Chaos had reigned, and so when the order was given to bring her forward it was strange. Was this really the best time? Would it be worth it right now to waste pulling her away from the defenses and have one less knight to stand on the walls?
None the less she followed the order like any loyal knight should.
The walk to the chamber was odd, it was like the treasure room once again. She found herself going deeper and deeper into the castle, to parts she never dared explore for she hardly even knew they would exist. Spiral stairs and a glowing pool. It was like, well she didn't know what it was like she had so few memories to compare it too and even then she knew it was something to be proud of, to be amazed by. This became all the more true when she realized what the pool was full of.
Weapons, sacred weapons, glowing, glistening, shimmering in power and beauty. She carefully waded into the water, drawn towards the center of the pool, no not exactly the center but somewhere closer to it and slightly to the side her hand dipping into the water...
----
It was a dark night, the skys still had color, the darkness hadn't come to their town just yet. It was closer then ever before, this much was true. Tonight wasn't that night though. They had days? Weeks? Maybe even a month or so before it took over. You never really knew. Still the darkness had it's perks. The darkness could keep your actions hidden. They could hide the shame of a daughter who wasn't going to be the pride you wanted. It could hide the fact the daughter was planning betrayal and theft.
Was it really theft though? Was it entirely stealing if the sword and armor was never used? It lay dormant in the house, mounted in the kitchen. She slipped down the stairs quietly a bag of saved food tied around her waist as she twisted at the bindings pulling the chest piece from the wall, the sword lifted from a shelf. They fit her well enough, made for a man but they fit the boyish girl well enough. She hadn't trained, she had fought with sticks and poles, but the sword was different, her fathers own weapon long since retired from his injuries and age.
She twisted the black blade in the air, admiring it for a moment till she heard the foot steps, the sound of her father and mother shuffling about wondering what the noise was. The sword slammed into the sheath she had no time to take more, to make a proper goodbye she ran not knowing----
----
She was back chest tight from holding her breath she started to breath again fast heavy breaths like the night she had ran away, the panic sitting heavily in her chest as she pulled back from the waters pulling the sword with her.
This weapon wasn't stolen. This weapon was hers.
Posted: Mon May 11, 2015 6:31 pm
LINK TO PROOF:Journal SACRED WEAPON TYPE: staff (defensive)
No sooner had Kari left the Treasure Room, she was beckoned towards a small alcove by a guard. Was this man someone who still held reason? Following along, the alcove opened to a flight of stairs. There were deeper areas than the Treasure Room? The man who'd called out to her was already a fair ways down, only visible by a small glow of light. Giving chase, her steps echoed upon the walls and the scent of moisture began to fill the air and her steps eventually took on a damp thudding.
Seeing another opening towards the bottom of the stairs emitting a pale glow, Kari hurried down the last few steps where her progress slowed as the tiny stairwell gave way to an expansive room containing water that could easily be mistaken for molten glass with how clear and shiny it was. Looking around, Kari belatedly noticed that the man who'd lead her was nowhere to be seen.
Approaching the pool, Kari could see a plethora of weapons residing below, proving that it was indeed water rather than glass. Her eyes fell upon a single staff scattered among the various weapons contained below. Kneeling down, she hesitantly reached out to inspect the item...
"Why are you still bothering with this nonsense?", a woman chided as she continued to wash dishes with a faded cloth, not even bothering to look at the little girl beside her. "You know there's no place in a fight for a woman, so why do you waste your time with that silly weapon? Look at what's happened to you because you tried to play hero."
Kari held onto her broken stick with tears threatening to leak from her eyes. She'd only been trying to protect her friends, but she'd been beaten up instead while her 'friends' had completely abandoned her to save themselves. She thought her mom would have been proud of her for standing her ground, but instead she was being scolded. What was so wrong with wanting to protect something just because she was a girl?
"In any case, go wash up, it's almost time to start making supper", her mother added with a long-suffering sigh. "Don't think for a second that you're getting out of helping just because of a few scrapes."
Kari turned to race up the stairs without giving a reply, not stopping until she crossed the threshold of her bedroom door and threw herself onto her bed. Letting her pillow soak up the silent tears she allowed herself, Kari could only think of how she wanted to prove her mother wrong. It wasn't nonsense. It wasn't a waste of time. Kari could get stronger, then her mother would surely be proud of her...
Snapping back to reality, Kari felt a cold chill run through her. How long had she been kneeling there? It probably didn't help that her arm was still elbow deep in the water. Pulling it out, Kari noticed her hand was still gingerly wrapped around the staff that had caught her eye previously. Kari could only gape at how right it felt to hold the item in her grasp, like she'd found a long-lost friend.
Blood-spattered but bright eyed, Ollie yammered constantly as he followed the knight down the stairs: telling him about the quests he'd gone on before the battle and all the trouble he'd caused for invaders during. By the time they hit the stairs, his poor escort looked tired and dead-eyed, sick of the word Ballista and the onomatopoeia "BOOM". For his part, though, Ollie wasn't done: gestured wildly with a hand to explain the slash of an arrow through a shadowy body, and the impending poof of the creature into nothingness.
He jumped down the last few steps into the great cavern, and his voice echoed back at him loud enough to startle him into silence. When next he turned to ask his guide what he was meant to do here, the man was gone, escaped to a better duty, aka, anything but this.
Oh well. He could figure it out by himself anyway.
Even as his expression sharpened into focus, something whispered around in his ear, a promise or a question that drew him several steps forward. The glow of the pool lit up his fast and cast wild, dancing shadows into the distance. Spooky, but exciting enough to drive the breath out of Ollie and keep him in the here and now.
Beneath the surface of the water were weapons, a thin layer that shifted wildly as his breath brought up waves on the surface of the pool, and he didn't know how he knew, but it was clear that one of them was meant for him. The question was which one?
He reached slowly, fingertips wiggling in the glowing waters, lit up bright in the darkness, and he grinned even as a memory slid over him.
-------
Here he is by the edge of the huge lake that marks the edge of their city, and here in his hands is his bounty: still hot enough that it singes his fingertips, the smell of berries wafting up from the small pan settled on his knee. It was baked this morning, one of half a dozen that had been cooling on Nergui's windowsill, tempting prizes that he knew he should resist -- wanted to resist -- and ultimately couldn't help but snatch when she eased out of the kitchen to take care of something in another room.
He thinks he was sneaky, in his pillaging. In truth, he cackled madly as he ran off with it, and the woman watched with an exasperated fondness as he ran off into the woods.
Now, though, guilt has started to set in, the glee of his victory washed out by the realization that he has stolen something, that his neighbors might be wondering where it is, and his imagination swells this small piece of wrongdoing into something huge and disastrous. He has taken their pie and he can never face them again. He has taken their pie and they have the local law hunting him down for revenge. He has taken their pie, and they are starving slowly to death over dinner.
It slowly grows cool in his grasp, Ollie's expression melting to abject misery -- and, eventually, it goes into the lake in front of him with a solid little plop and a minor splash of water back up toward his feet, the evidence gone, and somehow he thinks this means no one will ever know. The guilt doesn't disappear, but it does fade, slowly, Ollie blowing out as his misery fades to embarrassment instead.
The last bit of this memory, half-remembered, is this: the next day, Nergui had delivered a pie to their doorstep, cooked by her charming young man, and Ollie had bawled, confessing his dirty deed to her mild, distant amusement.
OOC
My character's name: Oliatos AKA Ollie Character's journal link:Journal BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Dark-skinned and overly energetic, all Ollie wants to do is make himself useful to the cause, whatever cause it is that adopts him. He is kinetic, fond of physical activities and new experiences, with a boundless curiosity that gets annoying and fast. Rank of character Apprentice-Knight. Sacred Points obtained: ???/100
Now didn't seem the best time, but a step away from the fighting, however brief, was certainly welcome. One more way to stall, to hold off on making any sort of decision that might end badly. With no clear outcome in sight, he simply had no idea what the best course might be. It left his hands tied, left him unwilling to take a step in any direction. He would be a passive observer, holding off on that critical choice until there was more to go on than intuition and the orders of three dueling knights.
The alcove was quiet sanctuary after the cacophony in the treasure room. Cool, peaceful, even damp, it was a true relief, and one Ezekiel took in with a deep breath before descending the stairs towards the pool.
Here was a choice easily made. The lure was strong, pulling him closer. Even if there'd been an alternative he wouldn't have taken it. Something had prompted him to take the pledge that had stolen away his memories. That something was there, in the crystal clear water at the toes of his boots. In the shimmer of the weapons that were there, just below the surface, begging to be taken.
He kneels, reaching down towards the mirror like surface. Just as the tips of his fingers cause the first ripple, it hits.
His word was one filled with sparks and heat and the clang of hammer and anvil as practiced hands turn lumps of steal into pieces of art. It's a world of smoke, and ash, and air so thick it was hard to breath. Saw dust and glowing embers and the darkness of a stifling barn. the billowing rush of air through a forge. Discipline and technique. Training and consequence. His world is a rigorous one.
But there is light, and there is laughter. There is the soft press of hands against his cheeks as she pulls him in for a kiss, mirth still curling her lips. There is the soft shiny of sapphire eyes watching as he splits wood for his family and her's. There is copper curls in bright halo as she lays in the dappled sun beneath their favorite tree before he's leaning down steal the taste of an apple from her lips.
She was the silly little girl that had taunted and bragged as a child. The adolescent he chased through the field on the edge of their little town. Wind against his skin, cooling and sweet. The spirit of freedom and carefree laughter. A friend, a rival, a lover.
She was the fire that softened steal and bent it to her will.
He was the steal, and she had always bent him to her will.
He came back to himself with a shudder, goosebumps racing over his arms and across his shoulders as a name rested on his lips. He blinked down at the water, at the weapons within, as if seeing them for the first time. A moment to gather his bearings, to process what he'd seen.
A moment to breath past the tight feeling in his chest.
He closed his fingers around the dark handle of a sword, drawing it up and out to watch the glitter of water cascading in a shimmering fall across the silvery blade. This was renewed purpose. This gave a reason to fight where one had been lacking. There was more than the shell he'd been since the pledge. Not much, but enough to keep moving forward.
OOC
My character's name: Ezekiel Young Character's journal link:[o] BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Ezekiel is the strong quiet type. He is not terribly outgoing, though he is amicable enough in social settings, albeit it witty and ironic. He is practical and analytical, meaning he is unlikely to act recklessly or take risks that do not benefit him in some significant way. On those occasions he gets someone he does show loyalty and will even work to keep them safe up to a certain point, though he is a selfish individual. On the battle field he is calculating and cold. Physically he's tall and well muscled from various tasks and labors. He has dark, auburn hair and tanned skin. One eye is green, the other, a milky white, has a scar running through it that stretches from jaw to temple. Rank of character Apprentice -Knight
The long walk down stairs and hall ways were dark and ominous, but Micheal was not bothered. Micheal had all the confidence in the world that he would be among those promoted to knight. He was strong and brave and their numbers were dwindling.
The room though, was beautiful in a way. Weapons everywhere. in his minds eye he could see the battlefield and here the clashes of metal on metal. It was truly a glorious sight to behold with so many weapons in one place.
The strange part was that the water was calling to him. Micheal clutched at his ax one last time before walking to the water, drawn. A feeling like it was alive. Like they were all alive. What a strange sensation.
Micheal bend down, and reached into the water.
A memory from long ago. Laughter, as he played the big bad tiger, chasing after his youngest sibling. She giggled and ran whenever he tried to get near as they played in the grass near his home. She climbed the cherry tree, and he paused in his play. "Be careful Hope. Don't fall." He was never one to tell them not to do things. And his mother had long ago given up on trying to tell her large brood what to do. If they got hurt it was their own fault.
But be careful. Do what you want to do but be careful. He watched as she climbed higher and higher and waited under the tree for her. She laughed and climbed down right onto his shoulders. "Go horsey go!"
"Oh so I'm a horse now?" he galloped along in circles until they were both thoroughly dizzy and finally laid in the grass laughing as the world spun around them.
A little hand grasped at his, tiny in his own. A small moon sewn into the sleeve. Little fingers scratching and grasping at firm callouses. This tiny wiggle body that he was supposed to protect and watch over.
"Momma's making strew tonight." and he smiled at the squeal of delight.
He's shocked. Of course he is. He's barely more than a petty thief, itching to take everything in this castle and stuff in in his pockets, but for whatever reason they've chosen him.
Something like pride flickers in his chest. He'd never considered that he'd be more (never considered that he wanted more) and now that it's being offered it's like a new doorway has been opened. He doesn't have to worry about how he's going to survive, or where his next meal will come from. He only has to worry about orders and protecting the kingdom.
Despite the hardships of late, it still seems like it could be better.
The staircase he's led down seems never ending, and after a few flights he feels his first flicker of doubt. Perhaps they're just tricking him, luring him toward his ultimate execution. Did they know about the rolls? About the gold?
But they finally end at a large room that gives him the chills. A pool in the middle casts an ethereal glow on the otherwise plain walls that makes him feel like he's traveled beyond Camelot to somewhere more sacred. It makes him feel utterly alone.
He peers into the water at all the weapons that seem to sing a siren song and he reaches in.
So much blood.
He scrubs at his hands with a rough piece of leather, trying to be quiet in his panic. Chel is sleeping in the corner, propped up by their meager belongings. He'd offered to take first watch, because there was no way he could sleep right now.
In the moment he'd acted on instinct. They just needed supplies and Chris needed to take care of Chel. He couldn't let her dwell on what she'd done when it was already hard enough to survive. But blood stains the fingers.
His skin feels raw already, but he still sees red under his finger nails and he's positive that he'll feel nauseous until it's gone.
Chel snuffles and he freezes, but she only curls tighter around the blanket. They'd found it in the man's cart. One more luxury they hadn't had before now. When he thinks about the food, the blanket, the lantern oil, the security of another few nights lived, he knows he'd do it again.
They've already killed one man. It won't end there.
Chris reels back. The memory was so unexpected that the panic and nausea from it feel real. But the more he tries to grab at it and hold on, the less real it becomes. It dances out of his grasp until he's left with only one fact.
Chel is his cousin.
DarkHeartedSorrow
Adorable Trash
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Grey Dragon
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Posted: Mon May 11, 2015 7:59 pm
LINK TO PROOF:Journal SACRED WEAPON TYPE: staff (defensive)
When the message came for him, Oliver had balked. He stammered and fidgeted nervously, even had the name confirmed. Oliver Keeley. Knight-apprentice of the white order. There was no way he could refuse or say he wasn’t ready, the messengers did not make the rules, they were not to blame for this mistake…
He followed them down the stairs, past cellars, twisting and turning for what felt like ages. The boy was hardly the picture of knightly grace, his mind was full of doubts and worries, each one worse than the last. What if it was a mistake, and there was no weapon for him? Or worse, what if it was a mistake and he got a weapon he was unworthy of?
The stairs opened up into a wide cavern, a glowing pool at it’s center. Oliver felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight. He glanced back at the stairs, but in the end he could only move forward. He approached the pool, and heard something calling… He leaned forward, peered in, and knew which weapon was meant to be his. He reached in and —
Oliver hung his head in shame, and wandered over to the knight’s horse. Once again he would be leaving the place he had called home, and though it had only been a brief half-year, the boy felt tears threatening to fall. The rug by the hearth had been warm, much like the kitchens where he helped bake bread in his previous home, and he slept well there after a day of hard labour under the blacksmith’s watchful care. It was as good a place as any for a young boy who had been passed from family to family, to acquaintance to stranger. And now he was moving on yet again.
The freckled boy timidly gave the knight’s horse a pat on the nose. He could overhear the two men talking in the background, discussing compensation and payment as though he were a piece of livestock. He didn’t want to go… This time he had made friends, felt what it was like to maybe even have a family. Deep down he had hoped to one day live with the others, with Hattie and Horace and Tommy, having found that one home he would never have to leave, being told this was where he belonged…
Finally the knight emerged from the blacksmith’s hut, having finished his business with the muscled, dwarfish man. He clapped Oliver on one shoulder. “Come on boy, we have much to do before leaving this village.”
Oliver rubbed at his damp eyes, and felt that gauntleted hand give a squeeze. “Fret no more, when you are a knight there will be no need for tears.”
— his hand wrapped around the long weapon’s hilt. He pulled it out of the water with an alarmed splash, looked left and right, but there was nobody there. Just him, and his bittersweet memory.
Brenley's pride was not his most egregious sin. Still, it ranked up there, alongside greed and just below envy. Under most circumstances, he didn't think of himself as worthy of much, but when he had worked tirelessly toward a goal, when he saw improvement and felt confidence because of it and had something to show for his efforts, he found it difficult to fake humility.
Of course, this was all conjecture, a self conscious and cursory personal assessment he had been forced to make since he had no memories of what he had been like before his pledge to judge himself by. It did seem to correlate with the superior glee that filled him as he was summoned to become a true knight, however, a warm feeling that mingled with and almost overpowered the uncertainty that usually swirled in his gut. Almost.
He felt faint as he descended the designated stairs and stepped into the cavern below. The feeling only grew stronger when the pool called to him. Were such things normal? He didn't know that either.
"Hello?"
It was barely a whisper, but the water responded. Or maybe it was the weapons, one in particular. Brenley circled the pool, reaching out...
Looters had come to their village from the south, running from... shadows or some other such nonsense. For the past several days it hadn't been safe to venture out alone after dark, but they'd thought their homes secure enough until those were invaded too.
Tanaela had been dragged out of the crawlspace and stabbed clean through in the middle of the room, just to show they were to be taken seriously. An example.
Brenley would be taken seriously too. He had found the one who had killed her and returned the favor, arranging the dead man in a larger mirror of his sister's much smaller body.
He had known it wouldn't bring her back, but for a moment, he had felt a lot better.
The weapon was in his hand when the vision left him, and even though his limbs felt shaky and out of his control, his fingers gripped it with white-knuckled tenacity. That was what had been. Something he had done when he hadn't been himself. This scrubbed that all away. Now he was a knight.
Quote:
My character's name: Brenley Character's journal link:x BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Reddish-blond hair, pale peach skin, blue eyes, 6'0", nzappa zap, shoulder armor studded with blue-green stones, a mantle with blue flowers carved into it, blue and black gauntlets, a sandy tabard, a coppery helmet with a spindly, leafless tree carved into it, deep brown leggings with blue gradations throughout, blue tunic, boots. Rank of character Knight-Apprentice Sacred Points obtained: 0/100
The cavern was cool, at least it felt that way to Sherry. She could have simply been nervous, or in shock. It was beautiful, and surprising. She’d been called, taking down to some place she could never have imagined. The water was so clear, so unusual. It was giving off its own light. And therefore it was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen before. She stood for a moment, just taking in that sight. The cavern, the pool, the way the light just made everything wonderful. It was calm and serene and Sherry decided she quite liked it. At least until she realized she was all alone. She nearly voiced her surprise, but that would have shattered the silence in the cavern, and that was not something she wanted to do. She was afraid to make a sound.
Her eyes feel back on the pool, and she moved closer. So many weapons, so lovely in the glowing water. And she could feel it. The call, the pull. Sherry reached out a hand, expecting the chill of the water, even expecting some kind of-
The firelight flickered, making the darkness seem darker than it was, and making everything else look red and gold. Laughter echoed around the circle of those gathered. “So,” said her father, “I’ve had been stuck with that oversized, pie loving mutt ever since.” He always came alive when talked about the day he’d found a lost puppy in the mountains.
Sherry sighed. She had heard this story, and she knew what story he would tell next. She knew them all by now. Practically grown, she’d heard these tales all her life. Of the adventures her father had before he got married, before had a family. Sherry wondered sometimes if he missed it. Maybe she’d ask him. She didn’t know if she really wanted to know.
“I’m going back inside,” she said, getting to her feet. Her parents waved at her, then turned back to their friends. They loved gatherings like this. Sherry did, too, but tonight she’d rather be alone. She didn’t go inside. She went around to the back of their small farmhouse and climbed up onto the fence. The stars were lovely. Thousands of little lights in the sky, shining here and there. She could look at them for hours. They made her feel small, in a sweet and humble way. They made her feel less alone, almost like they were watching over her. She sighed again, happy this time. This was peace. This was tranquility. Her parents and their friends laughing, happy, her sister blissfully asleep inside. “This is perfect,” she said to herself. She didn’t want to grow up, she didn’t want to leave this. She wanted to be here, like this forever. Happy. “Sherry,” a voice said. A voice in the dark. Sherry turned—
She held the weapon in her hand, looking at it curiously. A small shiver ran down her spine, almost as though she were being watched, somehow, in that room. That wasn’t quite it, though, there was something else… the feeling faded as Sherry focused on what she’d pulled from the pool.
Sacha didn't mind being called for a promotion. That was a good thing (supposedly) and maybe it meant he'd gotten stronger. Maybe it meant he'd be able to pull his crossbow string back and actually arm the damn thing.
What he did mind was the number of damn stairs he was supposed to walk through, and he gave a sigh of relief when he was finally lead into a large cavern.
He was caught up enough in the pool of water in the center of the room that he barely realized when he was left alone, looking in to see the vast array of weapons that it contained. But there, to the left, something calling him, his hand moving almost of it's own accord toward the area as the memory washed over him.
"But darling, we have a tavern. Why would you want to go apprentice somewhere else? And two villages away!"
"I have to learn sometime Mom, and I can't just stay here and hide behind you and Mother until you just hand over the place. I can learn there, come back and help. Make a difference."
"Sure," his sister piped up. "It has nothing to do with the bakery over there. Or the annual fair."
He glowered at her and she just shrugged, popping a berry into her mouth. "I've got to do it. I've got to make my own way. That's all there is to it. Don't worry, I won't get into any trouble."
As he came back it was only to stare at the water, uncertainty welling up in him. A tavern. A boy with a plan, and none of it having a shred to do with fighting. Who was he?
Trisha was nervous. During the siege she didn't even really fight. All she did was hide in the background healing.
And there was blood so much blood. She wasn't even sure if she was ready to become a knight.
It was all a bit much for her. When they got to the room there were weapons, so many weapons.
Trisha stared around with wide eyes. One called to her. Was this right? was this what she was supposed to do? Trisha walked forward, dropping her spear and reached into the water.
A memory of a calm lake, her family sitting at a picnic. The kids were running and swimming and splashing each other. Trisha served and made sure everyone had food, enough to eat before finally sitting down herself.
Her father talked about the trees, and where they would cut the wood next year with another of the villagers. Her mother spoke about who was pregnant and who was getting married and when with the women. One asked when Trisha was getting married, and Trisha said not for a long ways yet.
Uncomfortable Trisha skittered to where her grandma was resting by a tree and settled once again. "Grandma, I want to go run... run and never come back." a moment of doubt. She was tired of this life. Ready to do something different. To get away.
"Trisha, you can't run from yourself. You have to look within to find it. You will figure out who you are, one day. I already see the bud forming. One day you will bloom."
"I don't feel like a flower. I feel like a tumble weed."
Even the tumble weed blooms when it sets down roots. Just be patient and wait for the right conditions."
Cady stared at the water, and it seemed to stare back.
In their short time here - less than a week; but it felt like less than a day - they'd all endured so much. All for this? The implements that lay at the bottom of the pool were beautiful, certainly. She hesitated, and her face screwed up into a small, sad frown.
It seemed strange that they were to be harbingers of peace with weapons of war.
She reached into the water, ignoring the cold, ignoring how the whole cavern seemed to fall under a hush until her fingers brushed -
Roses.
It had rained that day; all day, little dewdrops gathering delicately on each petal, as if to gossip and share secrets. Cady liked to watch them, watch them swell and grow until they could no longer resist their own mass and slid into each other, to drip onto the windowsill.
The click-clack of Gladys's sewing needles was the only sign she was still in the room.
The young girl stared down at her own needles forlornly. She wanted to rough-house, to go outside in the rain and play and run and jump and scream. But it was mending day, and on mending day one mended, no matter how hard the rain fell or how bright the sun shone.
She glanced at her bow, which hung in a nook on the wall. Maybe...
"Arcadia." The voice was soft, but firm.
"Mmm," Cady responded, fidgeting in her seat.
Something was tossed in her lap. It was a large, wide brimmed hat with a pointy top, and a very noticable hole going straight through the middle. Bits of feather and arrow shaft were still entwined in the fabric.
Ah. That had been, well. Not one of her better days. If Gladys had only TOLD her she'd be gathering potatoes in the field where the target dummies were...
The largely unscathed target dummies.
"You must learn," the older woman finally addressed her, "To mend, instead of breaking."
Cady looked uncertainly at the weapon in her hand. Mend, not break. But what else was there to do, when darkness lurked in every corner? When it seemed hope was lost? She frowned, but then suddenly had an idea.
What there was to do, she decided vehemently, was to eat a whole lot of cookies.
Ravvlet
Hygienic Waffles
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AyeAvast
Sparkly Bunny
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Posted: Mon May 11, 2015 11:43 pm
LINK TO PROOF:{X} SACRED WEAPON TYPE: staff (offensive or defensive I legit can't decide I am so sorry I am the worst pick for me I will be happy with whatever I promise)
When they call her name she is excited, even if she initially doesn't respond from a combination of shock, mild disbelief, and overwhelming enthusiasm for what is about to happen. They have seen her fight, they say nothing about it which is mostly for the best, they have seen her dedicate herself to the cause. And, somehow, they have found this show of recklessness and childish glee worthy.
True to her nature, Abbi runs to the summons, grinning widely and dodging around people she encounters in the halls with excited jumping. At one point she grabs a fellow knight's hands and swings them around in a small dance, laughing at their confusion and the potentiality of the situation. She skips, she prances, she runs with her arms stuck out into the space around her body, she acts like this is the best day of her whole life, and for all that she knows it is. There is a sort of freedom in the castle walls, despite their enclosure, and Abbi taps into it with abandon.
They tell her to descend the stairs, and she waves happily, chirping a flighty "Be right back!" and skips her way down. But the stairs are longer than she anticipates, they wind around and around and around. Without seeing it, Abbi knows she is going in a circle, and after a while she grows dizzy. Finally the girl stumbles past a tall, arching exit and into a room much larger than one might expect so far underground. Pale blue light shimmered on the floor, of which she realizes is a pool once she gains her bearings. Moving forward, Abbi cannot help but marvel at the thing, smiling a little. There is something nice about it, something giving. Her armor clatters softly against the stone floor as she lowers herself to her knees, the sound echoing gently through out the chamber. Freckled hands touch the cool ground, Abbi's face etched in the pale, reflective glow of the pool. If she were to reach forward she is certain it will give her something, it seems so inviting, she ought to give it a go, just dip her fingertips into the surface--
Despite the fact that Father always says she ought not sit by the window, Abbi does every day.
The tower is tall enough that she can sit in the cradle of her room's window and see everything below, which isn't much. Just fields of wheat and barley, the occasional farmer if she is lucky. But it is still something other than the tower and because of that it is vastly interesting. Having taken an interest in embroidery (girls sequestered in towers are required to devote themselves to something), she creates endless streams of things. It all started simple but now she moves her fingers in work on a tapestry, the fabric folded in her lap among her skirts and splashed down onto and out and across the stonework floor, a Rapunzel's braid of fabric and thread made by her own hands.
Her father has gone for the day, he has left the Tower for food, and more thread, for new needles for his daughter, to escape into the world and retreat back in the evening to the tower's safety. Abbi does not expect him back for hours, upon which she will present to him the completion of her work and beg forgiveness for the candles she has burned.
The squeak of the door is unexpected, sudden and surprising enough that the girl lets a shriek out, plunging the needle tip into her finger. Another cry leaves her and she stuffs the digit into her mouth to staunch the bleeding, the remainder of her attention on the door. A gust of wind has coaxed it open and it stands there, cracked and waiting.
For every other day of her life, Abbi's father has locked the door when he vacates the tower, the better to keep his daughter safe within its confines. Lately the girl has begun to wonder about his mental health as he has increasingly forgotten small things, has taken up the habit of mumbling frantically, and developed a minutiae of other worrying habits. But leaving her door unlocked? That seems... Oddest of all. Curiosity drives the girl from her perch, sends her tip-toeing across the room, and pushing gently at the door. It opens easily, swinging wide to show a staircase. Abbi knows that the next flight down is her father's room, she has been there plenty of times and is only denied access when he is away. She makes her way down the curving, curling steps and arrives to his chamber to find his own door wide open. Past that is another set of stairs that lead to their kitchen, whereupon the girl discovers that this door too is open. It is the same for the floor below that (a generous library that Abbi has read all the books from, upwards of three times), and the floor below it (a general store room of knick knacks, old furniture, and portraits of a woman who looks an awful like Abbi), along with the floor below both those (a cool, windowless room filled with crates and food stuffs). With only one door left unlocked, she is certain her father hasn't forgotten that, but when bare feet touch the last level of the tower she is beyond surprised to find the last door that separates her from the outside world is also unbolted. It does not stand open like the others, it is closed at least, but when Abbi tries the handle it moves easily in her hand.
She stands in front of the door for a long time, completely still. She could leave. All she has to do is open the door and walk out. It is, for once, that simple. So Abbi stands there and she recalls every instance of wanting to escape this prison, she remembers every single day of her life with multiple and countless prayers for the opportunity to go outside. Endless wishes have been devoted to this idea, so many that at one point the girl just stopped bothering because it wouldn't happen. All her embroidery is of outside things, flowers she's seen in books and the grass below her window and the way the barley rolls under the wind and clouds and stars, she has threaded every star as often as she can, and begun to imagine what it is like to live out in the world through needles and thread more than she can count. And its all right here. It is only an unlocked door away.
But Abbi cannot bring herself to leave. She cannot just open the door and walk away, even if it means getting to touch the grass with her toes just this once. In the end, she turns away and pads back up to her room on bare feet that ache for freedom, but must carry a body and a mind too wound up with approval and worry and panic. The simple idea of leaving is not nearly as simple when presented with it. Her father would know, he would find out because she could not lie to him. And if she fully ran away, he would surely know then and if she does not stay for him who will? So she crawls back into her window seat, she takes the needlepoint up again, she stays. She is a coward, she knows it because she couldn't leave even when she wanted, and she finds she deserves every wayward p***k of the needle. There is no way she could just run without someone to care for her and she could not plan it in the few hours before her father arrived. She has no honest concept of money, or how the world works, or even a guide to show her the way. It is pointless to try, she would always fail, no matter how clever she thinks herself. She would never make it, and that is the only simple thing about all of this.
Abbi is trapped, and she knows it, and does not have permission to balk against her bonds. They have kept her safe, so maybe they are not so bad--
Her hand rises up from the water's edge, streams of gleaming liquid light falling from her skin as she pulls out the weapon. There is the need to stand and pull back to fully dislodge it, but Abbi does it, even if her feet are uncertain and she trips once the weapon is completely in her grasp. Blue eyes take in the thing from top to bottom and in her sentimentality she clutches it to her chest. The trek up the stairs will not be as enjoyable as she had once hoped they would be, but at least this time she will not be alone.
Dirge has been waiting for this moment since he first knelt at the box, since he had given his memories up in service to the Great King, in service to Camelot. He has always, since he could remember, wanted to become a knight. Finally, they had called his name - and Dirge is ready to take that next step. Like a child sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting those excruciatingly long last few moments of class, just waiting for the teacher to dismiss them, watching her lips begin to form the long awaited word: "dismissed."
The young man was altogether a bundle of sheer bliss and smiles, sunshine and ******** rainbows, as he practically pranced to the other knights who had come to escort him. Dirge wondered if an escort of guard was truly necessary. This was just his promotion to a full knight, right? Surely, there was nothing to get fussy about. Yes, there were the shadows stirring trouble up as they crawled through the halls and the battered part of the castle - but Dirge was chosen for knighthood. Surely he could handle a few shadows on his own, right? The shock of orange haired man didn't need an armed escort.
"Where are we going?" Dirge implored one of the guards, eyes bright with the small victory he'd just won. The guard, in cold dialect and with hard eyes, told him to be quiet and simply follow. Dirge's eyebrows raise; is this some sort of joke? Hazing? How dare this man treat him with such arrogance and disdain - Dirge has been considered worthy for knighthood by whoever deemed such things (probably the Great King, though the man was absent. Maybe Merlin, since the Black Knight was the Great King's right hand?), and he should damn well be respected just the same as any other brother or sister of Camelot.
Come to think of it, if Merlin had been the one to recognize Dirge and give him this promotion for apprentice to Knighthood - he cannot help the smile that breaks through the frustrated tight line of his mouth. The prickly guard asks why in the hell Dirge is smiling, but Dirge does not answer. Truly, if Merlin recognized his talent, his skill, his worth to the kingdom of Camelot - that was victory in itself. Dirge would cling to the idea that Merlin, the man he looked up to most in this world, has noticed his worth.
They bring Dirge to a room where all is still and very quiet. There is a lake (really just a pool, yet the smallness of the room creates the illusion of vastness) in the center, shimmering and full of ancient weapons. Dirge looks awestruck, and turns to look at his grumpy escort despite their differences - only to find the man and his partner absent. Dirge wonders when in the King's name that happened. Oddly, it feels as thought he has been alone for a while now.
The boy dips into the water, drenching himself up to his waist. The pool is neither refreshing nor bitterly cold- it simply is. He reaches down into the lake, compelled by the sense that this was what he was supposed to do, and wraps his hand around the hilt of a weapon.
"You are nothing."
"Imp."
"Stunted rat."
They kick and punch him, push him over, break his ribs. He has a hard time breathing, cannot move without crying out in pain. Suck it up, they say. Be a man, be better. Learn to fight back, don't allow them to be cruel to you.
He tries to stand up for himself. Gods, he tries so hard. They keep knocking him down, they keep knocking him over and calling him names.
He gets up the next day, and the world is aflame. He makes sure to find the other boys, and he smiles as they reach out to him for help. He watches for moments as they are consumed, and laughs as he flees.
It serves them right.
Carhop Cavalier
Familiar Teenager
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chirigami
Swashbuckling Sentai
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Posted: Tue May 12, 2015 1:32 am
LINK TO PROOF:boop SACRED WEAPON TYPE: staff (offensive)
It probably wasn't the time for this; not when many fates hung in the balance, when it all depended on the choices all of them could make. Milo was honestly unsure how he had managed to slip away in the first place, like any sudden movement or escape could have serious repercussions. But he had heard a call and thus he heeded it - perhaps, in some ways, hoping there would be answers.
Now it was just him, miles away from the fighting, deep in a cavern. He couldn't even hear it, it was so distant, he had been lead so deep under the castle itself, past the cellars and down so many stairs. He kind of didn't regret leaving it now with how peaceful it was down here. Alone. A sigh of relief (hopefully Lady Noemi wasn't caught up in all of that, she seemed to sweet for it). Just him and a large pool of water that didn't seem particularly inviting to wade in given what it held.
A lot of weapons.
They were each so beautiful, Milo noticed as he walked closer towards the body of water. The soft clang of his armor echoed throughout the chamber, still it was the only sound he heard besides his own heart drumming against his chest and his steady breathing. Yes, beautiful, he thought to himself but there was one in particular that caught his attention above the rest of them.
Milo knelt down and reached for it, not minding the chill of the waters as they washed over his gloved hand.
He hadn't been thrilled when he had been told about the arrangement. It wasn't how knights in the stories his mother read to him got the girl; they always won their affection or rescued them from some peril. They were never betrothed to one another (that was another story in itself, the knight saved his fair lady from such situations because of true love). But he was told it had been arranged when he was much younger and when the girl's parents were still alive; their families had apparently been very close even though he had never heard of the Hurleys until that moment.
His mother had simply smiled at him with each protest (Evan was even making fun of him for it!), brushed his hair out of his pouty face and told him of how sweet the girl was and how much he would like her (he doubted it). How the girl was all alone. "She has been very strong being on her own this long," his mother explained to him, "but you will need to protect her."
He had scoffed at the idea and rolled his eyes, maybe he could find some way to get out of it. He would find his true love the proper way, the knights' way.
It all changed when he finally laid eyes on her at their official introduction. A swell of his chest and a slight blush on his cheeks when he saw her; that red hair, her kind eyes and that soft smile. Taken all and completely without much of a word spoken between the two.
Protect her, his mother had said.
"With all my heart." He whispered.
A shudder passed through him and Milo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He remained motionless, wide eyes transfixed on the pool and grip tight on the weapon that still hung mid air and halfway into the waters it had been released from.
A memory, he realized when his thoughts finally came to. Something.. he had lost. Forgotten. Milo pulled himself back, the weapon along with him as he made his way to his feet. His head still hung low, gaze still on the pool with the memory still replaying in his mind. He had forgotten...
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