugging her giant armored shoulders with a goofy smile. "Better luck next time, right?" With that, she turned on her heel and went out to the stables.

Black armor, black weapons, black shield, black bags, and a black bloody horse. Cendrillon might have been a warrior-woman, but she still had style. She prepped her horse, Tuerie, as she stroked her glossy coat with the leather palms of her gloves, as stroking her with the claw-like armor on her fingers would be a bad idea. Cendrillon handed Tuerie an apple and then wandered into the courtyard, wondering if that jinx-flinging recruit had exaggerated how soon they would be leaving.

[Avioke]

xxxxxxxxExperience≽ ■□□□□□□□□□xxHealth≽ ■■■■■■■■■■xxLocation≽ Ocerinia - Hollow Inn lobbyxxCompany≽ No onexx

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SPEAKING: #008ccb || OTHERS: #857768

As soon as he gained consciousness again, Miska began to list all the things that were different. He was waking during the morning. He was not being woken by someone else. He was waking still full from the meal the night before. He was waking in a real bed, one that was his own, in a room all alone. He was waking without thinking about what he was going to steal, without dreading his lessons with Reaver, without wondering if he might see Master Ulin, the beastmaster that lived outside of Tamas. He was waking without plans of mischief with Jemarr and Ferret.

Miska sat up and looked up at the high window on the cold stone wall, bleary-eyed and scowling. The sheets around him were a tangled mess, caught between his legs and arms and over his shoulder. Miska wiggled his toes, yawning and looking around the room. It was plain and barren, but it was all his. Well, for the night, it had been. They were setting off again.

Oh, gods. They were setting off. Immediately, Miska's heart began to flutter, and not in a good way. He ripped the sheets and blankets from his body and shoved them away, his brow creasing with worry and his bottom lip trapping between his teeth. He was going down to Tamas. He was not very well educated, so he wasn't quite sure whether they would make it that day or not. Miska had never concerned himself with maps. He'd had no need to. He'd thought he would live in Tamas forever.

Setting his feet on the chilly ground, Miska shook his head to put his hair into place and stretched his arms over his head. His joints creaked from the long horse-ride the day before. Every day it was non-stop travel, except for nights. Calan was driving them as if they were on a tight schedule, though Miska had not been given any information that told them they might be. Were they even expected by anybody? Was there truly something that important to do?

Honestly, Miska was just hoping that they wouldn't stay long. The last time that he had been there, the Watchers had murdered everyone that he knew. Miska plopped back on the bed, his motivation to get up absolutely gone. The last time he had been to Tamas, Ferret had been slaughtered to protect him, and Miska had run away. The last time he had been to Tamas, Miska had abandoned Jemarr as the Watchers flooded their hideout.

'I had to,' Miska told himself, rubbing his eyes. 'I had to send a message to Reaver.' And Miska supposed that when he returned, he would find out if it had done any good after all. It had been a year. Maybe Reaver had made it back in time, and the Rivers were rebuilt? Or maybe Reaver died like the rest of them. Maybe Miska had killed him by sending that message.

The opening of a door pulled Miska from his thoughts. Miska shot up into a stand when Dagur poked his head in. Dagur looked unhappy. He always did around Miska. At first, the man hadn't minded him. He'd spoken to him as condescendingly smug but harmlessly just the same as everyone. But recently, the man seemed to find more fault him. He was still condescendingly smug, but no longer harmless. He seemed to genuinely dislike Miska. "Get up, rat. We are readying to depart and if you are too slow, I will have no qualms about leaving you behind."

The problem that Dagur had was that Miska wasn't scared of him. With wide innocent brown eyes and the smallest of light smiles on his lips, Miska clasped his hands together behind his back and rocked backward and forward on his heels, tilting his head playfully. "You'd 'ave to ask Calan if you wanted to leave me, though, wouldn't you? Since you answer to 'im an' all."

Dagur scowled with such intensity that Miska thought he would yell or threaten him. Miska raised his eyebrows, continuing with his wide stare and little grin. Instead of trying to scare him, Dagur just stared him down, then left, slamming the door behind him. Miska knew he was just earning himself a harder time. Calan seemed to be a friend, but he couldn't be everywhere, and Dagur would probably get back at Miska in small ways. Miska still liked to be back in the position where he could taunt. He did it all the time to those guards who had known he was a street rat, and still couldn't prove it. For the most part, Miska was safe from repercussions.

Soon he was packed and ready. He didn't have a lot with him save some clothes and a dagger that Arch Gate had provided. He had only had his one set before, and those had been bloody. Now he had a grand total of three sets of trousers and shirts and socks, with new boots and gloves and a cloak. All for free! Miska dressed himself in a set now, settling the dark navy cloak on his shoulders and pulling the boots on his feet. They were too big, but he figured he'd grow into them.

As for the dagger... well, Miska always wore it. But only because someone would get frustrated if he didn't. Miska had tried to learn the art of the dagger from Reaver, but to no avail. He was a fair shot with a bow, and that was about it. He'd asked Dagur for a bow and a quiver of arrows in the beginning, and the man had said that he'd see what he could do. But in light of recent events, Miska was pretty sure he wasn't getting them from him. He'd just have to ask Calan.

When Miska ran down to the lobby of the Hollow Inn in Ocerinia with his saddle bags in his hands. He dumped it on the ground in the corner, and set his hands on his hips. No one was there. Making a face, Miska grabbed his bags and ran outside. No one was out front either. He went into the stables and nearly squeaked. One person was there. Laverne. And she was throwing knives at the post. She threw knives a lot, and Miska had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't care if she hit someone in the process. He set his bags down, sniffed awkwardly, then turned on his heel and double-timed it back to the inn. He'd just wait in the lobby.

It seemed Dagur already had gotten him back, making him think they were leaving when in reality, no one else was even downstairs. Miska sighed and plopped down in a chair, which squeaked under his weight.

[Avioke]

xxxxxxExperience≽ ■□□□□□□□□□xxHealth≽ ■■■■■■■■■■xxLocation≽ Seraphic Headquarters foyerxxCompany≽ Nathanxx

xxxx& Cybele
SPEAKING: #699458 || OTHERS: #454e63

"'Ey, kid. You the Ead guy they been callin'?"

The gruff, loud, close voice startled Dez into reality. He had to physically clench his hands and tense his muscles to keep from lashing out instinctively at the source of the voice. He had woken too many times to noises to trust anyone that close to him while he was sleeping. Dez sat up immediately, tossing the sheets away from his bare chest. Dez didn't think he would ever get used to sleeping in the same room with a bunch of men who knew how to kill with one blow. Or less than that, in some cases. "Ead?" Dez asked, disoriented. Leaning over him was a huge bearded man that Dez heard was named the Bear of the North. Most people just called him Bear. Dez could not bring himself to. His little brother had been named Bear, and as far as Dez was concerned, no one else could wear the name as well.

"Apparently not," another man said. This man was plainly a charmcaster, named Berns. He was tall and lean, dressed more finely and groomed much better. His dark eyes fixed on Dez with plain dislike. "Northern Bear here says that the captains have been calling a select few recruits in for a mission, and they called someone named Ead not too long ago."

"Bear of the North," Bear of the North corrected with a harumph. Then he squinted at Dez. "And it was more... well, it was a longish name, I s'pose, I don't remember the whole of it. Ead-chin or sommit. You know anybody alike that?"

Wishing this North man paid more attention to personal space, Dez tossed the blankets from his legs and stood to his full height, which was still too far under North. The giant of a man was probably six and a half feet tall while Dez was just under six feet. "That'd be me. Eadeachian, that is," Dez said, grabbing his shirt from the bag under the cot. North nodded with a grunt and set his hands on his belt. Trying to ignore his proximity, Dez put on his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and went to the wash basin to rinse off his face. "What they want?" Dez asked, drying his face on the bottom of his shirt while he went back to the cot.

"The captain wishes to speak to you immediately," Berns said. "I overheard some of the recruits flapping their mouths about it outside earlier. The mission will decide whether you are emitted to Seraphic. Or rejected." He seemed keen to put that option on the table. Dez stooped to pick his boots. "They said there's an alleged dark guild at work. You're all to travel today to root out a gang in Tamas."

Dez's right boot thumped onto the floor and his head shot up, his brows knitting. Already? He'd only just told his captain of the gang problem in Tamas last week. They must have had it investigated soon to know that what he said was true. Dez picked up his boot and sat down, slipping his boots onto his feet while not meeting the others' gazes. But... a dark guild? The Watchers? Dez snorted, stamping his foot onto the ground to get the remaining caked mud off his boot.

"Ye alright, there?" North grumbled, folding his arms across his massive chest. Dez looked up at him briefly, then to Berns. They were both looking at him oddly. "Ye seem upset."

"What, isn't it a prestigious enough mission for you, fresh blood?" Berns mocked. He shook his head and went back to his own things. "You recruits are all the same, aren't you? Only in it for the glory."

"Why, hold up there!" North turned on Berns. Although they were just about the same height, North was considerably bigger. "You're not a year into Seraphic, an' all of a sudden ye get on a high horse and speak down on a youngin' just tryin' to prove sommit to hisself." North clapped Dez on the shoulder in a friendly manner, although it jarred Dez's body. Uncomfortable, Dez shifted on his feet. Maybe it had been a mistake, abandoning his street face in this new life. It would have served him well in slinking out of the conversatioin. "Ye don't listen to a word, Ead. Berns innit nothin' but a sinkul jinxflinger."

"You mean 'cynical'," Berns corrected with a flat glare.

"There he go 'gain, talkin' down to me." North patted Dez again and walked back to his own bunk, muttering what sounded like nonsense even to Dez's low-town ears. He was definitely a northerner. Berns seemed to be trying to ward off a headache next to his bunk, and Dez was on the same track. Despite his peculiar and loud nature, Dez still could not help but like North, if only because he always seemed to have good intentions.

"Are you a Shaman?" Berns asked suddenly, staring at Dez. Well, he was staring at his chest. Dez cocked a brow, and Berns looked up impatiently. "You wear a rune."

Dez glanced down, although he already realized what Berns had been looking at. On a long rusty chain around Dez's neck hung a wooden symbol. It didn't look like much, but it had been heavily magicked by... well, by a woman that Dez had been involved with a year ago. Dez laced up his shirt the rest of the way, not meeting Berns' gaze. "No. It was a gift." And with that, he turned his back and returned to packing.

He never took the rune off. Its magic had faded some, but it still worked. It had only been a year since the last enchantment, and the spell wasn't so powerful that it would need constant attention. All it did was grow heavy when a lie was spoken. It was a simple rune that Ajana had made and charmed for him not long before she left Tamas. The thought of her brought a pain to Dez's chest that was all too familiar. He put on his long brown coat and gloves and left the room. he figured he could go back for his stuff after speaking with the captain.

Sure enough, the told him exactly what he had already heard. They were going to Tamas that day to investigate the Watchers. Their very name set Dez's teeth on edge. That day, it might all be over. He might get his hands around Nine's neck that day. After so long, it seemed unreal to Dez. But the moment that his captain mentioned that they could be a dark guild, Dez snorted. His captain looked at him with narrow eyes, and Dez said, "These are the gangs of Tamas. They don't know nothing. They don't aspire to be nothing. They just trying to stay alive and keep their families alive. They nothing but a bunch of kids. Not a jinxflinger in 'em. No dark magic. Plenty of murder, yeah, but this is the streets."

And then he was told off. Never talk to your superior that way, never speak out of turn, and never make assumptions. But Dez was not making an assumption. Dez had first-hand experience with the Watchers, with the street life. As much as he wished that he could say he was beat unfairly with jinxes and death magic, Dez wasn't egotistical enough to believe something that simply wasn't true. Street rats never had time to learn magic. The Watchers were nothing but a scummy group of prowlers, low-lives, and children, all desperate to make a way but too stupid to get out of it.

'Look who's talking,' Dez thought to himself, now walking down the hall with his bag slung over his shoulder. He got to the foyer and noticed two other recruits speaking. He wasn't planning on engaging in any conversation until the girl, Cybele Gueron, mentioned Tamas. Dez froze in place and looked over at the two. He hadn't had much contact with either, but it seemed they were recruits as well, and were selected to attend to the "dark guild" in Tamas. Dez took in a deep breath and put on his street face. Relaxed body, easy smile, confident eyes. He strolled over and stopped before them. "Sorry to interrupt," he said graciously, smiling a little wider at Cybele and Nathan while he bowed his head a little in apology. "I couldn't help but hear that you two are going to Tamas as well." While his lower-town accent was not entirely masked, he did subdue it and talk more blueblood-like. People tended to respond to it better up north. On the street, it was an entirely different story. "Do you know anything about our mission that wasn't general information?" Talking blueblood was hard. Dez was getting a headache, thinking about every word before he spoke it.

[Avioke]

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxExperience≽ ■□□□□□□□□□xxHealth≽ ■■■■■■■■■■xxMana≽ ■■■■■■■■■■
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxLocation≽Approaching TamasxxCompany≽ No onexx
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SPEAKING: #57675f || OTHERS: #9ea697

xxxxx

[Avioke]

The nerve.

As soon as the two children were gone, Annaliese had the nerve to march right on up to Ryohei, in his very own personal space bubble, and speak down to him. "What was that? I don't know what you told him or why you told him what you did, but I know a sad kid when I see one." Yes? And? "And nothing pisses me off more than seeing a sad kid." Look at all the ******** I give. Look at them, Annaliese. "I don't care if he's your little brother, I don't want to see it ever again."

Who are you to say s**t like that? Ryohei seethed. He seethed so much that he hardly noticed that she was so close to him, that he could feel her warm breath on his face, that her finger was jabbing into his chest. He glared fiercely at her, the alien hot anger rising again like it did almost every time he encountered him. She just said exactly what pissed him of the most. Questioning him, and then presuming that she had any authority in his family. She didn't want to see him scolding his little brother? Well then, Ryohei would have to do it in front of her more often. Every time Kyoichi did something, Ryohei resolved to take him over to the Bryrant house and talk to him there.

And she left. Before he had any chance to come back with something. Before he could let out one snarky, cold comment, she was gone, going after the two. Ryohei glared after her, his blood boiling. That was not the last time this issue was going to be brought up between them. Ryohei was going to confront her.

Why? Why should he confront her? One may think that it is no big deal. One may think that Ryohei would confront her out of pride. He couldn't just let that slip past him so easily. But that was not his motivation, or at least not the main one. Annaliese was far too involved with his family to not know the rules. She knew where he lived, she knew of his family members, and she knew that Ryohei cared about them, at least somewhat. She probably thought him too heartless to care about them as much as any normal person, which was actually great. But it still had to be addressed. Ryohei had to get rid of problems before they became especially problematic, and the chances were rising and the stakes were high. The stakes were always high.

So on Monday morning, after his usual patrol, Ryohei did not go to his first period class. He went to the office, checked the schedule of Annaliese Bryrant, and then went to her first period. She was not there, the teacher said. No one had called in for her, but Ryohei wouldn't put it past the mother to forget calling into the school to notify them of an excused absence. Ryohei spoke to the teacher and told him to call the office if she arrived. He nodded absently and went off to help someone with a problem. Then Ryohei left.

There was a call ten minutes later from Mr. Galfrey that Annaliese had arrived. Her tardiness was unexcused. So she was late. Yet another thing to talk about. Ryohei went back to Mr. Galfrey's room and stood in the doorway. He gazed coolly at the teacher, who was doing his absolute best to ignore the Head Prefect in his doorway. "Mr. Galfrey. Please excuse Ms. Bryrant for a few minutes." Galfrey looked over his shoulder and nodded, then motioned to Annaliese. Ryohei's stone-cold gaze rested on her for a moment before he turned around and left the doorway, leaning against the wall in the hallway.

It took her a while. She was reluctant to come out, but she did. It wasn't as if she had much choice - she couldn't avoid him forever. Ryohei pushed off the wall and put his hands in his pockets. When the thick door swung shut, the silence in the hall became thick. The two stared hard at each other, both defiant and proud. Then Ryohei said, "I am not here to reprimand you for being late again, nor am I here to anger you or threaten you or list rules at you. But neither am I here to make peace with you." He stared at her, and she didn't respond. Her permission to continue. Her face betrayed that the last thing she wanted was to make "peace". "However unimportant or random this seems to you, I assure you, it is very important and even though you cannot understand, I need you to listen... please."

The word surprised her. Hell, it had surprised him. And it took all his self-control to make himself say it. If he wanted her to listen to him, he needed to at least sound genuine. He wasn't particularly good at that. "My family is in a peculiar situation. You do not know this situation, so don't presume you can have anything to say to me in the way that I speak to my brother. You don't know my words or how important that lesson was. You do not know who he is or his feelings or what they mean. You do not know how much I care about any of my family. You know absolutely nothing but the facade that I have let you see." He could tell that she had a thousand retorts, and his face became hard. The anger returned. Her insolence, her impertinence, came back to him. "Listen to me. I don't give any flying [********] about what pisses you off. I don't care if Kyoichi looked sad to you. The level of your authority in my family is nothing. Your right to judge is nullified by your ignorance of everything about us." Oh, now he was getting going. He took a step closer. He wasn't close - he didn't like to be close. But he did loom. "What I am saying to you now is be careful when interacting with my family or speaking about them. Don't assume anything. Most importantly, I am asking a strange request. Do not tell anyone about them, or at least don't relate them to me. Don't give any hints. If anyone ever finds out about them - "

He stopped there. He didn't know what he would do, was part of the reason. The other part was that he wasn't about to tell Annaliese any of that. He closed his mouth, glaring at her, but also using the glare as a mask. He was being sincere, actually truthful with her. He was making it sound as cold and detached as possible, but this was a lie. He was invested in this issue. She would never believe that his family was endangered by association. As far as she knew - as far as anyone knew - Tasuku Ryohei was nothing but the Head Prefect of the school, the bully, the intimidating and cold fighter that had somehow corrupted the school system and now had the staff relatively on his side, or at least unwilling to fight him. Gangs were rumors, widely dismissed. Murders were rumors, also widely dismissed. Plenty of colorful pasts had been made up, but most of those were ignored as well. As far as Annaliese knew, Ryohei was nothing but a punk. How could a kid like him have dangerous enemies?

She probably thought he was crazy, or maybe even embarrassed by his family. Maybe she thought that he wanted to avoid being associated with them. The opposite was true - he wanted to avoid them being associated with him. Then they could all live peacefully, not wondering if they will be used against Ryohei. It was the only way that he could allow himself to sleep at night, knowing that no one knew that the Asians living in the middle-class house on one of the side roads of Juneau were the family of Tasuku Ryohei.

Ryohei became silent, but he wasn't up for any retorts at the moment. He'd probably hear it all later in Chemistry. He took a step back, raising his chin. "That, and don't be late again." Then he turned around and walked off.

[Avioke]

SPEAKING: #b43a00
Tusca felt good that day. She woke up to the smell of breakfast already cooking after sleeping for a good ten hours. She stretched herself in bed, yawning wildly and shaking her legs to free them from their numbness. Her grades were good, her older brother, Roberto, was visiting, her birthday was half a month away, she had just received her paycheck for the last month at her job at the Juneau grocery store. $10 an hour, 8 hour days, 5 days a week for four weeks came to $1,600 dollars. So she was that much richer, plus she actually loved art class, plus she rode in her favorite car a few days ago, plus she was getting flirted up by the hottest of the hot, Michael.

If Tusca didn't know any better, she would have accused herself of developing a crush.

So when Tusca got up that day, she did what she always did when she felt that good. She spent extra time making herself look fabulous. A good set of clothes, time spent on makeup, accessories, whatever else she felt like. Hell, she put on heels. And not short heels, either. With them on, she was a whopping 6' 2". Sometimes Tusca hated being 5' 10". Most days she loved it. And now she'd be taller than most of the boys in the school. But not taller than Michael. Perfect. The long-legged Italian trotted down her stairs, humming a little tune to herself. She was the only one up so far. This happened on many school days. Tusca cooked herself some toast and an egg, ate quickly, brushed her teeth and washed her dishes, then she was off with a water bottle in one hand and her phone in the other, checking the weather and her Facebook.

On the bus, she sat next to Atticus again, who was just as adorably quiet as usual. She didn't mind - she never minded. She talked at him casually, making fun of how uncomfortable he looked. He did look a little more relaxed than he did when she first bombarded him with her chatty nature, so she was pleased with that. He even smiled when she waved as they went their separate ways. One point for Tusca.

When she entered the school, she was immediately yelled at. "Hey, Tusca!" Yvette called, waving over the heads of the group she was with. Tusca smiled, surveying the company. A bunch of girls. Yvette, Sammy, Jessica, Larissa, and Larissa's freshman little sister, Veronica, who was looking over her shoulder at the hall an awful lot. She must be looking for someone, and by the way she was twisting her hair anxiously, she was looking for a boy. Tusca sauntered up and finally noticed... they were not alone.

Sven, the attractive and very flirtatious Russian boy that Tusca had never seen before that year was talking to them. "Well, look at this. Sven, you do realize you're surrounded by a large group of very attractive young women, right?"

He smiled a mischievous little smile, his interesting eyes glinting. "Why go through life without the pleasure of such lovely company?" he wondered, making more than one girl blush. Most of them laughed and brushed his comment aside, and Sven took a small but noticeable step away from them. "What're you called?"

Tusca raised her brows and leaned on one hip. "Me? Oh, I'm just Tusca Moriarty. Don't bother introducing yourself. I've heard all about you from my girlfriends," she said with a charismatic - but not quite flirtatious - wink.

He took another step away, until they might as well be talking alone. My, my, what attention he was giving her. "You have, have you?" She pursed her lips and nodded curtly. "Did they bother telling you that I'm looking at the most stunning girl in the whole school right now?"

"Not bad," Tusca commented, smiling impishly down a little at him. With her monstrous heels on, she was a couple inches taller than him. Nothing too noticeable. Except when she was this tall, most boys had a hard time talking to her. She was probably more intimidating when she was looking down at them. Not Sven, though - he seemed not bothered by her temporary height. "But I prefer the more subtle approach." The bell rang. She smiled and winked again. This wink was flirtatious. "Maybe we can try this again sometime," she said coyly. And then she brushed past him. She brushed past him, too.

While she was flouncing away, she heard him say, "I look forward to it." She glanced back just enough to see his charming crooked smirk before a massive crowd of students blocked her view. She giggled and actually strut her way to class, feeling on top of the world. She had all the best boys flirting with her, and it felt good.

Well, except Ryohei, but Tusca had no ambition with him. Let him rot in his dark, serious hole of loneliness all day long.

The day passed uneventfully. It was only when Tusca got to art that she focused back into the world. She sat between Michael and Annaliese eagerly, giving Michael a devilish little smile. "I see you got home okay," she said. Then she suddenly turned to Annaliese with a broad smile. "Shopping sometime this week? I'll buy lunch."

[Avioke]

SPEAKING: #7999ff
Jes jes jes jes "Jes I think so, jes," jes jes jes. Jes jes jes, "Jes." Jes.

[Avioke]

SPEAKING: #ffb366
Jes jes jes jes "Jes I think so, jes," jes jes jes. Jes jes jes, "Jes." Jes.

[Avioke]

xxxx

TALKING: darkred || TRILL: #035046

After returning to his chambers, Elder had bathed and looked around his room a little, mentally arguing with Trill all the while. She seemed to find it maddening that Elder hadn't approached the Princess Krill to escort her to the Lekian part of the castle. 'You are supposed to woo her!' Trill cried inside his head while his eyes grazed over the small library available in one part of his room.

He looked over to her. She sat on a stone balcony just outside the office space, her large head lying on the ground inside while her body remained outside. She had learned quickly that her large body could not fit inside. "Woo?" Elder uttered.

Trill made a strange snort and ruffled her white fur, which always seemed to glow a bit green to him at the tips. Elder had never been able to be sure, though, if that was her fur or her spiritual aura. However you'd like to put it. My point is, this cannot work if she continues to hate everything about you.'

Elder grimaced mildly, looking back to the spines of books. "What do you want me to do?"

'Put in some effort. Sure, be yourself. But show her that you care.'

"About her?" Elder asked, staring at Trill emptily. She nodded her head eagerly, as if he'd just said exactly what she had wanted to hear. Unfortunately, Trill could hear his thoughts, and she slammed her head onto the ground before he'd even finished his next sentence: "But I don't."

After blinking repeatedly to try to rid herself of a coming headache, Trill said, 'You can be really thick, you know.'

Blinking, Elder said, "I don't understand."

With another snort, Trill said, 'I know you don't. But she does not. Just... be more careful in what you say, how you say it, and what you do. Pretend to care more than you do, even."

Elder's brow furrowed a touch. "That would be lying," he concluded after a moment of thought, clearly rejecting the idea. Trill began to object with an explanation, but Elder would not hear it. Putting the book in his hand back on the shelf, he told her, "Honesty is one of the few things that I still have that are essential to relationships. I would rather keep that advantage than pretend to have another. Then I would have nothing."


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Trill left Elder soon after that conversation, as she always seemed to do. In the time that followed, Elder met with Cattleya and agreed with her on what their "performance" would be. Perhaps it was only him, but Elder felt that this was a bit silly. There was a good intention behind it, and he had no qualms in doing it, but it felt forced and... small. Like it would make no difference. In his childhood, Elder had watched many children and their behavior. With that, he learned many things about humans, and one of them was this: no one liked a show-off, and no one really cared about anyone else's abilities. Or so it seemed.

And Elder had a feeling, based on lunch earlier that day, that few were really interested in other cultures at all. Prince Valkyrie, Princess Falcon, and Prince Flounder were the only ones that seemed interested in putting in an effort, other than Cattleya of course. Elder could tell, though, that his sister's will to try was diminished. She did not often try to hide things from Elder, upon his request, and this was not one of those rare occasions where she concealed her emotions. She did not talk of her situation, though, which made Elder a bit confused as to how much she was despairing about her chosen partner. Elder was not good at reading people at all, and without a detailed description of what she was feeling, Elder could never tell just how much Cattleya was feeling and for what reason. Which is why he had asked her long ago to always be truthful about her emotions with him.

Honesty. It was all that Elder ever required in a relationship. It was the rock that his relationship with Cattlya was founded, and it would be the foundation that his marriage with Princess Krill would be built on. It was the only thing he had.


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That evening, Elder dressed himself in what he thought would be appropriate attire for a dinner with other royals. He had studied up on the spell that would cause a plant to grow from seed to matured plant, and another that would force it to enlarge to its natural Arrulian size. The prices for these two separate spells were simple. He simply had to tap his finger against the soil of the plant and it would mature. To enlarge it, he needed to hold his breath until it was done. Prices were random, although proportional to the task at hand. He had already practiced both spells, to be sure that the transformation was quick enough, and they both seemed to work well enough. Elder made sure all the ingredients for the spell were ready for his disposal near the dining area, and that he had memorized the words for the enchantments.

Eventually, he was seated next to Cattleya at the table, leaning back into the chair and looking around the room with little interest. He could see the large pot of soil off to the side on the stage, along with the ingredients requested. The Tempatians were not present, true to the stereotypes that Elder always heard people mutter about. Either they were late or being defiant and arrogant, all of which suited the Tempatian signature. Stereotypes had to be based on something, Elder supposed. He did not mind their absence. In fact, he was rather glad that the Prince did not show. Something about him rubbed Elder the wrong way.

Alright, maybe it was everything about him. Either way, Elder noticed that Cattleya did not look happy. He frowned. It was to his understanding that Cattleya did not like Prince Coal. And he had always observed that when someone did not like another person, they rejoiced when that particular person was not present. But Cattleya seemed bothered. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Coal, however. He would have to ask her about it later. After Maple's announcement, Elder glanced around the table to the other present royals, wondering if anyone else was going to go first, and if Cattleya perhaps wanted to. He looked at her questioningly.




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