Zlae
Witty Hunter
Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 1061 || intro
xxxxxxxxxxxxx♔ → ℛϵγηεʀ Dʀαкε
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxʈheу sαу theу've goʈ kiɭɭers eyes,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxReαɭ idenʈiʈies ƒurʈher disguised -
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHidden beneαʈh blood and bɭαde
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxʈheir god never ƒorgαve.
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☆Reyner lounged on the comfortable office chair, waiting for his 'boss' to walk in and finally grace Reyner with her delightful presence. Reyner sighed, shifting his weight on the sofa and sitting back up; leaning forwards, he began flipping his blade between his hands. He had just come back from another contract, a newly established gang that had just been wiped out. They had formed without the consent of either faction, and that was a death sentence for every poor bugger in the gang. All they needed to do was face their fears and talk to either boss. It’s not like they’re animals – they just can’t tolerate children with no sense of discipline and knowledge of their superiors. So, they had to be taught a life-long lesson. Earlier this week, the boss had summoned Reyner to his office, ordering him to wipe out the gang. There was a large amount of money involved – it was probably the money the gang had stolen or looted of the bodies they had killed. Grudgingly, Reyner had accepted, if only for the thought of the people the gang had victimised. They had preyed on young women with no business in whoring, on former drug dealers with no business of dealing. They had chosen all of the wrong victims. The amateurs wouldn’t have lasted another week, anyway. So, Reyner had gotten dressed in his assassin’s clothing, strapped numerous amounts of contact poisons and weapons on his body. He had taken them down easily; there were only six of them, and the eldest looked to be only eighteen years old. Although, people tended to age quickly if they lived on the streets, their hands itching for any substance that could make them forget their worthless existence. Reyner, who recently turned twenty-five years old, shook his head at the thought. He may be young, but he certainly knew better than those folk.
The door to his right opened and the hinges creaked with protest. A young, newly-appointed boss walked in, black leather shoes clinking along the wooden flooring. Without talking, Reyner nodded to her, and she threw the bag of gold to him. He made no expression, and caught the bag easily. This woman was poison through her cool, attractive exterior. Made entirely of malice, Ferah, the organisations new boss, was like poisonous gas that slowly seeped through the cracks, poisoning the minds of every lusting young man. Reyner, on the other hand, had no mind to do anything with her other than business. The woman was horrible, and grinned at the thought of innocent children dying. Reyner suppressed a shudder as she looked at him, and Reyner just stared back coolly, not complying with her invitation. She sighed and ran a hand through her long red hair, and Reyner averted his eyes, staring at the board full of unfulfilled contracts instead. Realising that he was avoiding her again, she just sighed and launched straight into business mode. Reyner could have sighed with relief dramatically, like they do in the King’s fancy plays.
Reyner waited for the next contract, hoping this one would be at least a little challenging. Instead of handing him the paper wordlessly like she usually did, Ferah clicked with her fingers, obviously trying to gain his attention. When he looked, she spoke, with a cool voice, “Ah, I see I’ve failed again. No matter, I can wait, Reyner.” She winked at him, and Reyner inwardly cringed. He hated the way she said his name. She pursued every man in this organisation, and it was disgusting. The woman probably had a million diseases by now, anyway. She continued speaking; paying no mind to the different expression that appeared on his face. “Anyway, as you’re aware, new rumours have surfaced – ones that were not ours or,” she lowered her voice in obvious distaste for the other organisation, “the others.” She paced as she does when she’s thinking. “We have heard that the King is of impure blood.” She snorted indelicately at the use of the polite term. “Anyway, the whole Kingdom is shitting itself, running around like chickens that are about to have their heads cut off.” Reyner chuckled at the familiar expression, but then stopped as she glared at him. He chose that moment to speak.
“Perhaps he actually is of impure blood." He considered. "He’s hired us to eliminate the wrong-doer, I presume?” Reyner asked. She looked at him, annoyed that he had interrupted. Reyner just shook his head and raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. She finally sat back down on the wooden chair.
“A reasonable assumption, but we all know that our King is a paranoid man. We have not been hired, nor have the other organisation, I believe. Rather, we have been ordered to be eliminated on sight.” Reyner frowned, not liking where this was going. “He believes that we started the rumour, and has put a large sum for every assassin’s head that is brought to him. The foolish people in the Kingdom will probably begin slaughtering other regular people as well, hoping to snatch some gold. So, in return, our faction has a price on the King’s head, as well. Destroy him. The residents of this god forsaken Kingdom need to remember who’s in charge, and who always will be.” She gained a murderous glint in her eye then, as Ferah was not a force to be reckoned with.
He laughed, "Major acts of treason at it's finest. But," he began slowly, “what will happen once the King has been killed? Is the other organisation going for the King as well?”
She shook her head. “We have, as unlikely as this possibility was, formed a temporary alliance until the King is dead. You are not to kill anyone in the other faction, but feel free to be an a*****e, as you do so well.” Reyner nodded and grinned. She dismissed him with a shake of her hand. “Now get out of my sight.”
“You seemed to be enjoying it a moment ago.” He retorted, glad to finally able to leave the enclosed office. He stood up slowly and placed the blade back into its sheath. Stalking out of the room, he walked into the hallway of the organisation that owned his a**.
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Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 601 || intro
_________________◊ → Gᶉԑԑᴎ
____________________________________________________Give him your warmth, he’s bleeding out here,
____________________________________________________His colour’s pouring, he’ll soon disappear.
____________________________________________________A lost trainer, perishing in the midnight sun,
____________________________________________________He will decay; unbeknownst to everyone.
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- Greens face twisted in annoyance and irritation as he looked at the smiling faces of amateur trainers as he passed through Pallet Town on his way into Kanto. They look like they're having so much fun, harming their helpless Pokemon with every command that holds an unspoken expectation - increasing disputes and the chances of rebellion. Green used to look like that, a long time ago. But now, at 17 years old, he's only just begun to scratch the surface of the twisted hatred Pokemon battles really contain. But Green is just fine with that, because one day, he's going to become the very best Pokemon trainer.
Pallet Town was rather pathetic and nondescript, featuring a Pokemon lab and a few small houses. Pretty, sure, but you'd be bored out of your mind. Green was bored out of his mind, which is why he had continued his Pokemon journey. He's been a trainer for seven years now, and he recently heard rumours of the Champion residing in Mount Silver. So, Green being the curious, adventurous trainer he is, had decided to travel to Mount Silver and have a word with this supposed champion. The words tasted sour in his throat, like metal and rust. Green had always wished to be the Champion since he was a little boy. Most boys dreamed of being race-car drivers, or rock stars, but Green was the odd one out, ever since he was a child.
Greens feet crunched on the brisk grass covered with early morning dew. It was Winter, and that meant plenty of snow storms. Luckily, he hasn't been caught in one, yet, he reminded himself rather pessimistically. Feeling a little lonely looking around at the smiling children, Green called out his Eevee from its Pokeball, asking it to walk along with him. Eevee, of course, complied, and they continued. Green glanced at his surroundings; Snow-covered evergreen trees formed a rather erratic pattern in the nearby forest, and he could hear the pleasant sounds of bug pokemon, and the occasional buzz from a Beedrill. Rule one: Never go out into uncivilised areas without a competent Pokemon, Green reminded himself, the rules drilled into his head from days after days, then years after years of schooling. Rule two: Never let your guard down, Green chanted in his head as he approached the forest. Plenty of Pokemon were game now, and they were eager to protect their land from an apparent threat. Rule thre--- Bam! There it was!
A Beedrill hovered out from behind a tree, looming pincers dripping with contact poison. Green sighed and withdrew his no longer pleased Eevee. Selecting a ball from his backpack, he clutched onto it and threw it into the open area. "Arcanine, come on out, buddy!" He shouted, throat hoarse from lack of water and physical exertion. Arcanine materialised out of the red and white ball, snarling loudly, with flames adorning its' striped tail. Green saw the Beedrill's eyes widen in surprise, obviously not accustomed to Pokeballs. Seeing this as a great opportunity, he shouted "Now, use flamethrower!" Great, roaring fire leapt from Arcanine's mouth with colours of the sunset. The fights were too easy, the Pokemon fainted in one hit most of the time. Exactly why I'm going to see this apparent Champion. Green grinned a smile of all teeth, whistling as he ordered Arcanine back into its pokeball.
Green continued on his journey to Mount Silver, still stuck in the damned forest full of neverending Pokemon. He sighed and glanced at his worn out Eevee. How long would it take to reach Mount Silver, anyway?
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Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 1232 || intro
₪____Ҡαeᶑe___ βαηe____←______________
Killing is an art; not a profession.
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Kaede crouched as low as possible while still allowing freedom of fast movement as she followed the sound of a whore's footsteps. Her target was a young girl of fourteen, sold into the whoring business by a father that was rarely sober. The organisation had a problem with this man. He had requested to have his wife erased, a poor, bitter woman long past her ripeness. But he had refused to pay afterwards, saying he would turn us into the authorities, even the King himself. Of course, the assassin's had just sneered at his desperate attempts of gaining control of the inevitable situation that would eventually occur. So, he needed to be taught discipline; he needed to remember the fact that every organisation in this rotten Kingdom controlled the whoring, the drug shipments, the killing, the twisted pleasures men and women crave. Kaede heard the girls footsteps become more hurried, her steps no longer calculated. She reeked of fear and a man's sweat. Kaede climbed up the wall of a broken down home, easily finding small cracks and crevices in the brick. Kaede grimaced as she pulled herself onto the roof. Why was she doing an amateurs job, anyway?
As she complained and insulted her superiors, Kaede saw the girl break out into a sprint. Great, she had intuition. Damn it. She must have felt Kaede’s eyes on her as she was lost in her thoughts. Cursing herself for her stupidity, Kaede sped across the rooftops, nearly slipping off a roof at one point because of a loose tile. She slid off, grunting as she came into contact with the paved ground. She stood just as the girl arrived from around the corner, her long skinny legs carrying her as fast as she could, not paying any notice to the people around her, and only obeying the ice in her veins that demanded she run as fast as possible away from a potential threat. As the girl neared Kaede, she tripped on her long skirt she must have used while ‘working’. She tumbled over, hitting Kaede and knocking her over as well. The air rushed out of her lungs as she collided with the girl and was pushed onto the ground. Kaede smiled at the perfect opportunity, then regretted it as the girls unwashed hair piled onto Kaede’s face. Spitting, she pushed the girl off her and stood up. Almost immediately, strings of apologies and excuses came spilling out of her painted lips. Offering a hand to the girl that was facing death personified, Kaede helped her up and gave many reassurances that she was okay. The poor girl, it’s amazing she wasn’t completely broken and dispirited. No matter, she would be soon. Putting on her most concerned face, Kaede, who was ten years the girls senior, said she had a house nearby, claiming that her grandmother worked with medicine and would be able to tend to the wounds her last ‘client’ had inflicted on her. The girl smiled gratefully and accepted, oblivious to the situation she was getting herself in. Kaede tried to smile back, the muscles in her face stiff. When was the last time Kaede had smiled genuinely, anyway? Certainly not today. Guiding the girl, she led her through winding alleys smelling of urine, the houses becoming more broken down and pathetic the further they went. In an alley near her, she heard the echo of a woman screaming until it was silenced as quickly as it began.
Kaede led the girl into a house she didn’t own. Another organisation had rid this house of its occupants a few days ago, so it was free for temporary loan. As she closed the door behind her, the girl immediately broke into fits of sobs and cries. Kaede shushed her as a mother might and gently guided her to the kitchen chair. That time must have been her first. Kaede actually felt a little sympathetic then. Then she shook her head at the unfamiliar, sudden display of emotion. We do not feel, we stop other’s from feeling, she heard in her head, the motto planted in her head like a seed that refused the water. Impassive once again, her hand immediately went to the sheath strapped to her leg. Drawing the just-cleaned blade out of its sheath, she moved quickly. Placing the dagger to her throat and holding her head back as she leaned from behind her, she snatched the necklace off the girls neck. There was a silver crucifix hanging on the string. Kaede snorted and dropped the necklace on the ground. Placing her hand on the girls jaw, she forced the girl to look at Kaede. Her face was like the eye of the storm. Fury and trouble lay everywhere, but she was the most treacherous, calm part. Kaede leaned down and in a very calm, emotionless voice, she hissed, "Where is your god now?" and saw the fear and panic in her eyes. Quickly slashing the girl's throat, Kaede left her like that; sitting on a chair, eyes slack, her throat bleeding out her life. Wiping the blade on her shirt, Kaede began to travel back to the organisation at once, as was expected.
+++++++++++
Arriving at the familiar organisation she wouldn't dare call home, Kaede immediately went to her only superior - a bald, thinning man of around forty-five years old. Already sinking back into her snark, laid-back attitude, Kaede lounged on the uncomfortable chair in his office. A bag full of gold was thrown at her and she caught it in her left hand, nodding at him. Tapping her blade with her two un-clad fingers, she half-listened to him talk. "...Understand?" Kaede nodded, heedless as to what he had demanded she do. He sighed, obviously used to this lack of attention. Normally, he would just send her out and have someone else tell her, but he was furious this time. Dramatically slamming his hands on the wooden desk, he levelled his gaze at her. Kaede stared back. "Listen, Kaede, as I know you're not stupid, nor are you a mute." Kaede sighed and leaned forward, cracking her knuckles.
"You've finally managed to gain my attention after all these years, Jude. Spend it wisely." She grinned at him, and he didn't grin back. He never did. Sighing, she realised she had to show she meant it. "I'm serious, talk." Finally realising she was being earnest about it, Jude launched into explaining another contract.
"We've got a dangerous job for you. A really dangerous one."
"Shoot... Not literally." She said with grim humour.
He ignored her comment. As blunt as always, he said simply,"Assassinate the King." Kaede gave him a stare, obviously indicating that he should elaborate. He ran his fingers through his rapidly thinning hair.
"An anonymous manhunt has been issued through the organisations, lists were sent with contracts suitable for the chosen assassin. You've got the King on your list, at the top. You may kill him by any means necessary, so long as you are not caught doing so. Remember the poison capsules you have in your cloak. If you're in an inevitable situation of capture - use them to avoid torture and interrogation. If you get caught, you'll obviously be put to death for major treason, but then again, he obviously chose you thinking you wouldn't." Kaede grinned. Finally, a challenge.
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Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 888 || reply
_______________↘ L α ƞ ɕ ɛ ʀ xxx Ƭ ʀ ɛ γ ♣
__________________________________Eternity taken away – we die,
__________________________________In these dying swords, we kill.
__________________________________In this depression; our cycle of life -
__________________________________Time slows; but never stands still.
ᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥ
→ Lancer's crimson eyes tightened as he heard the other guards talking about one of the prisoners. He saw the man lean back in apparent disinterest, although he was obviously still interested. She continued talking animatedly, with no regard for the other guards that were unfortunately stuck with them. Like me, ugh, Lancer thought. Why was he stuck here with these Guards? They were poor firebenders with poor discipline. Lancer, on the other hand, had been offered a place in the Firelords personal Guards. Of course, Lancer felt no shred of duty to the man, as Lancer thought he was a fat, gluttonous man reveling in his wealth and women. He shook his head sadly, and leaned on the chair behind the desk. He listened to their practically one-sided conversation.
"A freedom-fighter, apparently. One of the important ones - A kid called Takai something. We caught him going solo... Poor choice." She said with a wry grin.
The man had a look on his face akin to curiosity.
"Takai?...Wasn't he that boy that had his house burned down, all those years ago?" Lancer then realised why that prisoner had seemed familiar. Back in his rogue days, Lancer had burned down many houses, leaving the ashes of strife, misery and hatred everywhere. Then, it would blow away from firebending, the ashes whispered in the winds of gossip.
He used to be caught in the thrill, in the adrenaline, not sparing a single thought for the lives he had destroyed. So, he had given up his barbaric ways of youthful rebellion and outrage at biased superiors. It seems similar to what this boy was doing, too. Until we captured him, of course, Lancer thought with a twinge of irony. Still swinging on the chair, he flexed his fingers and pulled out a dagger, casually flipping it between hands and fingers, as he does when he doesn't have to feed the prisoners, or stop an attempted escape. He heard the shuffle of boots that seemed to heavy for some people, and muffled yawns, with the occasional whine and groan. Must be some new recruits, he grinned widely. The woman that was talking before looked over at the devilish grin on Lancer's face.
"Oh, s**t," she said loudly, going on with the act they always played on the new recruits. She walked out of the room briefly, encouraged by the smile on his face. Lancer heard her exclaim, "Keep the pretty ones away from Lancer, he bites!" He saw her walk back in, and gestured to Lancer. Quickly understanding the gesture, Lancer wiped all ounces of amusement on his face. As the new recruits shuffled in, he looked at them with a glare of contempt. He saw some shuffle awkwardly, and others look away. Only one stared back with defiance. Good, Lancer thought with satisfaction. At least all of them aren't spineless. He stood up from the chair, seeing some of them wince as the chair creaked in protest on the wooden floor.
"Remind me again why we're here," he whined with exaggerated exasperation. He glared at the new recruits standing at the front of the door. Their backs visibly straightened, and Lancer attempted to fight back a cruel smile. "Listen here, ladies. This job isn't to get away from your firebending studies, and it isn't to avoid some family troubles. Why? Because here, you will still be instructed in firebending, and your family will still visit. Let's get that out of your gold-plated britches, now." He said, glaring at the smug-looking man at the front. "I don't care about who you are - although I will care if you start shoving your title in anyone's faces. If you've got a problem, talk to me. If you don't, get out of my sight - and do it now." He waved them off with a shake of his hand still holding the dagger. They shuffled out as quickly as possible. The guard that was leading the recruits looked at the two men and one woman still in the room and chuckled, giving them all a wave while he closed the door. Once the door shut, they burst out laughing, happy that their act had worked again, and none of them had even picked up on it. A bell rang, interrupting their tear-inducing laughter. Hearing three rings, Lancer wiped the tears from his eyes and stood slowly, sighing heavily. "I guess I'm the unlucky b*****d that has to feed them this time." he said to them, walking towards the metal door that led to the prison. He grumbled as he opened up the door and shut it behind him, all light immediately gone from the prison, as only the dim streaks of sunlight kept it from darkness. As he locked the door behind him, Lancer walked towards the many cupboards and pantry's that held the food for the unlucky prisoners. He began filling numerous bowls with rice, and lots of wooden glasses with water. The prisoners hands were chained, so they couldn't bend, so Lancer had to feed them himself. He grimaced as he heard the ravenous chews from each prisoner he fed, and stopped as he came across a sickly old woman. She cursed at him and spat venom, refusing to eat. He shrugged, and stood up, ready to feed the rest of them.
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→With: Starving prisoners.
→Action: Feeding them.
→Thoughts: 'If there's another attempted escape I'm going to rip my hair out.'
+[[OOC - Sorry this took so long! And sorry it's boring!]]+
Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 506 || reply
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx»xx €ŋѵγ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxDragging him down; he can't breathe,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxBursts of colour bleed out his seams.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHe, who is melting in song...
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWhat colour will he reflect upon?
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- Envy walked through the empty hallways, his shoe-clad feet echoing through the halls. He heard obnoxious laughter and frustrated yelling coming from every filled classroom around him. He sighed, knowing he shouldn’t be skipping again. But the classes were dreadfully boring; filled with teachers lecturing in disappointed, monotone voices, wishing to go home almost as much as the yawning students did. It was depressing, really.
Envy left through the unsupervised school doors, his eyes blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. As he opened his eyes again, vibrant greens and soothing blues intruded his vision, with every tree, every leaf having its own radiance. He breathed deeply, inhaling the relaxing scent of freshly cut grass. Distantly, he was aware of hearing shuffling feet behind him, but he ignored the feet and kept on using his senses, loving the feeling of being aware of everything around him. He heard songbirds and the loud rumbling of engines. He heard voices from the classrooms and voices fro---- Whack! Envy clutched his head and turned around, a look of annoyance and pain plain on his face. Looming dangerously in front of him stood the principal, a look of fury across his face. Envy sighed and trudged back into the school. He really was horrible at skipping. But with no parents for the principal to call, they didn’t know what to do with him. The only class Envy ever looked forward to was Chemistry. There was also Alchemy, of course, but that’s what the school is notorious for. It was a boarding school for aspiring Alchemists. But the government had winged and whined, only because they were biased about eliminating Alchemy. But they had been unsuccessful, as they too, relied on Alchemy. But now, across every Alchemy school, the basics like English, Mathematics, Chemistry and History were taught. Envy knew the Principal was watching him, but he didn’t mind. Instead of going to his current class, History, Envy walked into the bathroom, and continued to stay there for the rest of the period. The bell rang, and it was recess time. Envy smiled, almost clutching onto his rapidly depleting stomach.
As he arrived in the cafeteria, he ordered a red apple, some celery sticks and water. Paying for his lunch, he sat at the nearest table, not caring who was there and whether they wanted him there or not. Listening to the conversations happening around them, he smiled at the rumours. Apparently someone had tried to seduce Lust and one of the teachers had to wrestle a bear in Alchemy class. Then, Envy heard the word human transmutation. Apparently the whole cafeteria did, too, as a hush fell over the room, and a stern teacher clipped the student on the back of the head. Envy couldn’t see who it was, as there was a crowd around them already. Then, almost as if the word had never been spoken, the bell rang and everyone had to go to their next class. Envy smiled; his next class was Alchemy.
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Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 726 || reply
xxѴoleηe xxOϯhreηxx ↘↘xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------...Let us close our weeping eyes tonight,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Fly away with butterfly wings made of light,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Colours weeping, yellow cascading -
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Our feeble minds are slowly degrading.
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★→Volene felt more than heard the ruckus the prisoner was making. He was awake now, good. She grinned. Volene was lounging outside the door that separated him from the group, but so far he was pretty unimpressive. She'd expected he would have put up some sort of a fight when she knocked him unconscious, but he did nothing of the sort. He didn't even see her coming, and he had just slumped over. She'd captured him on the road, as he had been attempting to travel inconspicuously. She had tracked him for days, knowing he had a high standing with the Imperial scum. He walked with that arrogant gait they all had, like they knew they could walk over everything in their way. Volene hated that. She had wanted to hit him repeatedly, and had approached him, but obviously the rest of the gang saw the vicious intent in her eyes. They had restrained her and locked the prisoner away for his own good. If she hadn't acted out, they would be interrogating him right now. She chastised herself for her foolishness, and then, of course, the leader had as well. She was the magician, the healer, the necromancer - the one that dabbled with the dark arts. She was to heal, not to kill. Volene grumbled and walked over to the wooden desk in the room. She lounged on the chair, swinging back and forth, taking small sips from her tankard of mead.
The door to the prison opened, and it swung back on its' hinges, slamming into the wall it was anchored on. Immediately, Volene conjured a ball of ice in her hand, ready to pelt it at the intruder. Then, the leader walked in, and Volene stopped rocking from her chair. She nodded to him as he approached the door, signaling the all was well, from what she was aware of. Instantly vanishing the magic from her now-tingling hands, she clenched and unclenched them to remove the irresistible pull of destructive magic. "I searched him for weapons and removed what he had," she indicated with her tingling hand to the chest in the corner of the worn down room, "but he may be a mage - perhaps even a member of Winterhold, or he may not be. I cannot tell, as I have not seen him fight. His hands are bound to his legs, but he may try something." She glared at the men behind the leader, feeling the need to remind them of something crucial. "Please don't do anything stupid this time." She said, sparing a particular glance at the awkward, skinny man to the left of the leader, looking like the armor was a little too big for him. When they captured the prisoner, he had humorously announced that he was able to carry the man by himself, all the way back to their camp. About one hundred paces later, he had collapsed from exhaustion - and both of them had to be carried. The prisoner wasn't large, of course, but muscle weighs a hell of a lot.
The leader ensured that his blades were safely strapped to his body and in easy access. Shadows covered the men's faces and they unlocked the door, handing the key to an approaching Volene. Tucking the key in a pocket on the inside of her cloak, Volene pulled the hood over her face. The door swung on its rusted hinges and creaked with protest as it opened. They walked in, with Volene following at the back. Once they were all in, they shut the door again. Volene didn't wish to show the prisoner her extended knowledge of magic, so she moved the cloth away from the barred windows and opened them, light finally inside the cell. She leaned against the wall, waiting for her leader to speak. Shockingly, he motioned for her to begin. Volene recovered quickly and shot a glare at the grinning men behind him, obviously the reason why she had to talk. Looking at the prisoner, she demanded, "Alright, Imperial scum. Let's get one thing over with quickly; are you going to talk, or are we going to have to make you talk?" She cracked her knuckles, "Because if we do, I've no problem with that." Volene knew he wasn't a mute, so he wouldn't be able to pull that card.
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- [OOC: No worries! It's great!]
→With:
→Action:
→Thoughts:
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Eaten away by paranoia of the dark,
Sleepless nights leave their mark.
Butterfly wings will show us the way,
Through the insanity and mind decay...
Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 775 || intro
◥ Ⅴa l є я ι є ◤
"We hunt, we kill. We are no better than they are."
┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽
◢ ◣
◢ ◣
Valerie sighed, hating herself for what she was about to do. Walking along the paved roads of the rich, upper-city, Sai, she felt a glimmer of justice in her bones. Valerie lived in Lumen, the slums of Fiem, consisting of whores, thieves and murderers. In Sai, that made them courtesans, 'sticky-fingers' and Hash's. She smiled thinly at her own jibe, continuing to walk all the while. Finally, arriving at one of the higher-up cobblestone houses, she glanced around and pulled her purple cloak over her head to cover her face, and hid her easily recognisable white hair from view. No, she won't be Valerie the Thief, once Hunter. She'll be the Unknown, the shadows stalking every man standing in the light.
But there was only orange, overcast light now, as the sun was meeting the horizon. She had to be quick, then she had to rush to a warm inn with hot food, a warm bed, and a nice drink of ale. Ever since her parents were brutally murdered, she had no one to live with, and the house she had lived in had been evicted. Now homeless, she steals in the night whenever she dares, and stalks the hunting grounds during the day. Pushing aside their cloth-curtains, Valeria silently crept into the house, cursing the stone for the chills now on her feet. She had years of hunting skill in her bones, in the deft quickness of her small hands. Valerie heard no yells, no shouts, no cries. Only silence, except for the even breathing of the children that lived here.
Valerie glanced around the house, her thieves' eye searching for anything valuable. She found nothing, only cherished family ornaments worth only something in memory. Mentally sighing, she slowly and silently trotted up the cool, stone stairs. 'Decent family if they can afford stone stairs,' she thought greedily. Continuing up the stairs, she came to the top of the house, where the children must sleep on comfortable, straw beds. She saw a little boy, perhaps ten years old, clutching a doll and sleeping soundly. Valerie envied them, and hated them for all of their richness, their smugness, their softness. She spat, still searching for valuable items, perhaps a necklace? Yes, a necklace would do nicely for the pawn shop, then she could eat something warm, she could have a full stomach for the first time in days.
She saw a glint of something metal, the item attracting the lights' attention. She walked towards the shadows and found a small metallic sword. No doubt for the boy sleeping deeply to her right. She didn't even think about it. She took the sword and pocketed it, and continued to search for items of value. Suddenly, a pang of guilt eased its way through her already heavy conscience. She sighed, she just couldn't do it. Even her, as a child, had things she held precious. This sword must mean the world, life and death to this boy. Still feeling the bitterness of guilt, she put the sword back, and crept down she stairs as quickly as she could, while still maintaining her stealth.
The sun was nearly completely down, and Valerie had to get somewhere safe, fast. About three hundred paces away, she saw a torch-lit inn with creaking wooden signs. She ran, her footsteps loud, her bare feet grazing against the stone paths. Eventually, the paths turned to dirt, but she still ran.
About fifty paces away from the inn, it started pouring, heavily. "Son of a b***h," she cursed, pulling the hood of her purple cloak over her head, cursing herself for not thinking of this sooner. Praying the toxic rain didn't get on her bare skin, she made it to the inn and quickly ran through the frayed cloth door.
All conversation stopped. Tons of faces began staring at a shallow-breathing, flush-faced, purple-cloak clad elf. She held up her hands, indicating peace. She thought she must look like she was up to no good, her being a Spur and all. Shrugging nonchalantly, she placed herself on top of a wooden stool and called for a large mug of ale. She heard the rain falling faster, more steadily now. She began hearing the roars and snarls of the feral beasts. Smiling a thin-lipped smile, she waited for her ale, eavesdropping on the conversations as the people were slowly recovering from the shock of her sudden entrance. Distantly, she heard the crack of thunder above her, and she froze, the warm ale spilling in her shaking hands.
"s**t." She whispered, still trying to maintain the pretense of calm.
It was going to be a long night.
◥ ◤
┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽
With:
Attitude:
Wearing:
Attitude:
Wearing:
┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽ ┽
Zlae
Witty Hunter
Zlae
Witty Hunter
______________________________✤Sεɭα ₲υo_____
________________________________________________________________________αll oƒ ʈɧɛɱ, ʈɧɛy’ʀε αll ʈɧɛ sαɱɛ
________________________________________________________________________cɧɛss ρiɛcɛs iη ʈɧɛ ɡʀαηdɛʀ gαɱɛ
________________________________________________________________________look αwαy ƒʀoɱ ʈɧɛiʀ dooɱ wiʈɧ scoʀη
________________________________________________________________________sαcʀiƒicɛ α kηigɧʈ ʈo ʈαkɛ α ραwη
╔═════════════════════════════╗
x♠ Speech is seagreen.
★→ Location: Where are you?
★→ With: Who are you with?
★→ Action: What are you doing?
★→ Thoughts: What are you thinking?
________________________________________________________________________αll oƒ ʈɧɛɱ, ʈɧɛy’ʀε αll ʈɧɛ sαɱɛ
________________________________________________________________________cɧɛss ρiɛcɛs iη ʈɧɛ ɡʀαηdɛʀ gαɱɛ
________________________________________________________________________look αwαy ƒʀoɱ ʈɧɛiʀ dooɱ wiʈɧ scoʀη
________________________________________________________________________sαcʀiƒicɛ α kηigɧʈ ʈo ʈαkɛ α ραwη
╔═════════════════════════════╗
x♠ Speech is seagreen.
╚═════════════════════════════╝
★→ Location: Where are you?
★→ With: Who are you with?
★→ Action: What are you doing?
★→ Thoughts: What are you thinking?
Zlae
Witty Hunter
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx♕xҬoʀα Ȥɧαo
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxA mirror to the sun.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWell, I'm forming and I'm warming...
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxState of the art -
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxUntil the clouds come crashing.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxA mirror to the sun.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWell, I'm forming and I'm warming...
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxState of the art -
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxUntil the clouds come crashing.
▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆
xx» Speech is sienna.
▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆
★→ Location: Where are you?
★→ With: Who are you with?
★→ Action: What are you doing?
★→ Thoughts: What are you thinking?
Zlae
Witty Hunter
Quote:
words: 807 || reply
❖ ↘↘ Ȥylρhiα C. βᴜrηε-------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Let a story be told of beasts with brass teeth,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Men staring at pocketed time, women sighing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Liars and honest men; all will succumb,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------To our nightmares that they feed upon.
▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉
◆ They were underground, in the city of Orlea, on a mission. The King ordered a manhunt of sorts, and here they were, hunting these addicts. Four freaks were slouched comfortably around a dying fire, only their silhouettes and drunken slurs were proof that they were there at all.
“Fyora, pass the mead, will you?” One of them said, his voice slurred and obviously caught in the haze of the alcohol. Zylphia watched with interest as the figure, Fyora, titled her head towards the source of the voice and threw the bottle. It smashed on the floor beside the figure, the contents spilling out onto the stone. Raw anger filled through the man's voice as he cursed at Fyora and the other two people shifted uneasily on the bedrolls, slowly awaking because of the disturbance. Zylphia and Alaric, witnesses to the clumsy mistake, barely held back their laughter. Still, she heard Alaric chuckle under his breath.
Breathing slowly and quietly again, she heard him whisper.
“Zyl, I'll take the two on the right, you get the two on the left.” A curt nod was her response, unwilling to give away their location in the shadows. She looked down and saw the metal of his dagger glint quickly in the torch-lit room as he slowly withdrew it from its sheath. Zylphia did the same and not a small fragment of her previous grin could be seen on her shadowed face. She was here to kill, not to laugh at these addicts and their drunken mistakes. Her left hand firmly clutching the daggers, Zylphia tapped him lightly on the shoulder and started a countdown with her right hand. Five... Adrenaline filled her veins. Four... She saw him readjust his position. Three... Two... One! They leapt out from behind the stashes of crates and supplies, slaughter in their minds. Zylphia charged towards the woman named Fyora and another one as Alaric charged towards the other two. Zylphia sliced the woman's neck just as a large headache penetrated Zylphia's intruded mind. She grit her teeth and looked down at the woman's widened eyes as she felt her skin get hot. Unnaturally hot. She quickly withdrew her blade from the bleeding corpse as sweat began cascading down her skin. Her vision was wavering and her head was pounding thanks to the now-dead Fyora. Her feet splashed in the spilt mead as she charged towards who was making her boil. The pyro groped around him for a weapon, but it was too late. Zylphia's dagger found its way into his widened eyes as she missed, her hands sweaty and her grip on the dagger slippery because of the heat. His scream pierced the air, and she felt Alaric's disapproving gaze on her, even as he fought one person, the other lifeless on the ground. She grimaced and tried to realign her vision to no avail. She quickly withdrew another blade from her thigh and slit the man's throat, dropping the blade from her shaking hands.
Beads of sweat dripped off of her forehead and pooled on the ground as she clutched her aching head. Through her fringe she saw Alaric walk towards her, the bodies discarded and forgotten. He pulled and grabbed the two daggers that were still in the man's corpse and tossed them to her. She didn't bother attempting to catch the blades and let them hit the ground. The noise echoed in the rooms and the noise - seemingly loud to her - reverberated in her oversensitive ears. She bit back her scream and covered her ears as quickly as possible. Alaric patiently waited while she hunched over on the crate as moments that seemed like hours continued to pass.
Eventually, her head cleared and her vision was solid again. She stood, picking her daggers up from the ground and sheathing them. Indicating to the corpses with a tilt of her head, they both dragged the bodies and piled them up on top of the mead. She waited as Alaric grabbed a nearby torch from the wall and moved back. As he threw the torch towards the mead, they turned around and ran towards the exit when a huge explosion set off from behind them. As they neared the rusted ladder, she looked behind them and saw more running towards them. They picked up the pace and Zylphia climbed up first, her hands bleeding from the rough bars with Alaric following closely behind. She grunted as she tried to open the hatch, her hands slipping as she frantically tried to turn the wheel. Finally her hands clutched tightly around the wheel, and she turned it quickly, her lungs gratefully inhaling fresh air. She moved as Alaric hopped out of the hatch and shut it as tightly as possible. Then they turned around, their eyes squinting against the bright light.
▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉
★→ Location: Outside one of the million hatches that lead to the Underground.
★→ With: Alaric.
★→ Action: Nothing. About to go back to the hideout.
★→ Thoughts: 'I never realised how much their mental abilities are decreased when they're intoxicated. I should remember that for a later situation.'
Zlae
Witty Hunter
___۞ → // єℓᴛʀʏs ғʀєʏ__________
_____________________________________________________Dreams shatter like enchanting mirrors
_____________________________________________________Her bloodshot eyes blink; fractured.
_____________________________________________________The reflection breaks; her dream's distorted.
_____________________________________________________The dream’s replaced, she’s once again enraptured.
_____________________________________________________Blinded by the lies, blinding her own eyes.
◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆
✚ → // Speech is peru.
◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆
★ → // Location: Where are you?
★ → // With: Who are you with?
★ → // Action: What are you doing?
★ → // Thoughts: What are you thinking?
Zlae
Witty Hunter