The water is clear and sparkling, and there is something about water that draws Wilson to its edge. He bends down on one knee, his fingers dipping into the cool water. His gaze follows the tiny ripples moving across the water’s surface until he realizes there is something in the pool. Not just something, but many things. They are weapons. It all seems obvious to him now. The knight stands up to gain a better view of the different weapons buried beneath the transparent water. Nothing by the edge appeals to him. Rather, something deeper in is calling to Wilson and he cautiously steps into the waters and bends down to dip his hand in, and then the water is engulfing his entire arm as he reaches deeper and deeper—
An older boy with spectacles flicks him in the forehead for what feels like the billionth time. When his hands cover his forehead, Wilson can feel the warmth of blood rushing to the center of his head. His bottom lip shakes, but he refuses to cry out because he knows how much the other boy hates it and how much the other boy will laugh and scold him for acting so weak, but Wilson cannot help it. He is the youngest of the three and the only child of his parents; he is spoiled and not spoiled at the same time.
Instead he puffs out his cheeks and reaches out toward the other boy with one clumsy hand, but he merely laughs and sidesteps younger Wilson. The other boy opens his mouth to say something, but instead is playfully smacked in the back of his head by a small girl with furrowed brows and a thin frown. Her mouths move to say something, but he cannot remember the words.
They are masked by only the screams of villagers and the roar of canons. They are playing at the edge of the town, and so they are first to hear the sea of footsteps, growing stronger with each passing second until the children realize it is a flock of Riders and shadowlings.
Wilson looks to the other boy and girl for guidance, for shelter. One arm stretches out toward the girl, but instead the other boy shoves him out of a Rider’s way. He manages to avoid being trampled to death, but now he’s screaming their names as he tries to break through the horses. “E—!!”
His steps are slow and measured, and perhaps the one leading him down into the cellar is annoyed with his careful pace, but TK does not mind. He only follows his own pace and in the end, is searching only to fulfill his own desires and goals. It is a selfish thing, he admits, but this is who he has always been. The steps lead him to a clear pool of water and he immediately reaches down to dip his fingers into the water. He watches the waves on the surface, distorting the images of buried weapons laying on the bottom—
Despite his tall, gangly body, he’s managed to cram himself into a corner of the library. He shies away from the window so that the sun does not shine directly on his face or the page, blinding the words until he can no longer read them. But he is close enough to see the specks of dust rolling through the air, and sometimes he will look up just to watch them swirl around each other. It is an utterly mundane action, but something about it soothes TK.
He hears his brother’s voice echoing from above, calling for TK to assist in the daily chores and to stop dallying in the cellar. His lips purse, but wordlessly he closes his book and carefully slips it back into its original spot. The dust is still swirling freely in the sunshine when he ascends the stairs.
His grip tightens, and he realizes he is gripping a weapon. He loosens his fingers as he pulls it out of the water.
It felt very sudden, being called. Estel followed the guards quietly down the stairs. She didn't feel worthy... had she truly earned this? They had lost so many knights in the siege... maybe she was only being promoted because they were low on numbers.
Finally, they came to a large, empty cavern. Estel inhaled sharply, staring at the pool of water. It wasn't speaking in words, exactly, but something in it was beckoning her, calling to her...
... where had her escort gone? Estel looked over her shoulder, suddenly frightened. She was alone, and she hadn't noticed them leaving. She began to walk towards the pool almost without realizing it, and all of a sudden she was standing by the pool, looking at what must be hundreds of weapons... each sealed with a chain.
She didn't know if she was allowed to touch them, but she couldn't help it. Her eyes locked on one particular staff. That one... that one was calling her. Estel's fingers dipped slowly into the water, reaching for the staff...
And she remembered.
The cook towered over her. "Don't lie to us, girl. We have a witness this time. Anette swears she saw you sneaking food out of the kitchens." Anette - that little traitor!
Estel shook her head, long black braids swishing over her shoulders. "'m not a thief."
"Liar." The cook put a large hand atop her head and shook her from side to side. "This needs to stop, do you understand me? Your mother may let you run about like a scamp, but I won't have it in my kitchens." He grabbed one of her braids and yanked it hard, then shoved her down. Estel hit the stone floor of the kitchen on her hands and knees. "I'm sure it's you. One day, I'll catch you myself, and then..."
She would have to be more careful the next time.
"Get out of my sight."
Estel didn't need to be told twice. She scrambled up, bolting from the room. Her hair was a mess. She kept her head low as she ran through the halls, out through the courtyard, and into the village. A familiar ragged boy was sitting back against a wall. He turned to look at her as she approached.
"I-I couldn't get anything today," she explained, apologetic. "Marsden was angry. I'll try again later..."
"Don't bother," the older boy responded. "I don't need your help."
"You always say that..."
Estel flinched, withdrawing from the pool. One of her memories... why that one?
The staff was still in her hands.
Posted: Sun May 10, 2015 2:20 pm
LINK TO PROOF:here SACRED WEAPON TYPE: Staff - defensive
Lock walks himself down the stairs with a calm arrogance. He was proud of his progression and content to say that he'd earned this. There was a sureness in his steps that went unrivaled and he was pleased to have the knights escort him.
His place is at the head of a wartable, as a leader, the law, the pinnacle.
The cavern was a beautiful change of pace, but Lock's eyes were focused, serious. The pool was clearly the centerpiece, and he assumed that was what he was supposed to be looking at. The tiny lake called to him, and he purred a response. "Are you what they fuss about?" It's only in talking and hearing his voice bounce of the walls that he realizes what they want him to: he is totally and completely alone.
He expects a fight or a might beast that needs to be felled. Maybe an evaluation by some kind of omnipotent being. Regardless of his expectations, what greets him is a stark nothingness. It's rather anti-climatic, really. It's not until he's pressed up against the water that he sees them- beautiful weapons that splay across the pond's surface.
Despite his adherence to manners and proper behavior, he reaches across the pond. He can feel his clothes getting soaked, his sleeves are damp already, but he doesn't care. It's right there and if he only reaches a bit farther-
"We will attack from the north. Brandon's bannermen will find purchase in the ruined cliffside. From there I await your instructions."
All the men around the table put a fist to their chest, a sign of solidarity and fealty. They make a gruff noise of agreement and slowly dissemble. First the high lords, then everyone under that. Only Lock and his father remain at the table.
"What did you learn?" his father prodded. It was always a lesson, never a conversation.
"Why did you send them to the north? They're going to die," Lock pointed out. "The winter is too cold, the snow will freeze them to death."
"Yes, why did I do that?"
Lock sat in silent contemplation for a while, concentrating on the answer. He needed to get it right or his father- what would his father do? How severe of a question was this? He looked to his father and found steely concentration there too. So it was serious.
"Perhaps to distract from the bannermen?"
"Sending such a large force as a distraction? Hardly." His father scoffed and divisively looked away. Lock winced. That was disappointment that colored his father's tone.
"Maybe to send a message?"
"What message, Locksley?"
He ground his teeth, but made no motion. When he was younger he pulled at his hair, he tugged at his glasses. Such tiny fidgets had been ironed out of his person. "Perhaps one of perseverance." It was inspired, maybe. "Something like ... our men can survive the winter's cold. Yours cannot."
"Precisely."
Lock found error. "But they won't. They'll die and the Blackwoods will be embarrassed completely. This will send the wrong message if they die."
"If," his father emphasized, "they die. I have faith they won't." There was a kindness in his voice. His father had always loved his armies more than his family. "Someday you will be general-king of the Blackwood armies, Lock. You've done well."
Lock couldn't help but he'd failed.
The memory burst across his brain and faded as fast as it'd come. His breathing was hard as he came out, and he realized it was being choked from him.
His water broke the surface. He'd nearly drowned for a moment, captured in the memory so deeply that it had taken him. Lock took long, gasping breaths of air, leaning on the weapon in his hand.
When he recovered, he clung to the weapon, embraced it's power. It's his, and he will use it to lead.
He wasn't all that surprised when he was called. He knew it would only be a matter of time, and that his prowess and skill would not have gone unnoticed for long. He had been waiting for this day his entire life (not that he actually remembered it) and because of that, he'd never felt more ready for whatever might lay ahead.
He was almost expecting some kind of a test, some final trial that would prove him worthy of becoming a true knight at last. He was not at all expecting to simply be led down a nearly endless corridor of stairs only to find himself standing in a vast cavern of a chamber. In front of him lay a pool, and it appeared to glow. A glance over his shoulder, his mouth opened in question, proved to be a fruitless gesture as whoever had brought him here had simply vanished. He was alone.
He frowned, but seeing no other course, took a few steps forward, armor clinking and echoing all around. That lake, or whatever it was, was drawing him in, enticing him, calling him, a stronger pull with every step that he took.
And when he stood at the edge, weapons. So many weapons. His gaze swept over them, however, barely giving many of them even a fleeting glance. Whatever was calling to him lay somewhere in that water, and was not, he realized now, the water itself.
Ah, there. His gaze came to rest on one weapon in particular which drew him in more than any other. Stooping down, he thrust his hand into the water, unable to stop himself, the urge to pick it up too strong to ignore.....
------------
"Could you explain it to me just one more time?" He asked, pushing open the door to his home and holding it there for Na'ima to enter. It seemed like he had been questioning her all day, though there was hardly ever a time he would deny her what she wished. Around his wrist there was wrapped a thin gauze, and it was evident that some blood was staining through in parts. The underside of his wrist itself was sore, and uncomfortable, and he suspected in the days to come that it would itch relentlessly as well, though he'd been told that he was not to touch it, even if it were to scab, that it was better to just leave it alone or it would not heal properly.
Despite being told, his fingers of his opposite hand rubbed at the area absently, until she frowned at him, a disapproving look, and reached out to slap his fingers away, which only earned her a large huff of a sigh in response, his shoulders sagging in mute defeat. She hadn't answered his question, yet, so, folding his arms over his chest (that would keep him from prodding at it for a time, he thought), he tried again.
"I mean, I know...." He began, but he look he got then was one of withering exasperation, and he knew he should probably just shut up, but he continued.
"You explained to me the necessity of it, I understand it's purpose. I just don't understand wh---."
"Because you're mine, you idiot." She blurted out, her voice giving way to that exasperation in her expression, that which had likely been growing throughout the day the more he questioned and complained. For such a large, strong looking man he certainly moaned a lot over a little needle and ink!
Wrath could only stare at her when she said it, his eyebrows raising nearly to his hairline. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, that had not been anywhere on his list. For a moment, he was simply stunned into silence.
Through all of those months...or had it been years....of trying to get her to accept him. Through all of the times she had given him the cold shoulder, had refused to give him the time of day, had slammed the door in his face (literally), he had only come back trying twice as hard. He had, over a great length of time, managed to whittle her down slowly, chipping away at those rough edges and getting to know the softer woman that he knew must reside beneath. In only his dreams had he ever thought he'd hear her say something so profound, though he had suspected she might feel as such.
Suspected, but never actually knew for sure.
"I..." He finally spoke, his voice hushed compared to it's usually boisterous boom, hints of choked off emotion leaking through. "I am yours?" A hopeful look, a large smile tugging up at his lips, though he tried to stifle both the look and the smile, and couldn't, just couldn't.
He took a step towards her, and no matter how she was looking at him now, whether with horror or stern appraisal, he couldn't see it. All he could see was how beautiful she was, and all he could think about was how very much he loved her. His arms uncrossed, and he let one hang at his side for a moment, while the other came up, and caught her hand in his, pulling her nearer.
"And?" He questioned, leaning down, bowing his head down further, his smile so bright it would have been impossible to hide.
"And...." Her expression, again, was unreadable to him. He could not put into words just what he could see there, deep within her gaze, that which was all that the could focus on at that moment.
"...I love you." The words, never said before, hung between them in the air, and Wrath; overjoyed, passionate, always led by this heart; brought the hand that wasn't holding hers up, beneath her chin, tilting it upwards.
"I love you too. I always have, and I always will." He said, before leaning down, and kissing her, his hand sliding round to the back of her head, his other releasing her hand to curve round to the small of her back. He kissed her, and it was not like other times he may have kissed her, those that were stolen here and there when he could manage them, because now he knew, for sure, that it was what she wanted.
He was hers.
--------------------
The memory hit him so hard that he nearly fell into the pool of water itself, but instead he jerked back, his hand having closed around his weapon, pulling it out with him as he fell on his a**.
He was hers.
"...I love you."
The words continued to ring in this mind, the feel of her lips against his, her body beneath his hands, the heat that ran between them both....
For many long moments, it did not matter to Wrath that he was still alone. He was too stunned to move, or care. All he wanted, in that moment, was to hold on to that memory, and never let it go. He did not want to forget it, again.
Posted: Sun May 10, 2015 3:06 pm
LINK TO PROOF:journal SACRED WEAPON TYPE: Staff - Offensive
A break from the fighting comes as a wild sort of relief: a moment in which Julian can finally breathe, close his eyes. The air around him is cool in a familiar sort of way, tingling against his skin. Just faintly damp, out of the press of the day's sun: the chamber too big, too wide, too tall, but comforting all the same.
He breathes out. His shoulders slump. For the moment -- maybe the first moment since he came to this place -- Julian is not afraid. Maybe he should be.
When he opens his eyes again, he is alone in the cavern, with some whispered thought dragging him forward like a fish on a line, to stand distracted before a great, clear, shimmering pool. In here, whether he likes it or not, lies his future. Apparently his future is in the form of a weapon, although considering his track record in this place, Julian finds that hard to believe. Maybe he'd be better off with a medical kit. With some magic.
With a book.
Still, he doesn't fight the draw, the promise of that glowing water. He reaches toward it in a distracted sort of way, in a daze, until his fingers finally brush the surface of the pool:
----------
Cool waters, verging on icy: sharp enough to steal the breath from him as he surfaces. Here the pond doesn't glow, and it's anything but clear -- littered with lily pads and foggy with dirt, but against the pounding heat of a summer day, it comes as a refreshing reprieve. To his left, a high-pitched scream breaks through the relative silence, and he winces, ducking back beneath only seconds before Renee is thrown into the waters beside him, a thrashing bundle of furious energy that doesn't quite punch him in the face. She's six, here, or maybe seven, and he is roughly twice that: a ganky colt of a teenager who can't see the end to his awkward growth, all long-limbs with a tendency to take a tumble.
Again he comes up for air, water plastering pale hair to his forehead and cheeks, and he squints out at the two boys on the shore. The twins have gotten past this phase, though neither ever suffered it quite so badly as Julian is, and have become strapping young lads built proper for the heavy labor of their father's small but sufficient farm. Until puberty, they had been near identical, but now they are different: Allain a little longer in the tooth, a little taller, and Devin heavy of jaw and solid through the chest.
Their grins still match, though. They probably always will, with just a hint of malicious intent behind the expression. Julian only stares at them for a moment before he decides he doesn't want to be a party to whatever trouble they have planned next, and he takes off out of the pool in an explosion of water than knocks his young sister back down to splutter into a lily.
He doesn't remember what comes next, how this memory ends -- not the details, at least. He remembers the feelings that came from his childhood, the days spent up in the branches of some tree, higher than any of the others dared to climb, alone with his thoughts and mostly watching the sky because there was nothing on earth that seemed to capture his attention. He remembers sitting in the back of the pasture that held their goats, whispering quiet stories to the beasts, embellished-upon echoes of tales his parents had told him, in turn, as a child, and he wishes that he had more.
He remembers feeling vulnerable, small, and alone, left standing in the heart of a cavernous room.
OOC
My character's name: Julian "Ever" Ambrodiel Character's journal link:Journal BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Slim, slight, tall, gawky and awkward, with a sloppy shock of pale hair, he is not an intimidating figure and perhaps a strange choice for a Knight. His preference would have been something more scholarly, somewhere he could keep his head down and bite a tongue that has a tendency to get him in trouble, especially with his betters. Rank of character Apprentice-Knight. Sacred Points obtained: ???/100
"What's happening?" He thought to himself before hearing something calling him. "I've Summoning you, young one." A magical voice calling to him. Shayne looking around until he found some stairs that leads downwards past the cellar. "Was that voice coming down there?" Shayne asked himself as he took the stairs and followed it all the way down until he reached a large cavernous chamber. When he was entering the large room; the redheaded boy found this clear glowing pool of water. "Please come closer." The magical voice is calling to him once more. Without a world, Shayne began to walk closer to the growing pool of water. When he reached it; he couldn't believe all the weapons he was seeing. "I don't like fighter, but those weapons look amazing." He told himself as he reached down and grabbed a weapon
As Shayne put his hand in the water. He could remember something. Something before he became a knight in training. The young boy remembering all the time that he was playing with Camilla in a field of Sunflowers as the painting that's in his bag become so clear now. It was Camilla in the painting with him and that she was his best friend.
As Shayne pulled the weapon out of the water tears began to run down his cheeks "Please forgive me, Camilla." He called out loud. "I'm sorry about forgetting ours friendship." He added as he held the weapon close to him. "I'll protect you and Camelot no matter what." He told himself as he remembering his friendship with cheerful and brave girl.
OOC
My character's name:Shayne McRotten Character's journal link:Here BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Shayne's look's green eyes, shaggy gingery hair which is in a pony tail, and pale skin. Rank of characterapprentice-knights.
Zoobey
I'm so sorry, Zoo. I'd edit my post....I thought that I read and understand all of this before posting. I edit so Sheyenne isn't grabbing a crossbow but grabbing any weapon.Also I've edit that he just remembering his friendship with Camilla.
How strange, to be commended for work she had never guessed she would excel at. Not only had she been helpful in the healing work she'd initially thrown herself at, but when it came to fighting monsters, her staff had not failed her. This had come as a constant surprise when she slayed beast after beast, coming to the aid of any who had asked for it and even managing to emerge triumphant without fail.
None of this felt right to her, and yet. She had managed it all. In the face of adversity, perhaps she wasn't as useless as she'd initially thought.
She descended the almost endless stairs into the chamber, and stopped at the pool that offered a surprising sight. So many shining, glorious weapons laid in wait for proud knights to come, but she was no proud knight. Pride was foreign to her, despite all she might have done to deserve it. When she entered the pool, and walked among the weapons, she felt like she was disgracing them with her presence.
And then she stopped.
There, standing rigid and straight up amongst all the fallen weapons, was a single ornate staff. It's handle glimmered when she looked at it, calling her to take it in her hands. She hesitated, the feeling of unworthiness heavy in her soul, but when her fingers brushed against the pristine metal, her eyes fluttered closed and the memory took her.
"May I ask a question, Mother?" Her tiny little voice filled the air, in the darkness of their tiny, humble hut. They were preparing to take a vow of silence, to last an entire year - and the toddler at their side was too curious to go without asking one last question before the silence came.
"You may." The woman asked, as she continued to bath the toddler's skin until it burned with cleanliness.
"Why did my parents give me away?" Even in the youngest of years, none of the sisters of her order could threaten their souls with the taint of a lie. She'd been told from the moment she could speak, that she had been sacrificed to their coven. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Of course not, Riley." The woman had not paused for a single second when asked - honesty poured from their lips without question. "They loved you. That is why you were their greatest gift. They wanted you to have the purest life. You are their sacrifice, and you will serve the people in faith for the rest of your life. But their sacrifice was great. They did love you."
It was enough. Riley smiled, in a way that made Mother look uncomfortable, and her lips closed as quickly as possible. She would endure the year of silence for the order, and for her parents.
Because she knew now, they had loved her very much. Mother could not lie. Her immortal soul would not allow it.
OOC
My character's name: Riley Illithadian Character's journal link:ok BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Tall, slender, graceful, and entirely obsessed with purity; Riley was raised from birth as a priestess of the light, and continues to follow the values and practices of her stringent sisterhood. She is always prepared with a ritual or a prayer to help purify anything necessary, especially the air and water surrounding them, or the earth beneath their feet. She does not like being touched, or looked at for very long, nor will she meet the gaze of a passerby for longer than is absolutely necessary. She is meek, humble, and completely unprepared for what lies ahead of her. Physical Description:CLICK HERE She wears an unadorned white medieval dress, and a belt of large, extremely heavy prayer beads as a constant burden to remind her of her duty. Her face is partially covered by a modesty veil, which hangs at the lower half of her face. Her eyes are grey, and her hair is black, with only the top layer matted into tight dreadlocks using beeswax - these are carefully wrapped and braided with purple and white ribbons. See this picture for an example of this hairstyle. Intricate filigree of some metal slips in and out of the top of her hair, weaving upward into delicate designs created with special religious significance in mind. Rank of character apprentice-knight Sacred Points obtained: ???/100
Link to Proof:Journal Sacred Weapon Type: Staff (Offensive)
Johan blinked up at the one who called him, having dozed off where he'd been sitting, numb and exhausted. He was confused for a second before his eyes widened in realization. It was time? Now?
Coming to his feet, Johan followed the Knight apprehensively as they walked through the halls of the castle, heading ever deeper. He'd wished for this, a chance to become an effective force against the Sidhe, but part of him hadn't ever expected to make it. After he'd sacrificed his memories, only the determination to destroy the monsters that plagued the land had remained. And yet, as he trained, quested, and actually fought those monsters, he found that something besides that goal had gained importance. The other Knight-Apprentices. Shun, he seemed even more determined than Johan in fighting the monsters. Estel, who had patched him up. The various others he'd fought alongside. He wasn't sure if taking the White had brought about this change, or simple human interaction.
It made him think beyond the conflict. What of his family? He assumed he had one, though he couldn't remember them. Perhaps there were a few in Camelot with him? If they were outside the walls, he hoped whoever, where-ever they were, they had found some place to hide away from the Sidhe.
He had been led far down, past the level of the cellars, deep where the only light was what they brought with them. And yet, as they approached an opening, Johan thought he detected a hint of light. Not sunlight. Cool light, that was almost soothing in a way. Unprompted, he walked into the cavern, the ceiling of which stretched far away into darkness. The light emanated from a pool in the middle of the room. Walking toward it, Johan realized that there was something in it. Weapons, he realized, as he came to its edge. Countless types of weapons, some fantastic in design, yet all seemed to be a Masterwork in their own right. He was meant to pick one of these?
Johan knelt at the edge of the pool, and searched among the weapons for a katana. There were a few in there. He'd noticed them when he looked at the pool as a whole. But something strange was at work here. Whenever he looked at one by itself, his eyes would slide past it to the next weapon. Actually, most of the weapons seemed to have this strange haze to them. Only one stood out in perfect clarity. His hand seemed drawn to it, though he didn't know why a staff would be of such interest to him.
As his hand entered the pool, the glow seemed to enter his mind, and Johan remembered.
"Anything can be a weapon, Johan."
"Sir?" Johan, focused intently on replicating a page of script, looked up at his mentor. His quill dripped, and with a sigh of disgust, Johan hurriedly threw sand over the mess to mitigate the damage. He ended up spilling more ink when Yoshizawa rapped him on the head with two knuckles.
"Pay attention." the short man chided, taking the quill from Johan's fingers and placing it back in its pot. "Follow me, you can clean that up later."
Obediently, Johan followed Yoshizawa out into the small courtyard beside the Scrivener's house. The man was whip-thin, but tightly muscled for someone who spent his days attending to the reading and writing needs of the town. Johan's eyes drifted to the set of swords hung horizontally from the wall. Yoshizawa usually kept those locked in his private rooms, except for every morning, when, without fail, the Scrivener would practice strange forms with them. The fighting style was nothing like the Watch of the town used. When they swung their Einhanders, it was as though they were chopping wood, and the blades were two-edged. When Yoshizawa used his one-edge blades, they seemed to complete his arms, moving like they'd grown there.
At the center of the courtyard, Yoshizawa turned and gave a knowing look at Johan.
"Repeat."
"Anything can be a weapon, sir." Johan said immediately, and ventured a question. "But why bring this up now, sir? Why aren't I practicing writing while the sun is still up?"
"Because, Johan, peace is the time of the quill. War is the time of the weapon. I know you've heard the tales coming from the mouths of the refugees. I've had you copy a few of them down."
Johan paled. He didn't think he'd ever forget those.
"But surely whatever it is they saw won't come here." he protested. He ducked as something went flying by his head.
"At least your body moves quickly." Yoshizawa said as he strode up to Johan and pulled the projectile out of the wood beam behind him. Wide-eyed, Johan stared at the thing, and then to Yoshizawa.
"Is that one of the quills?" he asked, incredulously. Yoshizawa smiled, twirling the feather in his fingers. It looked as though the tip had been stoppered up with wax, and the feathers trimmed to resemble the fletching on an arrow.
"Right. Anything can be a weapon." Johan repeated, then looked back to the swords. "But if you think I need to learn to defend myself, why not teach me the sword?"
Yoshizawa followed his line of sight, and placed a hand on the hilt of one of them.
"You will not always be assured the use of a blade. What happens if you are disarmed? Do you accept death? I don't think you would. You would grasp at anything to fight, to live on!"
Yoshizawa walked over to a stand which held lengths of wood in an upright position. Picking up one stave, he threw it to Johan.
"Staves?"
"Wood is easily found. From a tree, or broken from a piece of furniture. If you have a few minutes to prepare, you can whittle one end to a point."
Taking another one, Yoshizawa, whirled the staff around his body, flicking it outwards towards imaginary enemies, before driving it into the ground with both hands. It cracked the tilestone beneath it.
"First show me you can learn this, and then, perhaps, I will show you how to use the Katana."
Johan blinked, and was back in the cavern, forearm deep in glowing water, hand wrapped about the staff. He was stunned at this piece of his past returned to him. Yoshizawa, his mentor, introducing him to fighting. Out of the water, he drew the staff, looking at its length. It was almost as if the weapon had wanted to remind him of the lesson. Yes, it wasn't a katana, but it was a weapon.
And he belonged with it.
OOC
My character's name: Johan Klarstein Character's journal link:Here BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Slim and of middling height, Johan is about as pale as they come. White-blonde hair, light blue eyes, and very fair skin. His emotions tend to range from mildly annoyed to full-on grump mode. Rank of character Knight-Apprentice. ** DONT FORGET TO DISABLE YOUR SIG WHEN POSTING**
Noemi's walk to the downwards hall was quiet and she remained frightful that she had failed the blue knight in some sort of way, her arms shook, but she stilled them by drawing her hands together and focusing on the stairs.
The hall grew in size though, opening into a large dug out cavern, and she wondered if it was natural or pulled by magic. Magic she assumed, from the great knight Merlin. The stories she had read of the great knights made her wonder if she would ever reach their level of competence.
They drew her to a large pool as something called to her, comforting and quiet. AS if she had that feeling before.
She stared into the swirling deep pool, blinking only when she realized she was alone.
"h..Hello?" She murmured, but was answered with only the hum of air around her.
Her gaze went down the pool again, it's sweet siren call to her. As delicate fingers dipped in, she felt something, something flood back to her.
---
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Her parents had long been dead, but the offer of marriage had been arranged to the Hale clan. The goats were already paid long before Noemi ever knew about. They had left her the small cottage, for indepence outside of the hale family, but not far from them. And sometimes, Shu would visit and help brighten it up.
And sometimes Evan would come by and help with the chores, with the couple of cows she had and the two chickens she had deemed her pets. There was even a large orange cat in the window, lazing by the sun. Objects she had collected were mounted on the wall. Pretty rocks, delicate plates. Lace sewed by Milo's mother, who adored her and was adored back.
Without her parents, sometimes she yearned, a feeling of emptiness with nothing left of her legacy. When she married to the Hale's, she would be their clan, and no longer of the Hurley. And their clan would end there.
But while it bothered her, she would look out the window and see Milo, shouting his battle cries in the game him and Evan would play, toy swords or weapons clashing and she would smile. And sometimes Milo would spot her, and run over and give her a daisy in the field, followed by his ridiculous manner of speech and boasting and she would take it.
the loneliness of family lost would fade with the family she gained. Between Shu, and Evan and Milo, she never wanted for anything. To them, they were her heart.
Her hand pulled back from the pool and she felt the hot tears against her cheeks. Her hand went to the pendent, something she now understood to be the symbol Milo gave her as the symbol of their unity and love. And from the depths of the pool was the form of her heart, the small shield that fit well against her arm, the shield meant to protect.
As the memory faded, she felt the need to protect, to be strong. Not for just her, but the family she had.
It seemed the time had finally come, and Jake rose when he was called. He went down the steps as instructed, down and down until he reached a large chamber. Where... was this? A voice beckoned him, and he followed it, arriving at a clear, glowing pool of water. His eyes widened at the multitude of weapons, and it made him wonder how such a small body of water could hold so many. Each were magnificent and glorious in their own way, but only one called out to him.
Reaching out his hand, Jake retrieved a sword, but the moment he touched it, a memory surfaced. Something... he had forgotten.
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He was running, but there was nowhere left to run. The young teen looked up to see a shadowling standing above him. This... this was it. He would die here. He closed his eyes and smiled. It was a fitting end. He was tired of running, tired of running. Tired of living on scraps. He could barely feed himself, and... what was the point? Why was he even trying so hard? It was easier to just give up. No one would mourn him. No one would miss him.
The creature hit him hard, sending him flying. He landed on a crate, shattering it to pieces. A shard of wood jabbed into his leg, making him cry out in pain, and it jolted him to his senses. He was scared. He... he didn't want to die.
The shadowling shrieked again and lunged for him, and Jake pulled the shard out just in time to stab it into the creature. It lashed out at him, striking him in the face. His left eye. Blood trickled down his cheek, but the adrenaline made his blood rush, and with a scream, he plunged the piece of wood into the shadowling over and over again, ignoring the pain as it lashed back in retaliation with multiple shrieks.
Finally, the shadowling fell over, motionless, and the boy, still shaking, dropped to his hands and knees. Breathing raggedly, he stared at his hand, which were covered in scratches and blood. His heart was still beating rapidly, pounding in his chest, and Jake grit his teeth as he clenched his fist. No, he wasn't going to die. Not here, not now. He would live on. He would fight back. He would never stop fighting until his final breath; until the world was finally rid of the shadows. Until... he could finally find peace.
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Even as the memory faded, Jake didn't forget. He fought for a reason, and even if he was alone now, it didn't matter. He would always continue to fight, up until the bitter end.
OOC
My character's name: Jake Cross Character's journal link:[x] BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER See avi Rank of character Apprentice
"Horace Nokoni - White Order." He tensed; he wasn't ready, he wasn't good enough, he wasn't... Horace went down the stairs, nervous energy fidgeting throughout his body, manifesting in the anxious tap tap tap of his fingers against one thigh. The two knights on either side of him (they looked as alike as twins) did not speak, their pale eyes fixed ahead - a silent honor guard. Horace barely saw anything around him as he walked: the cellar walls - they changed slowly from man-set stone to something more natural, hewn from the limestone beneath the castle, the way his footsteps echoed eerily are all lost on him. He was seized entirely by trepidation and unease. And, with no more than a whisper, Horace realized he was alone. Everything glowed unnaturally; magic again. Horace stepped forward, his feet drawn by the gentle hum of it. Water, but not ordinary water, filled the pool. Hundreds of magical weapons lay in the pool, the liquid distorting them into small, ephemeral waves. With a deep, slow breath, Horace reached out. --------- He decides he likes early dawn best. It's an easy decision, one full of quiet moments and the rare times Jan sleeps close. Blue light seeps through his curtains and across his bed. It's a contrast to the man lying in it - it turns his already milk-pale skin bluer, more fragile looking. It catches on the fine gold hairs of his chest, on his tattoo (Horace liked to touch it, although his skin felt no different despite the ink that stained it). His hair is a cloud of golden fairy's dust on the pillow and Horace knows that thought firmly brands him as a silly, hopeless romantic. But he doesn't care. Sometimes, he thinks the moonlight loves Jan just as much as he does (another silly thought, of course, but sometimes Horace likes to indulge himself).
"I love you," he whispers into one pale ear, unable to keep it in, as always. Jan turns over in his sleep, curling closer to Horace like a cat and he mutters something. It's in a different tongue, a different accent, but that's normal, too. There are a lot of things Horace accepts as 'normal' because of him. And he thinks that everything is alright, anyway. His sister doesn't like Jan, though, but he pushes that thought away, not wanting anything to intrude on this moment. Jan whispers something else and Horace thinks it sounds like 'love you' and that is good enough. He turns in bed, wrapping his arms about Jan, thinking about how his hands look like shadows against that paleness. In the morning, he'll leave, before the household wakes, but they have a few hours yet. -----------
Horace gasped, hand closed around a sword. Water ran down each finger of his hand back into the pool, but the sword was bone dry. He tilted it, watching his wavy reflection in the blade. Had that... been... a memory? Suddenly, he let out the breathe he hadn't realized he was holding. Memories... would they all make him feel so heavy?
OOC
My character's name: Horace Nokoni Character's journal link:Chapter journal | Journal BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER A tall, brown-skinned boy with blue eyes. He keeps his black hair long and usually tied back. Horace uses a pair of anelaces for weapons and as a knight, he focuses on second chances for everyone and strategy within battle. Rank of character Apprentice-Knight
Nervous excitement was the only thing keeping Na'ima on her feet. The adrenaline of it all as her name was called. This is it. The click of heels echoed off the walls, the sounds growing louder and louder as she finally entered..a cavern? No, it was still a room..right? Her brow furrowed with her confusion, amber golden eyes narrowing slightly as she continued forward despite it all. It was strange, she didn't hear a voice or her name, but she knew she was being beckoned closer and closer until she stood at the very edge of the pool. She studied each and every single weapon, each one more beautiful than the next. They were glorious, glittering and magnificent.
She continued on, and then she stopped. Her attention returned to one in particular she had seen. You. Adjusting the skirt of her dress, Na'ima got down on her knees, bracing herself with a hand at the edge of the pool as she leaned over and reached into the water. Her fingers touched the weapon--
This was child's play. A little distraction, a little sleight of hand, and Na'ima was two pouches of gold and a shiny red apple richer. It was petty theft, something no better than a child street hoodlum, but sometimes it was nice to go back to her roots, to have a little fun. The tree was climbed with ease, plenty of practice in her years of childhood and adulthood alike. She stretched out on a long branch hidden in the leaves, her back against the great trunk of the tree and her legs stretched out along the branch. She took a big bite out of the apple, humming contently and closing her eyes. Just like when she was a child..though...with some improvements. Amber gold eyes opened to gaze up at the sun filtering through the leaves above her, a small smile toyed at the corner of her mouth. Yeah, she had no complaints. A good life, a life she thoroughly enjoyed.
There came a scream, a woman's shrill cry of distress. Na'ima blinked and looked to her right, reaching out to part the leaves just enough to peer out without being seen; it was an animal in the branches and nothing more. There was a woman standing high up on the roof of her home, having likely climbed up there by way of the crates and barrels stacked up beside it. On the ground, circling her house, was a snarling wolf. Ah. That was it. Hm...if it stopped long enough then perhaps she could--
He was on the wolf like fire to wood. Lunging at it, rolling with it in a loud scuffle, and finally Wrath was on his feet. He held the wolf by the scruff of its neck and the base of its tail, spinning in several circles to gain momentum before finally releasing the wolf and sending it sailing back into the forest. Na'ima couldn't help but grin at the sight of him, taking another bite from her apple to keep herself from chuckling or calling out to him and making too much noise. Good, one of the many reasons I keep you around, she thought to herself.
She had been about to let go of the leaves and let them close up again when she heard the delighted call of the woman on the roof. Mm? What now? Na'ima watched her, she watched her leap down into Wrath's waiting arms, laughing and smiling and clinging to him with her arms around his neck and her face too close to his. Na'ima tensed, her fist clenching tighter around the apple and trickling juice down her wrist, over the black feathered wing etched into her flesh. Was that why he responded so quickly to her terror? Had he been on his way to see her? No. That couldn't be it. He couldn't be another--no. He was different from the men she had been with before. He was honest, devoted, she trusted him.
The woman said something to him, those obnoxiously big and bountiful breasts shoved up to her chin in a too-tightly laced up corset. That whore, Na'ima was at least twice as beautiful as she, and she was likely a thousand times more intelligent--she'd kill her. That was it. She would take her out, grab a few wolf hairs before she did it and leave them scattered in the house; wreck the place and make it look as if a struggle had occurred and it had been the thing to kill and shred that sweet little face.
Plump lips met dark ones, and Na'ima squeezed the apple so tightly it was crushed in her hand. No. Her mouth moved, silently mouthing the same word over and over and over again. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. In that moment, that split second that seemed to last a thousand lifetimes and countless heartbreaks, Na'ima felt her life end.
But it only lasted a moment. The touch of lips didn't even last a full breath before Wrath was dropping the woman and shoving her away from him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm as if he had just been fed something completely vile. He shook his head at her, he said something..he said it so passionately that even though she couldn't hear the words Na'ima still trembled at the very sight of it. He walked away from her, still muttering to himself and rubbing his face with displeasure. Breathing out a shaking sigh of relief, Na'ima climbed down the tree. She stopped only when she was low enough to jump down, landing on silent bare feet in the grass and ducking behind the tree as he passed it. He didn't notice her until she hurried out from behind it and appeared at his side seemingly out of nowhere, a hand coming around to inform him of her presence.
He picked her up easily, one arm under her knees and the other at her back. Na'ima gazed up adoringly at him, a hand coming up to rest against his face. His eyes widened, but he flashed that big stupid smile at her that she quietly adored. "Na'ima, where do you always come from when you appear at my side?" He asked cheerfully as he leaned in to press his face into her cheek. her eyes closed.
"I am always at your side, my Star, even if you do not see me. I lurk in the shadows and watch over your every step," she answered easily. "I am, after all, your other half, am I not?"
His voice lowered, a pleasant rumbling against her skin, "you are my everything, Na'ima, you know that." She felt his smile, felt his lips kiss her cheek. Na'ima smiled, a hand moving to pet his hair.
"Mm, I do. And you are mine." She gave him a nudge and he lifted his face, his forehead against hers and brown eyes gazing into golden amber. Na'ima smiled. "I love you, Wrath. Take me home, now."
He gave a slight nod, pausing a moment to steal a kiss from her lips before he replied, "anything, my Na'ima."
Na'ima nearly fell forward into the water. Instead she jumped back away from it with a shout, her hand grasping the staff as tightly as she had held the apple in a clenched fist. She shook all over, her other hand coming up to press to the side of her head. What just--he--and she--and...and they..
How..how could she forget something like that? She looked around in a panic. There was no one there. Absolutely no one, not even in the shadows. "I forgot you.." she whispered to no one, "I am..so sorry..."
She needed to fix things. Get everything back the way it was.
Oh! Was it time? It was finally time? Yesssssssssssssssssss Jala all but jumped at the opportunity, eagerly following along as she was led down the stairs into a cavernous chamber. What exactly she was going to DO in this chamber escaped her, but hey, if it regarded her promotion, then she was all for it! Maybe it was a test of strength, where she'd have to fight more shadowlings? Or a bear? Many bears? Maybe a lion?
Nope. None of that, except... water. Why was there water down here? The glowy water perked her curiousity, and she moved closer to it. It was almost like it was... calling her. "Ahaha, that's rich. Water can't talk.... right?" There was no response, as she was suddenly alone. What the heck? "Hey guard guy, where the heck did you go?" Still no answer. Weird. Jala decided to stare into the pool of water instead, and noticed there were various weapons scattered within it. Oh, neat, free loot! One should probably question where such weapons even came from, or how they got there, but not Jala. Free stuff was free stuff! It was hard deciding which one she wanted, but eventually she settled on one. Just one. She reached for the sword.
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"Jala, are you listening?" "Yah, yah, bro, I got this." "Jala, I'm serious!" "Ugh, I said I got this! Quit being such a stick in the mud, bro!"
She rolled over and huffed, staring at the sky. Sure, it was darker than usual, but other than that, not much was different. Shadowlings still attacked, and the two of them did their best to fend them off. On occasion, the village they stayed in ended up being destroyed and they moved on to a new one. This was probably their 5th village, maybe? It didn't really matter. She wasn't keeping count.
The sky suddenly darkened, and a shadow appeared. Something hard hit her head. "Ow!" She turned to see it was the wooden sword she was practicing with earlier.
"And YOU should stop being so lazy! They could attack at any moment! You need to be prepared." The stern figure of her brother stood over her with arms crossed. "What does it matterrrrrrrrrr, we're alive now! And I'm TIRED of training! That's all we do now! Training, training, training. You're no fun anymore!" "I'm not DOING this for fun! I'm... doing this for the both of us. For YOU. You need to learn how to protect yourself.... because... I won't always be around to do so." Jala scrambled to her feet, anger in her eyes? "But you PROMISED! You said you'd always protect me! A girl shouldn't be fighting anyways! Fighting is a boy's job!" "I know, but times have changed. One day I won't-" "NO! YOU PROMISED!" "Jala..." "YOU PROMISED!!!"
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Jala shook, still clutching the sword. "You promised..." she muttered, still trembling. "You promised..." A tear trickled down her face, and she wiped it away angrily. Well, it seemed her training paid off. No need to worry about her anymore, "brother", your little sister wasn't helpless anymore.
OOC
My character's name: Jalaja Character's journal link:[x] BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER[x] Rank of character Apprentice
He stared at the water, awestruck at the colour of it alone. Arrakis vaguely remembered making the trip down the stairs, unsure of what exactly was going to be expected of him but absolutely sure that following the guards leading him was exactly what he needed to do. Even if there was so much else going on, he knew he had to do this. Even if he was tired, sore, and frankly needed a long bath and a longer rest.
...But not too long.
He approached, closer, wrapping his arms around himself, aware then just how very alone he was in this cave. Where had the guards gone? He hadn't noticed them leaving, he realised, scanning the area before returning his attention to the pool of water before him. Everything in it was beautiful, amazing. The craftmanship on half of it would enthrall anyone. He cast another nervous glance around at the solitude surrounding him. Was... this it, then?
Well, then he supposed he might as well get it over with. The feeling of urgency wasn't going away, that was for sure.
Arrakis knelt at the water's edge, one hand flattening to support him as the other reached into the water towards one of the swords.
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"Again, Arrakis. Do it again."
"It's heavy!"
"I know. You're strong enough. Do it again."
He climbed back onto his feet, the grass warm against his skin but wet from the water he'd spilled onto it. And himself. He brushed himself off and cast a baleful look at the very large bucket lying at his feet. His mother hid her amusement from her youngest son, slipping a quirk of her mouth behind a stern eyebrow raise and a nod of her head towards that bucket. He saw it, of course. He always did. He was never sure if she was ever truly trying to hide it from him. Their eyes met, the same blue, the blue of the water in the pond and in the well from which Arrakis was supposed to be drawing water.
He sullenly picked up the bucket, feeling the warmed, slightly rusting iron under his fingers. He was twelve. His clothing barely fit him because a growth spurt over the winter had grown him one way and thinned him another. His brothers commented that his arms and legs were so thin that it was a miracle he could hold anything. Oh, he ate, but it seemed that food burned away before it stayed on his bones. It didn't help that he was constantly in motion.
The bucket was old and the handle creaked warning when he rose on his tiptoes to hang it from the hook over the well. The winch squealed when he began to lower the bucket, and both he and his mother winced. He was less careful than he perhaps should've been, all but letting the bucket free fall until it splashed into the well below. Another baleful look, this time at the winch, and Arrakis got to work pulling the bucket back up, this time filled with water.
Oh but it was heavy. He was sweating and panting by the time he could see it above the lip of the well. He sent his mother a pleading look, but she just shook her head and pointed to the bucket. It was easily as large as Arrakis' entire torso and he did not relish trying to get it back off the hook. That was where he had failed for each of the past three attempts. He'd reach up for it, like he was doing now, up on his tiptoes. And every time, when he tried to get it off of the hook, just like so, just like how she'd shown him, he'd fumble it and spill it all over himself and--
He had it!
His mother's clap on his shoulder about made him drop it again, but he held on. Looking up at her, he saw distinct pride in her eyes. "See, knew you could do it. Come on, let's go back to the house and see what your brother is cooking."
Arrakis looked down at the bucket, then back up at her. "Do I have to carry the bucket?" Not a complaint, just an honest question, and his mother chuckled.
"Yes. You're strong enough to carry this load and any other." Her eyes softened and she reached out and held the handle, her hand beside his. "But don't be afraid to ask for help now and again, okay?"
The sun made her hair look as red as flame--
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There was a lump in his throat as he became cognizant of his surroundings once again. There felt like a great hole inside of him and he sighed shakily as he pushed the feeling as far away as he could. Pulling his arm out of the pool, he pulled a sword out with it and turned it over to watch the water droplets slide off of it. Climbing slowly to his feet, Arrakis took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn't spend all day here. How long had he been down here? The sheer aloneness of the room made him shiver and he moved quickly for the stairs back up.
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