|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 9:37 am
 Doppelgangers
In Colwe, Sloane has all but given up hope. It is here that he spots the perfect specimen for a stand in for his Lady, Beatrix Amaranthe, who could easily be confused as her twin. Better yet, the woman is a Grimm!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 9:39 am
Troupe de Panymum
Once every five years, Troupe de Panymium puts on a wonderful and awe inspiring show for all to come around and see. This time, it is being held in the capital of Shyregoed and all are attending! But why does this innocent performance carry with it a sense of foreboding?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 21, 2010 9:42 am
Memory of Birth The silence of the scene was broken only by quiet speech.
What once was a happy scene lay devastated in a smoldering pile of death dotted by the few living remnants who had seen the carnage and terror that ended the performance of a seemingly innocent carnival group.
One lone carriage stood by as people filtered in, a man and a woman, then another woman deeply ill assisted by two men. Lingering forms amidst the white and grey back drop, dotted with red and black and fallen bodies, a young boy with his lord and a knight, hoping for a final word before stepping into the carriage.
”Do you want me to take them back with us?” a pointed claw was gestured toward the scarf around the boy's neck, housing roughly five tiny bodies.
It was such a simple question, but in the midst of the twisted performance, something had changed. The young one the knight addressed tensed and paused, delaying in his response until finally a stuttered explanation spilled out, ”N-no. Ahll protect ‘em. It’s m’place to protect ‘em ‘n’ no one else’s.”
The reluctance in the boy’s words caused a shift in the knight and his arm dropped, no longer gesturing or even offering a hand.
”Clurie can keep ‘em all warm, keep me warm. Ah d-don’t wan’ to leave m’Lord like this ‘n’ the cold.”
That was enough for the knight, who moved a hand to his chest and gave a reluctant bow before entering the carriage and closing the door. His companions, silent and trapped within their own thoughts or else their worried chatter was lost on him, were seated closely together and with him made a total of six human sized passengers with now countless tiny bodies accompanying them all on and in various parts of their clothing.
As the horses were ushered into movement, the inside of the carriage jingled with the sound of many tiny bells, serving only as a reminder of the bell who gave her own gasp of death only moments earlier.
Gripping the hem of the knight’s shirt and pulling themselves from beneath choppy red hair crawled two tiny gold and silver bodies, shivering and clutching one another. They moved to the openness of his shoulder, tugging the material to get his attention before he lowered them into his metal-clad hands to rest gently in his lap.
”Monsieur…” one of the tiny voices piped, wide eyes gazing up at the man, her arms wrapped around her smaller and monochromatic companion. ”Sloane, yes?”
Mismatched swirled eyes looked down at the two quivering bodies, mouth with dagger-like teeth contorted into a concerned frown. ”Yes, dear one…” he whispered, casting a glance about the carriage to check if he disturbed any of his compatriots.
The golden bell stifled a moan, holding the silver bell closer as he clung tightly to her and repeated the same two foreign words over and over again. ”Mon dieu… Mon dieu…” She seemed to be having trouble, her wide round eyes mishappening and her mouth giving a silent cry.
”Thank you…”
Sloane’s eyes closed tightly and he let out a sigh. His jaw tensed at the words and he rested his head against the cold glass of the side window.
In all of the chaos, he had managed to save those two and many more, but where were they now? Hiding and sobbing, just as terrified and confused as the two in his hands, clutching each other tightly in an unspoken bond from birth. Dozens of tainted bells had sprung to life and been ripped of it seconds later by the stomping of careless feet or the intentional desire to bring death to the small ones from the masked monsters.
But in all of the chaos, in all of the carnage and blood shed, he had been a part of it. From a different angle and for a different reason, he had still resulted in the deaths of a few humans and fewer Plagues that day and though the snow had washed away some of the blood from his claws it was still there, speckled with black taint.
He was a monster, too. That was what Chauhn’s eyes said to him.
The silence that followed swallowed him, the movement of the carriage rocking him into a state of near sleep, kept on the edges of alertness from the adrenaline still pumping through his system. Though still conscious, the present was lost on him and moments seemed to fliter past his vision that had already occurred, events that seemed to have been an eternity ago but were measured merely by barely breaching a decade.
It all started with a crash.
A young woman burst through two large wooden doors, raven hair a mess and her breath labored. Shouts followed her, warnings, but she pushed the doors closed as fast as she could and pulled one of the nearby tables in front of them and dipped it dangerously to the side with some difficulty, nearly injuring herself in the process.
Her amber eyes darted around the stone room, desperate for an answer, and it came as they landed on a large sabre hanging above the fireplace mantle.
Hands shaking, she pulled a chair close and stood atop it, reaching her slender arms for the blade was the blocked door was pummeled from the other side, her attackers desperate to get at her in any way possible. As she removed it from its ornate holding, the blade sang at her touch but she nearly dropped it as the doors crashed open with the brunt force of five grown men, casting the thick wooden table to the side.
”Hah, what are you doing with that sword, girl?” one of them mocked, a hand reaching for the dagger strapped at his hip.
Another laughed when he adjusted himself from leaning against the near broken door, wasting no time in unshealthing his own blade. ”Shouldn’t be playin’ with knives, now.”
”Just set it down nice and easy, princess. We don’t want this to get any more rough than it already is.”
Heart beating in her throat, it took all of her might to not back down, but she stood her ground. Whether she had any training in sword play or not, she gripped the large hilt with both hands and took a defensive stance, ready to defend herself if they came at her.
This caused the men to burst into raucus laughter as they all readied their weapons, descending upon her as a group. Shuttering quietly, her attention briefly darted behind her, making sure she didn’t lose her footing but coming to the hopeless realization that there was nowhere else for her to run from this dining hall, large as it was.
Turning back, the men had stopped in their tracks, eyes locked on the blade with clear apprehension. The cause was unclear until she looked down herself, met with a ghastly sight.
At the tip of the blade to nearly the center sprawled a thick black ooze, dripping and writhing from the sabre as though she had just cut through a fountain of ink. It felt as though her heart stopped at that moment, her hands gripping the sword so tightly her pulse was making it shake. What had started as just traces of black wriggled their way up the sword, expanding and coating all of the shining metal in a shadowy mass. It squelched with each movement and though her face grew more horrified with each passing second she could not move, her body frozen stiff until it began swallowing the hilt. Her fingers went rigid and the blade dropped to the floor, but there was no clatter. Landing tip first, it mashed into the ground into an inky puddle and liquified on contact.
In one moment of stillness, the entire group’s eyes lifted, met, and then trailed back down as the puddle wriggled and swelled furiously, something rising from the center and swirling into form. It was not the form of a sword and was not something any of them expected.
”Lower your weapons and stand down,” came a voice originating from the puddle, echoing through the gurgles of taint. It sounded as though several beings were speaking at once, only the words were flowing directly into their skulls. As the form began to settle into a discernable shape, the voices solidified into a single one and a tiny body slipped out of the goop. Clad in white and dotted with red, accents of silvery metal and two gleaming black eyes aglow with red, the tiny body that couldn’t be more than seven inches tall pulled an equally small blade from a sheath on its hip and pointed it at the five men with the utmost bravery. ”Lest I be forced to cut you where you stand.”
If the terror present within the situation weren’t so true then she might have found the humor in the situation but her mind had frozen like her body, the only sound coming from her being a choking gasp of fear and disorientation.
However, before her, all but one of the five men shared her fright and confusion, one shouting the name for this phenomena that had been floating in the backs of all of their minds.
”P-PLAGUE!”
Only then did the final of the men realize just what was going on, and as the others retreated, scrambling past each other, he stumbled and fell backward over the table that had been the girl’s makeshift blockaid before giving the two beings one last fearful glance and rushing off.
The small figure lingered, back turned to the girl and unknowing as she slowly eased up enough to regain her motor functions. Very carefully, she began inching herself away from what the man had called a Plague, entire body shaking. As it turned, she let out a squeak and it sheathed its miniature sword before taking to one knee and bowing to her. ”You are safe now, my lady!” Whatever intimidation it had attempted to use in its voice moments earlier was gone, replaced only by seemingly uncharacteristic cheer.
Without warning, her head felt light and her legs went limp, causing her to fall to the stone floor. Uttering a shout of surprise, she managed to catch herself with her elbows before she injured her head. Immediately, the Plague was upon her, letting out shrill squeals of worry, clamoring as it crawled up the bottom of her dress and slid down from her knees to rest in her lap.
”M-my lady! Please, are you alright?!” he chirped excitedly, wide dark eyes like saucers on his glowing white face.
”…Wh…What are…?” she sputtered, unable to keep her words straight from her shivering body.
The creature’s face contorted at first into confusion, then amusement, and a pose was struck of mighty determination and certainty. ”I am yours, my lady! I am here to protect you! I could feel you needing help, your heart called me.”
The more it spoke the easier it was for her to discern the voice as male despite its high lilt which could easily be attributed to his small size.
”B…but are you not… a Plague…?” her eyes flickered to where the group of men where once standing, ready to run her through.
Once more, the tiny man’s face changed, now into an expression of deep thought. He seemed confused by the question but wanting to give it his best and honest answer. After a moment, he looked back up as though he had reached an epiphany, finger raised in the air to announce, ”I do not know!”
The breach in coherence seemed to snap the girl out of her daze and without a thought she scooped up the tiny warrior in her hands, held him close to her chest and made a run for it out the way she came. Here and there she hid in the shadows behind pillars, hearing shouts and screams and loud footsteps. If only her father were here, he could help her through this.
If only he weren’t the cause of it.
Ducking and weaving, she managed to sneak all the way back to the East Wing and slipped into her room. Gently resting the small creature on her dresser, she pulled one other others in front of the door as a temporary blockade.
”My lady,” the miniature voice was even smaller now, just barely a whisper and she had barely heard it. ”My lady, what is your name?”
Resting her back against the drawers, she breathed heavily as she looked over to him. He sat on his knees, fingers curled around the edge of the dresser top, leaning toward her as much as he could without toppling over and with such an expectant look upon his face. ”Sage,” she managed to huff out, blowing a piece of black hair out of her face before peeling herself from the piece of furniture and returning to him.
”Sage,” he repeated, mystified, a wide speckled smile curling onto his face. Excitement seemed to shoot through him with a shiver and he wiggled himself so that he sat on the ledge with his legs dangling, a tiny hand gently patting his chest. ”My lady, what is my name?”
Sage paused as she sat herself on the carpeted floor, not expecting that question. Adjusting her skirt so that her cold knees were covered with the fabric, she leaned up to the dresser so that the two were eye level. ”You do not have a name?” to call her surprised would be an understatement.
Quickly, he shook his head, though his gaping smile was still present. ”No, my lady. I would very much like one,” his hands clasped in his lap expectantly.
Her eyes cast over him, taking in every detail; the helmet on his head, the red feathery wisp dangling from the top, the cape and everything in between right down to the adorable curls on his tiny boots. If he was a Plague, he was not what she expected but despite his size and not knowing who she was, he had protected her, defended her, even if they were just scared away but what he was and not he himself.
”My tiny protector…” the corners of her lips upturned into an awed smile and she raised a finger, daintily resting it on his shoulder. ”There was once a fierce Shyregoedian warrior, one who never backed down in the face of uncertainty and defended the people of his village with all of his might. His name was Sloane, and so, too, shall yours be.”
If his eyes had become any bigger, they looked as though they might have overtaken his entire face. As her finger moved and gently tapped his other shoulder, he rested a hand on his heart and bowed his head. ”I will protect you as he had. I shall be your Sloane.”
Pushing himself to a stand he tipped the visor of his helmet, it giving the tiniest squeak from the motion, before he turned towards the barricaded door. ”Please, my lady, what is happening? Why were they after you?” the smile that had been so wide and large was gone, replaced with such a small frown that the size of his eyes accompanying it made him look as though he were about to cry.
She gave no answer at first, eyes locked just the same as his to her blockade and she brought her knees up to hug them. ”It is not the whole of them… Just a few… My father has been ill for so long. He is-- …was… their king. The Estratus family has ruled here for generations. However… in the event of there being no male heir, he was supposed to name one of his own people, our people, as the heir and ruler once he passed on.” Sage glanced at Sloane, his eyes torn away from the blocked door long ago and turned on her with rapt attention. ”He chose me.”
A hard bump jostled the carriage as the horse pulled it over a small rocky crag. All around them, bells jingled and the tiny ones in his palms gasped quietly. His eyes opened, peering down at them as their ride slowed and a peer out the window told him they were near.
Taking a deep inhale, Sloane adjusted himself and could feel a slight throb on the side of his head where he had been resting it on the inner wall, only to be knocked slightly in the temple by the sudden jerky movement. Mutters of being nearly there scattered about and he gently brushed the wrap covered head of the golden bell with his thumb.
He knew not what he was going to do with them, what any of were going to do with the bells they saved from certain death caused by more stomping feet or frostbite, but they were all their responsibilities now and they needed to be well cared for. The Fellowship would see to that.
He would see to that.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 3:25 pm
One More Tear to Shed Within the halls of the North Base, all of the residents were at ease, unaware of the events that had transpired just hours ago. The chilly fortress was business as usual, front guards opening the main gates to allow entrance into the stony foyer and many of the people entering parting ways without a word.
Sloane could not pay attention to which direction everyone was going, nor could he hear if they said any parting words to him. His footwork was messy and he would occasionally stumble, keeping a hand just under his shirt collar where two tiny bells of gold and silver were tucked, curled up with one another and against the larger Plague’s bare skin for warmth.
Men and women alike passed by him, sometimes shuffling out of his way and others giving concerned looks but he did not pass any of them a glance. The sword Plague’s mind was elsewhere and his body was doing the work for him, leading him down many halls and descending a flight of stairs until he reached a wooden door. There was once a hole cut into the wood with a few metal bars gilding it but this was nailed shut with a small sheet of wood as what was once a small holding cell had been refurbished into a menial living quarters for one of their newest residents.
His hand shook, at first unable to knock but merely rest his palm against the door. Slowly, his fingers gained life and clawed slightly at the wood until he rapped his knuckles upon it. There was no vocal response from inside but a metal latch was unhooked and the door opened a jar. It was dark within, but Sloane wasted no time and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
”What is that sound?” a metallic voice broke the near silence of the room as a match was struck and light filtered around them from a lit candle.
”Bells…” he breathed his simple response, turning to face the black knight, his equal, the other side of his coin. Reaching up, he beckoned for the two Excito to climb out of his collar and they obeyed, resting on their hands and knees in his palm but still holding onto one another. Their wide eyes met the unfeeling stare of the black knight’s helm and they shuddered but Sloane gently cooed to them before resting them atop a wooden desk at the side. ”…It was for the best you did not join us at the performance,” his voice shook as he spoke to the other knight.
The black armor shifted with a clinking sound as the knight’s arms reached up and pulled away the helm, setting it on the thin mattress pressed against the wall behind them. As her face was revealed, black hair tucked up in a bun with the occasional loose piece, the bells chimed in unison their surprise but the white knight was overwhelmed at the sight of her piercing amber eyes and choked on his breath.
Without warning he rushed to her and clutched her shoulders, pulling her close and burying his face in the nape of her neck. The tears began flowing again with hopeless abandon and though her armored hands rested rigidly on his upper arms, gripping the chainmail almost in an effort to pry him off, he did not budge and she did not vocally protest.
Through his gasps and sobs, her expression did not change; her eyes closed and her hands eased their tense grip, one reaching up to rest in his red hair. Suddenly, it was as though the wind was kicked out of her and she lost her breath, unable to gain it back but continuing to gasp helplessly like a fish out of water. Images, sounds, and smells, their senses were being overloaded at once as she gleaned through proximity, through touch, all of what had occurred earlier that day.
Curt words were exchanged, her body double, the acrobats twirling and the sound of flapping wings. The smell of tainted blood, screams and confusion, bodies shoving and trampling one another, Plagues and humans on the attack and a terrible, tragic loss of sanity. Her body lurched and breath hitched with each vision of an Obscuvan’s last breath being ripped from them by clawed gauntlets, black and red pooling through the white, the lingering warmth melting the settled snow. The jingles of bells, the tiny shrieks, all mingling with the sounds of death in a twisted attempt at insult and supposed salvation.
A simultaneous strained cry was released by the both of them and her black gauntlets dug into the white fabric of his shirt, grabbing and pushing him away from her but the strength was not there. His hands reached up, doing the opposite and attempting to pull her closer, resting on the sides of her face while pressing their foreheads together. Both bodies shook, though the visions had ended. No words could express the now shared sorrow, but though his Lady had seen it, felt it, lived it through his eyes, she still dared not show it and it broke him even more.
They lingered, standing in the center of the room, shivering, as the bells watched in horrified confusion. The seconds seemed like minutes and the minutes hours, but finally a muted whisper was choked out from his lady, her voice shaking as much as his had been. ”Release me…” she ordered, still keeping a hold on his shoulders.
Reluctantly, Sloane pulled away, looking over her features. Her eyes were shut tight, wet rings clearly visible around them in the candle light. It took all of his might, but his hands moved from her face, gently feeling through her hair before he took a step back and their distance was as usual, with no protective intimacy.
For a moment more she stood there, her hands vaguely outstretched from where he had been until she pulled one around her middle and the other propped her head up. Even as she sighed, her breath shook, and the candlelight showed perfectly the small trail moving down one of her cheeks.
What sorrow there was, soon was replaced with rage. Her fingers gripped into her hair, teeth gritted into a silent snarl, but still she dared not open her eyes, to look at her knight. ”Human experiments… Men, women, and children… Destroying the one thing we know for a fact can save us…” she growled, the bells chiming as they huddled in fear. ”They will pay. I will make them pay,”
His eyes tore away from her to the small quivering bells and he reached out for them, pulling them close in his hands and curling his fingers to cradle them in safety. They were survivors, remnants of the massacre, born of death and born amongst death. ”We will make them pay…”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 3:26 pm
Within the Fold
Lord Yizhaq returns from the site of the Troupe Massacre with a wealth of knowledge to present, as well as much information to learn.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 6:19 pm
In Nomine Patris
Sloane has called Theo to a long overdue meeting in regards to his mission and there is much information to be shared between the knight and the clergyman.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 6:28 pm
L`heure Verte
Days of privacy, emotions running high, intoxication of various sources, bring Sloane to confront Miss Beatrix Amaranthe in a moment far from lucid.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Oct 08, 2010 10:36 am
Wallowing Shame
Emotions bringing back two men from guilt, Sloane and Adal meet up and express their sorrows in a passive-aggressive drunken bond.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 2:51 pm
Winter Demons
In a misguided attempt at revenge, a Sword Plague and young street urchin are swept up into a session of violence lead by a priest of the House.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 2:53 pm
Reserved for training with blood...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 2:56 pm
House of Dolls
In an effort to cheer up their keeper, Sloane's swiftly growing collection of Stunteds decide to host a party and invite all the Excito within the North Base.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 2:58 pm
Reserved for Sage deciding she doesn't need the Black Knight anymore...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Mar 01, 2011 12:21 am
What Have You Done
What started as a good day is turned on its head and transformed into a horror story.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
