|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 4:05 pm
Nadyris was picking through the still-smoking remnants of what had once been a rather nice little house. Out in the suburbs, of course, just out of the way, but not so very far that I was inconvenient. And not just for little runs to the market, apparently, but also for those who had rather dire intentions towards the man and his brother. The fellow’s cousin, rather frantic, had contacted the green-haired mercenary with an offer. A rather sizeable sum of money if he could keep the man’s relations from getting themselves killed by their apparently vindictive adversaries…it was the sort of offer that Nadyris didn’t ask questions about.
Unfortunately for Kirial and his brother, the offer had come too late. The one-eyed mercenary had arrived to find their dwelling a smoking pile of rubbish, and if the smell was any particular indication, then likely at least one of the two had not made it out. Stepping over a smoldering log, Nadyris gingerly crouch, sifting amongst the debris for anything of interest. He might, after all, get paid for information, and if not, perhaps some valuables might have survived.
Plucking a half-singed away book from the pile, he opened it, finding a well-beloved play within its pages. Shaking his head, he found the only readable line on the parchment a very fitting one. “'Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more…'”
Nadyris chuckled softly, bemused by his own quote. Ironic just how well that it fit the situation… “A suitable epitaph for these two and their cremation site.” Just a murmur to himself as he set the book down, sifting further, careful not to get near anything that looked as though it might contain glowing embers within.
Gloved fingertips dug around in the ashes for a moment, as something caught his eye…ah…what was this? A brooch, it seemed. Well, if that was there, there might be more. Spotting a half-buried chest amongst the rubble but a few feet away, he kicked aside a smoking plank, which crumbled on impact. Hissing softly, as he found the metallic framing of the chest hot to the touch, he thought it a wonder that the entire thing hadn’t burnt away. Kicking at it, he broke through the top of the once-sturdy wood, made weak by heat, the flames having licked at it, but not disintegrated it. Within was a multitude of semi-scorched fabrics, turned brown at the edges. A woman’s finery…and he had to wonder who it had belonged to. A wife? A daughter, a mother? “Crying shame…”
But then, his hand discovered something strangely smooth, rounded and warm amidst its nest of silk and lace, and pulling it out of the box, he found in his palm a bottle, sparkling and glowing in what he thought to be an almost indignant sort of way. “Well hello there…” He greeted it softly, “You’re a pretty thing…” Magic, likely as not, and though he was distrustful of the stuff, the bottle seemed harmless enough. Tucking it away in the small bag at his side, he arose, wrinkling his nose and coughing, the smoke beginning to get to him.
“Well enough for one day…my employer will be displeased as it is without keeping his good self waiting.” Muttering, he ran a hand through mussed hair, turning to go with a reassuring pat to the small leather bag. He was so not going to get paid today. 
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 4:06 pm
By all rights, it shouldn't have done that. Nadyris was quite content with his knowledge of things, and how they should be....and this went directly against what his opinion of 'should be' was. The infamous Bottle he'd set upon the counter, after dutifully cleaning all the soot from its surface so that he wouldn't feel as though it was glaring at him for leaving it in such a soiled state after its traumatic cleansing by fire. And there it had remained whilst 'Dyris went about his life as normal, not really expecting his newest acquisition to be anything more than a particularly interesting nick-knack that left orange-yellow glimmers upon the faux marble of the counter-top.
Oh how wrong he was about to be proven.
It was exactly 6:37 AM and something had set the neighbors dog off...the hands of the clock on the nightstand that the mercenary could only dimly see in the light of the reluctantly rising sun told him so. Stumbling from the covers which were alluringly beckoning his scarred form back to their toasty embrace, he wrote them a mental IOU for a nap and blearily made his way to the kitchen for some morning hydration. Forget coffee, that luxury wasn't allowed, and the last thing he needed to do was become addicted to caffeine all over again. Scooping the nearest almost-clean mug from the counter, he grabbed the glass pitcher and poured himself a cup of sadly lukewarm liquid. Not that it mattered, the temperature wasn't the point, survival was, at least in his personal opinion. Draining it, one drop escaping from both porcelain and lips and sliding over pale skin, he set the container down emphatically and brushed away the remaining moisture with a thumb. Dammit all to hell, this got more boring with every passing day. Surely someone would have a job for him today, it was either that or start going into professional thumb-twiddling.
...it was then he noticed the sooty marks about his new bauble. The counter was scorched. Not even moderately burned, but scorched...in fact, from the traces, Nadyris was rather surprised the whole place hadn't burned down whilst he'd been asleep. "What th' hell?" He muttered, reaching out to pick up the bottle...which then proceeded to flare to life with his fingertips. Good eye widening in astonishment, he almost dropped the thing in shock and seared flesh...however, he hadn't gotten his reputation by being slow on the uptake. Quickly, almost dropping the glass object on the surface of the oven, it wobbled...but remained upright as he deposited it on the very non-flammable metal. "You little piece of tripe!" He hissed, moving to instantly pour some of that almost useless water over his fingers before moving to the better idea of the icebox. He was so lucky he had a salve for this.
Well that answered the question as to whether or no the bottle and it's warmth were magic. Uh-uh...it was definitely enspelled somehow, which meant that he'd best not disrespect it, if it was cursed or soulbound or some other fiddle-faddle that he didn't really understand, and honestly didn't care to. He'd heard about all of these things, mind, but he'd avoided encountering them...he liked what was solid, tangible...also controllable. This certainly wasn't it. "Firestarter, huh? I wonder if you burned that place down...back there. I guess they didn't really take care of you or somethin', but the last thing I need in my life is a vindictive fire spirit." He'd have to call up Kai later and ask his opinion, but somehow, his initial instinct to trash the flickering bottle seemed wrong, in the same way that it had seemed wrong to abandon it in the ashy ruins of a skeletal mansion. It was a pretty little thing, after all.
"I'll look after you, just..." He murmured, running his unsinged hand through deep green locks, adjusting his eyepatch on principle. "...no more funny business. Deal?" The bottle simply flickered a warm orange, seeming content in its new perch. Taking that as a sealed agreement, 'Dyris mumbled a few choice curse words and went paddering for the bathroom to find his medicine kit. His fingers were throbbing something fierce, and he could only wonder if the new occupant of the house had even understood what it had done. Too bad there wasn't a way to get it to apologize, it would have at least soothed Nadyris' wounded pride.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 4:07 pm
This was honestly a most disconcerting predicament. Nadyris was a creature of few comforts, he had to be. Though he had 'settled down' for the moment here, it didn't mean that he intended to actually live hereabouts. Especially if he had a job. His job, after all, oft took him to the more dangerous regions, this new flat of his just served as a home base, a place to camp and be comfortable, as it were, betwixt his lengthy missions. Maybe he should just take up that bodyguard offer that had been proposed a week or so back. He was considering it, after all.
But all that took a place on the back burner next to this current, very pressing need. He needed to go shopping. Grocery shopping to be precise. It was something that he had never been overly good at, really scatterbrained on the topic of recipes and 'staple foods' which left him at picking anything that looked particularly tasty. Which was what he was doing right now. He adored browsing, the outdoors, and the smell of fresh foods. Which meant that he was tugged out into the brilliance of the afternoon sun to the crowded and social gathering that was the local market. It only happened once a month or so, and was a big to-do that was mostly for farmers...so though produce and meats were the most commonly found articles for purchase, there were always the baked goods and sweets that held the most tempting aromas as well.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 4:08 pm
Life Dust
Ring of Fire
(Dust Spin --> Child Quest*)
It's...been happening nightly. Small little black patches around the house have started to pop up, little rings that look, feel, and best of all - smell like something was on fire. Seeing as Nadyris doesn't smoke or hasn't recently had any special guests over that do, it's a little bit unnerving to keep finding these little charred rings. It's nothing to really panic over though, nothing is too damaged beyond repair, but then again. . . the bottle has stopped its little ring of fire. Despite how long it had been spinning around and spitting up flames the fact it's stopped is more troubling than anything else and is worth more credit. Examining the bottle doesn't show any cracks or anything else that could merit further searching, but then again perhaps it shouldn't be left alone for too long.
Of course, that being said keeping it around all the time is no better! Aside from the smoking circles there are now small fires cropping up! Stuff is getting ruined, things are being destroyed that can't be replaced! What can be done about this?!
*Please note, there's a minimum word requirement of 500 words for this quest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 4:09 pm
Quest Response
There were not only little sooty, singed circles appearing on the things nearest and dearest to Nadyris...such as furniture, flooring, the occasional wall and even a hapless coaster that had apparently gotten into the way of the midnight pyromaniac...they were also appearing beneath the mercenary's eyes, even the one that was no longer of use to him had a grand, dark ring below it. It was impossible to sleep with the smell of smoke hanging in the air, burning wood, cloth, or anything else that the wee terror saw fit to leave its imprint upon. And now he couldn't exact vengeance in the way that he so desperately desired to...which was to heave the glass bauble against the nearest solid object before it decided that his dark-haired caretaker was the next target for a flaming midnight visit. Not after his bit of a chat with Allegro. Just what sort of bratling would want to create firey circles on a body's home anyway?
That and the flickering about the bottle, which had at least been bloody predictable if nothing else, had ceased to bear flame about the circumference of the fragile orb...it had gone lifeless, dusky, as though there was no longer a spirit to power the flames. Heh. No one had told him there was any extra care and feeding of these tiny buggers before they emerged from their glassy containment. Surely it hadn't gone the way of all those damn goldfish. Though of course, the obnoxious (and hazardous) rings were silent, but very odorous testimony to the fact that there was still something alive and well within the confines of the house if not the bottle. So grand. He'd killed it...and now it was haunting him to get its revenge. He'd dealt with old enemies, ex-lovers with a bone to pick, and just the outright hazards that came with the job....but a vengeful ghost? That was far beyond his area of expertise. Now he rather wished that Allegro had explained more about these bottles...or that he'd had a chance to talk to the boy's guardian about his experience. Why hadn't anyone thought to write a manual on the care and feeding of Dust bottles? If he lived through this, he'd have to pen an attempt at one for the next hapless guy that came around.
It was just about two in the morning, or so his internal clock told him as he came from the bed with a start, sheets flying in every which way as smoke wafted up from the pile of covers that he'd been comfortably snuggled under, having fallen asleep over an hour ago from complete exhaustion, utterly unable to keep himself awake anymore. Caffeine or no caffeine...he wasn't going to catch the ghostly prankster in the act, that much had become blatantly obvious.
Now, however, there was a flaming ring on his bedsheets...something which he would have almost assumed was a nightmare save for the pungent aroma of seared linens and melted mattress. “DAMMIT!” He swore viciously, trying to keep himself from spouting out yet a few more choice words. Bedding was expensive, and right now, despite the bodyguard position that he'd taken for a few days last week, he simply hadn't the funding to keep replacing various elements of comfortable living! Storming into the kitchen in naught but a pair of loose pants, he glowered at the tiny box atop the stove...the box that housed the very source of all his troubles.
Plucking the bottle from its confines, he shook it viciously, as though by doing so he'd be able to knock some sense into the invisible fire-starter. “Look here now! I know you're just a bottle, but by gum, this is your home too! Do you even understand what you've done to my-or rather our...place? Do you want the house burning to the ground? Dammit, do you!?” Rarely did he lose his cool, but honestly this had been bottling up inside him with pressure of volcanic proportions...and now, by hell, it was his turn to spew fire.
To his knowledge, the one thing that could offset fire was water, and even if the childish menace was all disembodied now, incorporeal and bearing sooty wrath, he probably would not take well to having his resting place desecrated with an opposite element. Clutching the bottle gingerly between his fingers, he drew some water for the sink, not more than three inches, but definitely enough to get the point across. “Look! It's time for a ********' ultimatum, kid...this isn't funny. Now I didn't hurt you on purpose...but...” He sighed trying to calm himself down enough to speak rationally, just in case the youth whose spirit was wreaking havoc could listen to him. If he was going to raise a child, he didn't need to be swearing at it...him...her....whatever.
“Now...here's how it is...if you don't stop that...” He suspiciously eyed a smoldering ring that had appeared not inches from the faucet. Apparently the counter didn't burn well. “Yes, that exact behavior there...then I'm going to dunk you in this...”
Even as he was finishing the statement, his pant-leg came alight, and with a yelp, he dropped the bottle into the sink, trying to grab for it but missing, torn between the safety of the sphere and the fact that he was on fire. With a soft splash and a clink, it settled on its side in the water...and the flames grew higher. “Uh-uh! Bad! I am NOT-!” Slapping at the flames, he hoisted his leg up on the counter, glad to be limber as he tried to splash water on the inferno. “I am not taking you out of there until you stop this business!” Just because your son or daughter threw a tantrum was no reason to indulge them...one should not reward bad behavior. He remembered reading that somewhere. Perhaps some parenting literature that he'd been handed in one place or another, as he'd never have picked up a book on the subject.
He could almost sense the reluctance with which the flames subsided..., the flicker of heat along the edges of what was left of his pants felt not unlike that last glare that a child tosses at his parents before being sent off to his room, sullen. “Yeah...” He murmured, skirting fingertips across reddened flesh with one hand and slowly scooping the dripping bottle out of the sink, setting it gingerly atop the counter. “That's better...I think we should officially declare a truce, kiddo...but just so's you know...you owe me a new pair of pants.”
He was going to take the silent absence of fire as a victory.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 4:10 pm
Reserved for...
...that awkward moment.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
