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The Wizarding World Captain
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 Posted: Thu Apr 15, 2010 9:56 pm
 Place your bets while they're still twitchin'!
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Posted: Thu May 13, 2010 11:36 am
The Semetary was becoming a familiar place. So familiar in fact that the brothers had actually been banned from coming here more than two nights a week. They were too good at winning. They might draw large crowds, but when you brought down some of the best opponents the Semetary had to offer the owner's tended to limit your time in the ring. This made nights when they were sure to be around a local treat, and a large crowd inevitably formed. Tonight was no exception. People, halfbreeds, creatures of all shapes and sizes stood around on the cement, infinitely crowding to get closer to the front, holding Muggle money out, jewels, gold pieces. Placing their bets on the Red God before an opponent even stepped forward.
Xuchilbarra stood in the ring, the yellow lights casting him in hard shadow. He had no opponent yet. It wasn't as if he was impossible to bring down, but he was damn difficult, and matches with the Red God usually ended up being to the death for the opponent. And if they did go down without dying, well, the Medic witch tonight was certainly not known for her healing ability. She was mediocre at best and mediocre did just not do the job when you were likely to come away with a gaping hole through your midsection.
Xuchilbarra did not entirely know why he was here. His mind was clouded by a curse, something akin to Imperius that still allowed a sort of freewill. He was a puppet to the masters strings, and of course all the winnings went to said master. Xuchilbarra felt no qualms with this, for that was how he was programmed to feel. Sometimes the control would slip, slightly. Memories flashed in, red hair and blood. But they meant nothing to him, not yet. He was only aware that he was wanted here and so he stayed with little fuss. His mind had not wholly been his own for quite some time; what difference did it make who was in control?
So he stood in the ring waiting, seven foot blade slung over one shoulder, his breath coming out in the vents of his helmet as a fog in the chill night air.
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Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 12:24 pm
Vith stood in silence a few yards from his brother. The iron bars separating the two didn't seem to bother the youngest much as he watched and smelled the shift of people and creatures filtering through like insects.
He was being kept in the cage for disobeying, a part of his mind reasoned with him that it could be the only notion that would cause their master to do this. The fuzz in his mind seemed to be clearing, unfortunately it didn't seem the same for his counter part.
He shifted on his feet, restless and wanting to be out suddenly. He could feel that He wanted him, not his brother but their other half...he just couldn't place who...where.
The rusted tip of his spear sliced through the air, echoing as he knocked the weapon back and forth across his bars, trying to break the damnable metal.
He needed to get out of there and look...for them. Whoever they were.
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Posted: Fri May 21, 2010 9:13 am
The gathering excitement did not seem to phase the wizard lingering by the wire mesh of the caged ring, taking lazy drags from a stout cigarette that had mostly smoldered into papery ash in his fingers. The smaller of his beasts was locked up in one of the barred containment cages adjacent to the ring; it was usually reserved for terrified busty woman used to entice the fighters, but Barra seemed more focused on his ‘brother’ than any other prize Jule could think of producing.
It had taken thirteen years of experimenting to craft a control charm effective enough to not only lull the beasts, but will them to do his bidding. It was far from perfect and Vith seemed to shake it every few days, but overall Jule was satisfied with his work. They had fetched him thousands in the six months he’d been fighting them in the ring, more than he made shoddily resurrecting fallen loved ones for desperate lovers with the gold to pay.
“Shut up,” he told the younger of the two, thumping his fist on one of the bars to get his attention.
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 8:12 pm
It was noisy, so noisy, all the sounds and voices seemed to echo endlessly around the cement, inside his helmet, inside his head. Barra wanted to kill things, he wanted to fight. yet at the same time, he had this backwards feeling of just being tired, worn out. His mind seemed to be only to process the need to fight though, like he couldn't quite place what his other real feelings were. He was not himself. He was the older brother, the strongest of them, the protector. Yet his mind was weaker. He was always easily manipulated, and this wasn't the first time his weak mind had caused the pair trouble. He was too eager to please sometimes.
He swung the giant Knife down off his shoulder, the cement cracking and spraying small pieces from the force and weight behind it. He let out a sound, almost like a roar, low and guttural. Even those that weren't close enough to hear it could feel it, a reverberating animal sound that warned to keep your distance.
Yet a challenger finally approached, a very small seeming female wielding a long whip built of interlocking metal spikes. Xuchilbarra summed her up very simply; small and fast, difficult to hit, but unable to cause any real damage. Swing enough and he would eventually hit her. And once that happened she was not getting up again. The gathering crowd held out money, screaming their bets as the woman strutted on her side of the ring, blowing kisses to the crowd, her whip dragging behind like a tail.
The Red God only stood with his knife on the ground, feeling close to nothing, only focused on her movements and taking her down as fast as possible.
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Posted: Tue Jun 01, 2010 8:23 am
Jule’s gaze fixed on the challenger as well, a smirk catching the corner of his mouth; it would be simple for the larger of his beasts to completely destroy her. What a fool she was to accept the challenge.
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Posted: Tue Jun 01, 2010 5:27 pm
Vith snarled and tried to grab for Jule. In younger years before he'd been executed he would have been outraged at being told to shut up by some filthy-blooded commoner. He could respect his power in the dark arts to a degree, but it didn't make up for the rest of his short comings.
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Posted: Tue Jul 13, 2010 11:38 am
The announcer signaled the fight to start. Barra stood, a plan thought out. The girl was quick, and immediately went in with her whip, the spikes hitting his flesh, blood spraying. But the wounds mended themselves quickly, and although she hit him over and over, and while he was covered in blood, underneath he was unharmed. He stumbled into the center of the ring, feigning pain. She fell for it, as they so often did, wrapping her whip around his neck, the sharp edges digging in. She came in from behind, pulling out a sword and stabbing him right through the chest. Impressive, no doubt, that she had to strength to do so.
If the Red God could have laughed, he would have. The sword felt cold against his organs, simply cold. There was pain, but it was so great it felt like nothing. Blood was in his mouth, his own blood, for now. The woman was struggling to get the sword free, but she was stuck, Xuchilbarra's body already healing around the metal, trapping her. He pivoted around the blade, was able to grab one of the girls arms, easily pulling her around. Breaking her in half.
He kneeled there for a long time, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. Caked in his blood and hers, a broken body bent over his knee. He reached around to tear the sword out of his stomach, tossing it aside. The crowd was cheering, as loud as ever, but he didn't hear it. He just felt tired, strangely afraid. Afraid that he was missing something very important. A thought passed through his mind that he could easily kill Jule, but the idea was smashed before he could even stand up. His mind was in a cage and he couldn't escape.
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 1:56 pm
Jule jerked back from the iron bars with a slack-mouthed snarl of outrage, his limp brown hair sticking to his lower lip as he raised his dagger-encased wand at the smaller - if one could call either of the beasts small in any respect - creature. “You mind yourself,” he growled, a faint purple glow in his eyes as he watched Vith suspiciously. He glanced quickly at its brother, slicing the calloused pad of his index finger on the warped length of his dagger; blood welled and clung to the blade. He flung the drops at Vith, splattering his helmet. Another tiny sacrifice settling like a miniscule lock without a key, binding him further to his new master. “And you,” he added, glancing back to Barra, “Up to the gate.”
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 2:03 pm
The younger brother gave an angry roar, but cowered back, muscles that had been tense and ready to strike relaxed and stilled as he shuffled down into an almost crouch. His chest heaved as he panted, the sound wet and broken within the helmet while his mind fogged over once more and the red hot anger flashing before his line of vision dulled into little more than uncaring observation of the necromancer.
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 2:23 pm
He let the body of his previous 'opponent' fall to the ground, broken and still bleeding, thick and red. He let his long tentacle-like tongue slip out, licking the blood off himself, swallowing hard. His helmet tilted slightly to one side as he stood up, processing the command. He was like a strange lost puppy, wanting only to understand and do right by the master.
The hole in his stomach was already closed up, the bleeding stopped. The only indication of him being hurt at all was the layer of red still coating his skin and apron, the long tear in the fabric itself.
He approached the gate and stood, his shadow casting half the onlookers in shadow.
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 2:36 pm
The necromancer did not collect his winnings; rather, he gestured to the announcer to indicate that the gold should be added to the already substantial amount he’d gathered over the last week. It was better to let it build for a few days - fighters who quickly cashed out garnered too much attention from management, and attention from those in the shadows resulted in unfortunate circumstances Jule preferred not to tempt into play.
The gate groaned as the iron was drawn up, massive chains working the entrance open so that Jule could face his killing machine. Behind him, a trembling attendant was removing Vith from the cage Jule had locked him in before the fight had commenced. Jule smirked when the dirty-faced boy scrambled back as soon as his shaking fingers had unclicked the lock; cautiousness like that would keep him alive. Maybe.
“Come. Both of you,” Jule murmured, his voice lost beneath the rumbling of the crowd; but it sang in his blood, and therefore, in his stolen servants.
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 2:42 pm
The Red God looked to his brother. He felt something, always. An urge to protect him, and be with him. When they were separated he felt something almost like sadness. But the master's demands could keep such feelings down when the situation called for it. If he didn't have such a hold there would be no way for them to be apart.
He kept close to Jule as commanded, unquestioning.
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 2:51 pm
Vith followed, the weight of his helmet held low as he walked. He felt stirrings of anger still lingering at the back of his mind and that unsettling need for something more, but he couldn't muster the energy to try grabbing for all of it again.
He settled up beside his brother, walking in stride.
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Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 3:00 pm
Ten minutes of sweeping down the corridor with his brutal creatures shuffling behind him and Jule located the entrance to the arena, its door forever shifting its location to prevent easy rioting or escaping. The damp, dank smell of the walls only wrinkled his nose briefly before he pushed away the discomfort, his habitual company being dead, partially decomposed, or partially not dead making such sensitiveness nonsensical.
He could feel the pull of their power, the massive ache at the base of his brain from a constant mental struggle to keep them in place; it left his veins feeling dry, his mouth papery from frequent swallowing and throat clearing. But he had them still.
Light fell in a flood of gold across them as he swung the door open, flanked by the hulking bulk of his servants. Morbus spread out in dirty brick towers before him, choked grass leaking across the street and a few shady characters filtering past as he glanced down the street. The sign hanging above his head boasted an Apothecary. Falsehood in a city of lies.
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