Maruader's Storm Contest and Plot Vote

[Prosaic Tropes]

We have entered the contest portion of this arc! In a nice little twist in usual arcs, a large part of this arc's fate can be decided by your decisions, in votes!

Up first is a contest between all your fellow guild mates. The rules are simple: in this thread, write as one of your characters going through their morning rituals. The catch? You are to write them as members of a bandit guild, powers intact but their royal titles nonexistant. Their personalities, relationships and behavior should be the same as they are IC, as well as their home kingdom, but they are all members of the same bandit guild. Each player is allowed one post per character, but you can only have a maximum of two characters. Feel free to let your tone dip into either seriousness or humor: it's up to you! You have until July 3rd to participate. After that, a 9 day voting period will follow. The winner will have a place in this arc's conclusion, as well as a nice IC prize. Consider this a nice writing exercise that allows you to experiment with your characters.

Next, we have guild-wide vote. As you can see, there is a poll on this post. Please vote accordingly to what you believe, as the results of the vote will decide something else for the arc.

Also, note that while Aeon-of-Eclipse may or may not participate in this contest, he is not eligible for your votes. We will also take into consideration your posting habits: if the mods believe you have not been a good little poster, your entry may be disqualified.

As always, have fun!  

[x-EternalAlice-x]

Amarenth Soren Hyuga

Kingdom: Envy
Location: Camp Edge with No one

Cross through the night
I looked down and lost my way
my light

(())

The female bandit found herself not wanting to get up that morning. She had been up last night having fun with some of her “friends”. Unfortunately, their idea of fun was letting loose and drinking a bit too much of the wine they had taken from others. While the wine liberated their minds for the night, it always come back to haunt them in the next morning. Soren just only wished she was the exception to that rule. But, as her bounding head soon proved, she wasn’t. “Dammit…why couldn’t my abilities also come with alcohol tolerance?” She huffed slightly to herself.

She knew at this rate, she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Thus, she forced herself out from underneath her blanket. Her eyes narrowed at the bright light that was the sun. The light and the normal commotion of the camp were not helping at all! The bandit needed to find some place dark and quiet! The only place she might get that was at the edge of the camp. Even then, it probably wouldn’t be much relief. As her head pounded more though, Soren was willing to take even a little relief.

But, that didn’t mean she could stop herself from frowning. The frown remained on her face as she sloppily pulled her hair back. Then, she changed into a shirt and pants…that didn’t have the scent or stain of wine on them. No need to make her hangover even more obvious. She made sure to slowly stand up to keep her stomach from churning (Well, more than it already was anyway). Once Soren had been able to stand without making a fool of herself, the bandit exited her tent.

The faint smell of food only made her stomach churn more. At this rate, the ground might be seeing what might have remained of her last meal. Due to not wanting to see that, she walked slowly away from the smell. On her way there to the edge of the camp, she glared and scowled at anyone that even looked her way. She was in no mood for their teasing…let alone anything else they might have wanted to say. That all could wait for another day when she wasn’t suffering from one of her ideas of fun.

Once she reached the edge of the camp, she sat down on a low rock. She leaned over and kept her head between her knees. She breathed deeply and slowly to try and ease the nausea and the headache. But, the two lingered like a festering wound. Unfortunately, Soren knew that meant she might be here a while. She just hoped they wouldn’t be trying to rob anyone today. Cause otherwise? She would have to suck it up and help…and she sure wasn’t in the mood for that. But for now, the bandit made herself focus on breathing and rubbing at her temple, still hoping for any form of relief.

Brought to my knees
Though the darkness surrounds
it pull me down,
I do not sink beneath

 

[x-EternalAlice-x]

Ɉϕɧɳ Ӎiҫɧɑϵɭ Gɍϵϵɳϵ

Kingdom: Fortitude

Location: Camp Fire with No one

White walls surround us
As we sleep among the dead

(())

When the sunlight started to cross over his face, his eyelids started to clench more. He didn’t want to get up just yet. But, with the arrival of the sun, his internal clock took over and his eyes started to open without his permission. He shrugged off the faint annoyance as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Once he got all the stuff off of his eyes, John got out from underneath the blanket and started to make himself more presentable.

He ran some fingers through his hair to try and get the messy look out of it. Then, he splashed some water, from a bucket, across his face. With the water still streaming down his face, John looked up at the tiny piece of glass in front of him. John frowned faintly at the faint bags underneath his eyes. He really needed to remember to get more rest. Otherwise, he would bring himself to his grave a little too early. But, the bandit had no time to linger on that. He needed to finish getting ready for the day.

With that thought in mind, he grabbed a shirt from nearby and used it to wipe the water off his face. After that, John grabbed a different shirt and put it on over his chest. He put on some boots nearby and tied the boots tightly. Before he left his tent though, John made sure to grab his rapier and place it on his waist. If there was one thing he learned, it was one should never go around defenseless…even amongst his own comrades.

Thus, with that all taken care of, John left the tent. He allowed himself to glance over what he could see of the camp before moving towards the smell of food. Just the idea of eating caused his stomach to growl. He could only hope it would be good. But, the bandit would be willing to take whatever had been found. Luckily, it did not take long before he found the source of the smell. A nice chicken being roasted over a fire.

He licked his lips as he sat nearby the fire. He could see a couple of others waiting on the chicken as well. While John was hungry, he knew he would be fair and let them have their pickings. After all, they were there first. However, that didn’t mean the bandit wasn’t tempted to just take the roasting chicken for himself. For hunger did drive people to do many things. But for now, the bandit simply waited for the chicken to be ready…while hoping luck would be on his side today.

We can chase the dark together
As the sky returns to grey

 

[sinful whisper]

Sated she braced her hands against her latest conquest's his chest. His eyes came alight with desire once more and she narrowed hers. She was finished with him, done, there would be no more bed play this morning. And never again with him. With a snort she shoved him off of her. "You're too attached Christoph." She said bitterly as she adjusted the tie at the front of her chemise.

With a growl he lanched himself at her, knocking her back into the matress with a bounce before pinning her. With arms above her head, he nestled himself into the craddle of her body. She rolled her eyes as he peared down at her. His lips curling into a small satisfied smirk. "As far as I'm concerned my lady we're not attatched enough." His voice was husky, rough and the affect it had once had on her had faded hours ago. Her brow rose as he attempted to seduce her once more. This was why she kept men at a distance, only using them when her need was too great and then leaving them. Anything more was a distraction. Anything more was annoying. Grinding her teeth together she carefully inched her fingers under her pillow. They met cool steel as they curled around the hilt of the dagger. With a snort she rolled her eyes.

"If you're not careful with that you'll loose it and never be able to see to a woman's needs again." She vowed. She'd choose Christoph because he was a leetch. Never staying in a woman's bed for long, no risk at getting attached but he was too weak to stand up to curse of the siren. He chuckled at her threat, undoubtedly believing it was to pull him further into her arms and the comfort of her bed. Idiot. She thought as he continued his feeble attempts. Enough. She thought and before he had time to think. Her thighs gripped his hips. Pinning him in place before she pushed with her arms and sent him to his back. Pinning him beneath her. His pupils dilated, as that smirk grew into a grin.

"Well well." Slowly he leaned up in a quest for a kiss. "Seems you're not as unaffected as you'd like to believe." He purred. Eyes narrowed into thin slits she pressed the cold steel to his throat. A small red line beaded with crimson from the presser. His eyes once consumed by the heat of his arousal now widened with shock as fear skittered across his expression.

"And it seems you're too much of a fool to believe that I'd want anything more to do with you than one cuppling." Slowly Mishka leaned forward, her lips a scant inch from his as she whispered. "Now get up, get your clothing and leave before you loose both your heads." Leaning back she slipped from his lap and laid back. Resting her head against the headboard, blade tip pressing to her palm as she slowly twisted it. Watching it gleam in the light as Christoph raced to leave her presence. His clothing rustled, followed by the thud of boots and then by the slamming of her chamber door. Only then did she look up from the blade and took in her empty surroundings. There was only one man she longed to have stay in her arms, to enjoy that blissful moment when they were sated. Glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Arms and legs still entangled. But that would never come to pass for he'd been taken from her too soon. But his loss was a blow she feared she'd never recover from.

Still she ached, mourned him and often fell asleep with tears stinging her eyes. In moments like this, when she was alone and missed him the most, she couldn't help but let her mind trail back to that night. That night when he'd fallen on her blade...

"Jasper what's wrong?" She beseeched, bright blue eyes filled with so much confusion at the ominous cloud that now hung of the couple. He was troubled, conflicted and she had no idea where that crazed look in his eye had come from. He paced the length of the tent, fists clenched tightly at his sides as he shook his head. She took a tentative step forward, her fingers itching to touch him. "Please my love, tell me what is the matter I must know." He stilled his back to her, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath he took.

"Mishka. Do you love me?" He asked, his voice hitching on the last word.

"Of course I do. You know it to be true." Rushing forward before common sense won out she wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades. "Is that what bothers you? You fear I do not love you?" She asked unsure. Had the wraith he harbored and neglected eaten away at his confidence? Making him doubt the true depths of her affections? His calloused fingers stroked the back of her hands before he pried them loos and turned to face her. Craning his neck he stole a kiss that tasted of despair.

Her lashes fluttered, brows furrowing as her chin lifted and she met his gaze. He looked wild, with fathomless black eyes that were filled with so much desperation she couldn't deny the fear that skittered down her spine. "Then come away with me."

Yes she wanted to say even as she took a step away from him. "W-what?" She stuttered her hand fluttering to her throat, fingers curling around the necklace he'd given her years ago. He didn't let her any space as he closed the distance between them. Crowding her in that small tent and just then it felt too small. His power sizzled in the air, crackling as the wraith making himself known sending her blood to ice.

"Come with me Mishka. I shant ask again." His meaty hands fell to rest on her shoulders, those shoulders that now felt as if the world rested on them. "Leave with me, renounce your family and the guild and we will be together for ever." His lips twisted into a smile, his lids falling to half mass. "We will find a small cottage, have a plot of land and raise our children. You would like that wouldn't you." He leaned forward, readying for a kiss. "All you have to do is leave you with me."

His voice was a temptation all her own that even her siren found enchanting. She wanted to succomb to it. To do all that he wished but to leave her family. Her beloved brothers. Her twin....

"No." She whispered as he jerked his head back. Eyes widening with surprise.

"What?" His voice harsher than she'd ever heard it.

Swallowing hard she tore her gaze away from his too magnetic gaze and shook her head. "I can't. I can't leave my family. This is all I've known. They're too important to me." Slowly she lifted her gaze, peering up at him through the thick fridge of her lashes. "You know that Jasper." The words barely audible, her tongue suddenly like lead in her mouth. How could he have ever asked her such a thing? Wanting her to leave? Painting her a picture so tempting her knees had almost given out on her. Her heart was divided, tugged like a yo-yo between her family and the man she longed to grow old with. But family always came first. It had been ingrained in her by her mother and there was no way she could loose Lucas. He was her other half, her beloved twin whom she came into this world with and would leave it only when he did.

Jaspers fingers dug into her shoulders, bruising fair skin as he shook her. "No!" He roared. "You'll come with me. I can't loose you. I won't." His grip a vice that had her eyes dotting with tears.

"You're hurting me. Jasper let go!" She demanded her palms flattening against his chest as she shoved with all of her might sending him staggering back. With a growl his gaze locked on her, faster than a mortal could fallow, he palmed a blade. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he slowly looked down to the blade. For a long moment he was silent, his breathing slowing before his dark pools lifted. All life, all love, all compassion drained from them all that remained was an eeir calm that had her backing away from him.

"If I can't have you then. No one will." He said simply before lunging at her.

With a shake her head she dislodged the memory. Pulling her knees into her chest she cradled her head in her hands. She wouldn't think of it anymore but now she had to return to the guild's camp. Surely Christoph had returned by now and if he was wise he'd keep his mouth shut about their cuppling. Otherwise she wouldn't be the one to take his head. That honor would fall on one of her three brother's shoulders or perhaps her cousins. All protective of the younger female. Even though she'd proven her worth countless times. To them she was still the baby and needed to be protected. Even more so since the attempt on her life. With a shaky breath she scooted to the edge of the bed and dressed.

The horse ride from the tavern was soothing. The gentle rocking as the horse strolled nearly lulling her to sleep. Her siren purring in content in the back of her mind, completely sated and relaxed. At least one of them was. Her eyes constantly scanned the surrounding area, searching for any threat. The slightest sound drew her attention into the forest that lined the small path. The heat of someone's gaze rested on her back and her brows lifted as she clicked her tongue halting the horses progress. With a snort the magnificent mare obeyed. Reaching up with both hands Mishka shoved the hood back from her face and lifted her chin. "You can lower your weapons. It's just me." She called out the the scouts who kept a lookout for anyone who came to close to the camp.

Bird's chirped and squawked, to the untrained ear that was what they heard. But to her it was a code. One that was being sent to the others nearby that she'd returned. She gave a nod before gathering the reins in her hands, with a gentle jerk she guided the mare to the right and led her off of the path but further up the hill till the ground leveled out and the foliage thinned. Sweeping a sapling to the side she smiled as her camp came into view. Tents dotted the field and sounds of sleep drifted to her on the wind as long as the delicious smell of roasting chicken. With another click of her tongue she followed that wonderful scent, weaving her way through the camp site till she came upon the fire. Her stomach growled, rumbling in protest as she eyed the scrumptious bird. Licking her lips she dismounted the beast and patted her neck, gently running her fingers of her silky mane. "Good girl." She murmured and planted a gentle kiss on her nose.

With a quick serve she took in those around her and a scowl twisted her face. John. She thought, a growl humming at the back of her throat. She detested him, white hot heat boiled her blood every time she looked at the angel-half breed. Grinding her teeth together she closed the distance between them and fisted his hair, jerking him upward. Pale pools narrowing into thin slits. "What did I tell you about being in my presence boy." She growled, as the siren lazily stretched in the back of her mind. Curiosity peaked by the sudden burst of anger from the young bandit. Lips pulled back into a tight scowl as she tossed the dropped him back down.

"Worthless. Why is an angel's b*****d down here playing with us lowsome creatures. Hmm?" She purred as she knelt next to him. The siren eagerly squealing with delight as Mishka laced her voice with the potent spell. With a snort she rose to her feet. "Honestly I have no idea why no one has killed you yet." She said before turning away to leave. But not before she cut the leg off of the chicken that still roasted above the fire and took a bite out it. Chewing it once or twice she glanced back at the blond male before spitting the mouthful at him. "Maybe I'll take that pleasure if I see you lurking around here for much longer." She muttered before mounting her mare and with a click of her tongue headed toward her own secluded campsite as far from John as possible.

┉The youngest Masterson Bandit┉
┉Tavern / Camp┉
┉ John ┉
┉Burying the pain with anger.┉

 

[Harvey Bullock]

The sounds of blades clashing rang out through the air. Over and over, the blades clashed with each other, in quick succession. As the blades met again, each of their owners pushed against each other. The two men clashing stared at each other with little warmth. “Ha! Form needs work! And here I thought cha’ among the best.” Alphonse looked at the speaking man with little emotion clouding his features. ‘This fool really believes he has the upper hand, hard to believe he can’t see you aren't taking him serious.’ The demon’s words echoed in his head.

The other man separated his blade, then in a moment of arrogance, charged forward. Watching his approach, Alphonse just shook his head in disappointment. Sidestepping at the last second, a single swing nearly bifurcated the man, as the sword lengthened with the full swing, before returning to normal. “Too slow...”, he spoke as, with a quick flick, the man removed the blood from his blade. Sheathing the blade, he turned away from the man. “O-Oi Alphonse, aren’t cha’ goin’ heal me? That was too far, I'ma die.” Pausing, Alphonse looked back over his shoulder with a sinister expression. “You should have thought about that before you had the audacity to offend her.” The bandit warrior spoke in reference to the one he protected. “Better make peace with your god.”

With a flick of his wrist, a small flame was shot out at the man, setting his pant leg on fire. “Wh-Wh-What are you doin’?!” He asked with fear as he noticed the man’s unnaturally golden eyes. A testament to the extreme emotion he was experiencing, likely anger considering what had happened. It was the man’s own fault for offending his lady with his vulgar talk. Alphonse was nothing if not loyal. A rare trait in this guild of bandits. The loyalty was well earned. It helped he knew the woman in question from a young age.

Walking off to the screams of the man behind him, slowly Alphonse’s golden orbs gave back way to hazel. Sheathing the enchanted blade, he ignored the pleading for help. ‘Music to my ears.’ The demon said in reference to the screams. Ignoring the demon with a sigh, Alphonse wished there was a way to break this bond forged in blood. A bond formed by the death of the caster, his own father. Sometimes Alphonse wondered if when he had died, the soul that returned to the bandit’s body was not his own. Or perhaps his had been tainted in it’s short absence.

The tainted man had training since then, to be a warrior. thankfully he had found a worthy cause. While the man’s somewhat chivalrous nature could be offended by some of the things they did, it was nothing he couldn’t suppress. He served a higher authority, and she did not take well to people questioning her.

 

[Sing This Corrosion To Me]

They come in lines to welcome you. They're shining through... Babylon...

And the sights will pierce your eyes, Babylon...
With nightmares on both sides, Babylon...

Petruccio Giuseppe della Rovere xx Bandit xx Petruccio's Tent

Petruccio looked down upon the small table before him, willing one of his white knights to make its move with his mind. As he did this he dipped his quill in the inkwell, then pressed it down against the parchment held down with his left hand on the lower right corner of the table. As the man standing at the opening of his tent spoke, the Lustian demon wrote down exactly what it was he heard. The informant was, of course, one of those poor, naïve little villagers who thought they could earn themselves some gold if they could give away information to those bandits on the other side of the hill that may lead to a plentiful bounty. Judging from the man's smell, he would likely spend said gold on mead or other drink; it was repulsive to Petruccio's finer tastes, but it was something he'd grown used to in his time as a bandit living in a camp full of sweaty and not quite hygienic men. Naturally, being one of the prettier faces of their guild, he was the one that the informants typically spoke to. No one expected any harm to come from a man who looked so utterly dainty, and dressed so foppishly most of the time. They expected him to be little more than a secretary for the guild's strong men; if only they knew.

As he wrote down what the man dictated, several items flew about the tent. It was morning, and he had just woken up, and so here he was still getting ready for his day even as he wrote the information down. A rather ornate brush straightened his hair, each strand braiding itself after it was sufficiently straightened for him. He paused his writing for a moment to once again stare at the chessboard, within moments a black rook moving a few spaces to the left by itself. He then began writing again. The man spoke of a royal caravan coming in from the hills, stocked with weapons, armor, and even gold and jewelry ripe for the taking. There were, naturally, several guards accompanying the caravan, but that was nothing that a well-planned ambush could not fix. Their ranged attackers could pick them off from the distance and their swordsmen could handle what remained. It was child's play if the little cur in his tent's information was reliable, and if it was not he would personally see to it that family cry out for the mercy that he would not deliver.

Perhaps they would do that regardless if they got bored. What was the fun in being a bandit if one did not plunder and pillage from time to time?

He looked at the chessboard again, this time moving a white bishop. He dropped the quill, letting it rest inside the inkwell, then raised a mirror off to the side to see how he looked. Satisfied with his appearance, he turned back toward the man standing at the opening of his tent. He stared into the man's eyes, eyes threatening to petrify the man in ice if he was not careful. The villager nervously asked for his compensation, which caused a sinister smile to slowly form over Petruccio's lips. One of the black knights on the chessboard suddenly moved again, this time resulting in a checkmate. "You win," Petruccio muttered under his breath, never once removing his gaze from the man standing before him.

"Wh-wh-what?" asked the sheepish villager.

"Forgive me. We were having a debate, hence the game of chess," explained the Lustian to the quite obviously confused villager. "You see, sometimes we disagree on our next course of action, so we debate. Usually this comes in the form of a game we both enjoy. Our favorite game just so happens to be chess. I lost."

"D-debate? With who? About wha-"

"With me, of course," Petruccio spouted before the man could finish, his voice different now, scratchy and high pitched and inhuman as any sound could ever be. Petruccio had already begun his change. His muscles tightened and his flesh began to shift into a dark, ashen hue. His fingers elongated slightly, his nails sharpening to claw-like talons. His once silvery blue eyes were suddenly replaced with glowing golden orbs. Before the man could even find the energy to run, he found himself in a sudden vice grip, unable to move at all. The man would have screamed, if he did not suddenly feel a tightening around his throat. The demonic Lustian smiled a predator's smile as the man struggled to breathe. "As for what we were debating, it was which bone to break first, of course," he said. He released the grip on the man's throat, but balled his hand into a fist, a sudden snapping sound confirming that the man's shinbone had snapped in two at Petruccio's command. The tent, and the surrounding area likely, was filled with the man's cries of agony as one after another the man's limbs broke.

"Why?!" the man cried out between screams of agony.

Again the demon could only smile at the man's questioning. "Why not?" he returned, his tone one of sadistic joy. If only his village could see him now, the outcast who brought shame to their kind. But they were no longer a factor as far as he was concerned. He has long since come to terms with what he was, a demon, and he might as well embrace it.

Say what you want me to do and I will do it for you.
Say who you want me to do and I'll do her too.
And in the backstreets all the demons
Laugh as hell - They want some more.
Dobermans raising Cain in this loveless game,
And you wait to score...

 

[Necrodancer Ghost]

❀ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
xxxxxThis is the hand that will blind your eyes and split your spine...
xxxxx━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❀

So face the dark and I'll teach you above fire in the blink of an eye...

Now drink the cyanide...

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❀
This is the blade that'll visit your flesh and release the wine...xxxxx
❀ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━xxxxx

Fandral Vincent Wolfram xx Avarice xx Bandit xx Camp xxx

Honor. It was a word that had lost all possible meaning ages ago for the assassin. Honor did not belong to those who skulked in the shadows like wraiths on the hunt. It belonged to the warriors of the world, those who fought bravely side by side with their shield brothers and faced their threats and enemies head on in a clash of swords as it was told in the stories of their childhoods. Honor and glory belonged to the fighters who showed no fear and stood their ground when waves of impossible odds they could not fathom descended upon them like falling stars and the eruptions of volcanoes. Such concepts belonged to the soldiers, the royal guards, and the valiant knights. But most of all, and entirely coincidentally, honor belonged to the fools, the bright-eyed optimistic children who knew utterly nothing of how the world truly worked. honor tricked one into thinking that whatever they did, no matter what their sacrifice or missteps, actually mattered. Fandral was no child. He did not need such foolish notions of honor and glory, these were simply fool's prizes. All he needed was profit. This was why it was so easy for him to abandon his life as a vice marshal and become a bandit. This was the life for him, not some silly notion of defending the crown and enacting the will of the royal family. He was an assassin at heart, and always will be, and while he mostly preferred to work alone, being part of a guild had its benefits.

Survival on the other hand, that was a concept that Fandral understood better than anyone. Stealth, surveillance, and adaptation to his environment were all necessary as a skilled assassin. These were the skills he used day in and day out in his occupation as murderer for hire. These were also the skills he used when he just needed to kill for fun, like now; after all, one needed constant practice to keep at his best, and there was no better practice than the actual action itself. He was a short distance away from the camp at the moment, and was in the middle of a morning training session, when he was interrupted by the presence of three men not too far from his position. Naturally, he climbed into the trees for a better viewpoint. He'd been surveying both the area and the men, eavesdropping on their conversations though they had nothing of note to say, and planning out his moves. They were likely little more than innocent hunters who'd done nothing wrong, but who was he to judge? They'd trampled on his training grounds, and that was more than enough to warrant their deaths in the assassin's point of view. He smirked as he saw the three men splitting off from one another, likely to each track their own prey. The irony of the hunters becoming the hunted was not lost on Fandral.

He stuck close to the one closest to his position, moving slowly and methodically so as not to make the slightest bit of noise. He moved along the interconnecting thicker branches, his balance like that of a feline's. His eyes narrowed on the man as he moved, as if he could see his very soul. He followed the man until he suddenly halted. Fandral looked around him, questioning whether or not he'd made some mistake and the man somehow sensed his presence; it was a rare occurrence that he was ever spotted, but he was only human, and therefore not perfect, so even he made such mistakes sometimes. He silently sighed in relief as it turned out the man only stopped to drink from his bottle of ale. As the man drank from his bottle, Fandral pulled out the lariat that was tied to his waist. As the hunter put away his bottle, Fandral quickly swung the rope, letting it lose and letting the loop wrap around the man's neck. Before he could protest, Fandral leaped backward, using his body as a counterweight and the branch he stood on as leverage, hanging the man with force and instantly snapping his neck. With a quick run around the trunk of the tree, he tied the opposite end of the rope around the trunk to let the man's corpse hang.

With a roll, he ducked behind a large bush before he could be spotted by one of the other hunters. His eye caught one of the others' back, and he moved toward him silently. He kept close to the ground, crouched, as he moved. His movements were again slow and careful, methodical, so as to not draw undue attention to himself. He kept close to bushes and tall grass for cover, his footsteps light and careful. As he neared the man, he drew one of his daggers, and when he was close enough he made his move. He quickly wrapped his left arm around the man's neck, pulling back on his chin to open up his neck for the kill. He brought the dagger to the man's neck, quickly slicing it open before the hunter could call for help. Without further hesitation, he dragged the corpse back, hiding it behind a large enough bush. That was two down, one more to go.

Again he went up into the trees, moving along the branches to reach his final prey. He did not need to be so subtle now; his prey had no one left to help him, and at this point he simply wanted the man dead. He leapt from branch to branch, sprinting along the longer thicker branches and leaning tree trunks. He made little effort to disguise his footsteps this time, and upon nearing the rustling in the trees the hunter looked up, but it was already to late. Fandral quickly dove downward in a flying tackle, dagger held out. As he brought the man to the ground, the dagger pierced his prey's chest. The assassin pulled the dagger out, shifting it between his fingers so he was holding it upside down, then violently shoved the blade into the man's neck. The assassin sighed in a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. The satisfaction came from a successful training session, but the frustration came from the fact that he felt it was much too easy. He pulled the dagger from out of the man's neck, cleaning it on the corpse's tunic before sheathing it. He stood. He would leave the bodies for now, a warning to any tresspassers.

He made his way back to the camp then, deciding it was enough training for one morning. Whatever the day had planned for the assassin, and the rest of his guild, Fandral was more than ready. Whatever their plans, there would certainly be no honor involved.

❀ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❀
Run! You run for the borders
Where epistles burn in the arms of man...
Run! You run among bodies and they scream,
They scream to bite God's hand...
When the dark does what the dark does best,
It's darkness!
Let the dark do what the dark does best;
Let there be darkness!

 

[Aeon-of-Eclipse]

The voting period has ended! I'll tally up the votes and inform of you all of the winner on the 17th!  

[Aeon-of-Eclipse]

Congratulations to Sing This Corrosion To Me, for his post as Petruccio Giuseppe della Rovere won the contest! His part in this arc will be made apparent soon...

For now, wish him congratulations! He earned it!

Honorable mention: sinfully sagittarius for her post as Miskha Masterson.

Also, regarding the guild-wide poll vote on this thread: how poetic you all are, to favor the last choice! Leaving the bandit tied up in the forest as you head out to your next destination, leaving his fate to the forest. I wonder what that will mean in the IC...