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Post by Vicorva on Oct 5, 2008 13:31:17 GMT
Characters: Any available member: we all know what's good and what's not. Content Rating: Adult, for Young Master Webster. Genre: FR DnD/Crime/Freeform/Part-ay! Useful Links:About NeverwinterCopious Neverwinter MapsNeverwinter Nights: Hell's PartyThe StoryThe city is in secret chaos. Crime has always been prevalent in a booming metropolis such as Neverwinter, but things have never quite been this bad. Of course, the average citizen knows nothing... There are two opposing Crime Syndicates engaging in an underground 'war' of sorts, trying to take control of different sections of the city. A the same time, the Corruption in the City Watch has been growing as different criminal organisations seek to buy safety and power from their hands. The corruption runs deep- although it does not run high. The intruding organisation are called the Red Lips. They are barbaric brutes, willing to do whatever it takes to get their power and their money- kill, threaten, maim- you name it. They aren't particularly skillful, but they allow anyone to join so their numbers are huge. Their territories are generally marked by a symbol of a red kiss. Nobody knows who the leader is, although the rest seems to be fairly easy to route out. The home organisation are called the Shadow Thieves. They are more civilised in their organsation, with a clear hierarchy and a code of secrey even amongst themselves, so that any member only knows whoever they need to have direct contact with. However, their numbers are smaller and more elitist. They are also willing to kill, threaten and maim to get what they want, and their leader is also a mystery. They have no markings for their territories, but if you do stumble into one of them, you can be sure you won't make that same mistake again. The City Watch has been trying to keep the peace, keep the citizens from getting entangled, and to, of course, lower crime rates in the city, but the corruption amongst the guards is great. One man, it can be certain, is not corrupted- The Chief Inspector, and he vouches on his blood for all his Captains. In the midst of all this corruption, life goes on as usual for the average citizens of Neverwinter, and all in all, the struggles that take place at night and behind closed doors are hidden from them, although there are rumours that the Poor District and the Merchants quarter have been completely overrun. And thus, as always happens, some fanciful young debutante looking for her Handsome Prince is throwing a ball- and the whole cities' invited. Considered the most eligible and beautiful young woman in Faerun, she is a proper lady, and looking for a proper husband. There will be tournaments before the main event to win the lady's favour and the right to accompany her to the Ball, as well as the usual betting on the tournaments- a way many warriors wins their wages. But in the current clime, this Ball is far from safe. Though the Chief Inspector, expecting danger, has the ball filled with his men, that's not going to stop this becoming yet another opportunity for the criminals of Neverwinter to show their power- or gain more. And of course, there are all the usual whackos to account for... And so begins Hell's Party, and we can only hope that we'll survive it. Rules:Meh, there are no rules. Just don't do anything to upset anyone else, and don't do anything stupid. Only your main characters need a sheet: you can control as many NPCs as you like, but if there is anyone you want to go into more detail for, make them a sheet. Playable Characters:You may have noticed a distinct lack of names up there in the story. That's so you can make certain key characters to your pleasure. The Chief Inspector Soujourn- Webster The Leader of the Red Lips- Fanchon The Leader of the Shadow Thieves- Illusionary Nothing The hostess of the ball Lady Arlene Hartway- FC4 Lord Nasher- Vrek Vileclaw Dramatis PersonaePM me short descriptions of your important characters to go here, please. Desny Darkwood- Desny is a dark sorcerer and one who enjoys using the system to further his own ends. Though he has never been able to be charged with any kind of crime, he is infamous for his many ill deeds- and for never being charged with them. Though he holds few in high regard, and cares little for those he does not respect, he loves his sister unconditionally- he just doesn't really show it.Silence Darkwood- A sorceress turned bard who struggles against her own demonic heritage and against the judgement of the world. She's powerful- that cannot be denied- but whether she's using her power for good or ill is often in question- even by herself.Aethesh Serrai - A warlord of considerable power, Aethesh is an enigma when it comes to his motivations. It is uncertain just what it his that he wants from the two criminal organizations, or from these tournaments at all, but one thing is known. That Aethesh serves only himself.Herista Comae- She doesn't hide her heritage, but she doesn't make her Genasi aspect plainly obvious either. The common man; clueless. Those with some knowledge; likely aware. Her reason for being in this tournament and party isn't an queer desire for the lady's heart; she's just here for the fun of the tournament, and to try and stop the underground war.Perum Tormuch- Perum is a ghostwise halfling of considerable skill. He is a strong warrior of his clan, blunt and direct with his words, and is comfortable in either straightforward fights, or with striking from the shadows. Above all, he serves himself. Aravel Dunerunner - This man's attire is sandy and dark, and he seems to be dancing just on the edge of your vision, as though a shade. He does what he feels is right, regardless for the laws and regulations of others. He is not in this for the fair lady, whom he doubts is so fair, but merely to test his skill in the tournament. The rumors of a guild war also Piqued his interest. He is cold when angered, and quick to plant a blade in his enemies' spines.
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 5, 2008 16:23:52 GMT
Desny
A dark figure walked down the street, hooded, his features hidden save for a faint red light that seemed to emanate from within. His simple black robes billowed around him as he strode, remnicient of shadows themselves. People drew back from him as he walked, staring wide-eyed.
Desny called this his consequence, and he loved it. If he could strike fear into others simply from his appearance, simply from his presence, then that would only give him more power.
And, of course, anger the Chief Inspector even more. His lips curled into a smug smile as a mother yanked her young child away from him, whispering warning into her ear.
So: the party. He imagined the Red Lips would be there. His smile quickly turned into a snarl at the thought. Disgusting, simple-minded creatures... he thought as he entered the beautiful Neverwinter gardens, straight past the guards posted there. They didn't even batt an eyelash at his appearance: they were in his hands. Or rather, in his pocket.
Looking around at the huge crowds amassed there, he wondered that any woman could be so foolish as to invite the whole city to her 'dating service'- which was basically what it was. The strength of her vanity was admirable, but misplaced. He would bore of her as quickly as he finished with her body.
Of course... that was the plan. Win the tournament, charm her, and use her. She would be a useful bargaining chip, afterall.
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Post by webster52402 on Oct 5, 2008 19:52:54 GMT
Blood.
The crimson liquid flowed like a river, down over trembling muscles and quivering flesh. Down, over a mighty chest, the barrel-like surface expanding and deflating rapidly, with each breath drawn. Down, to soak the plain gray trousers, staining the fabric a deep crimson as it continued its path. Down, running in rivulets down powerful legs, tracing small, spidering paths as the liquid continued its descent. Down, to pool on the hardwood floor in an ever growing flood, dripping from the soaked leg of the trousers above.
Where was this blood coming from? Trace the path of the blood back up, up the strong legs, the mighty chest, that seems like it could take a quiver full of arrows without being affected, up a strong neck, the skin now strained red from the sheer amount of gore pouring down, to... Nothing. The neck ended in a stump, the gaping hole of the surprisingly cleanly severed windpipe sucking and gasping at the air above, severed arteries spraying the crimson essence of life out in a powerful fountain, staining both the body below, the ceiling above, the walls on either side, and the figure standing a short distance away.
The body was still standing, by some miracle. Either by the muscles locked, by the brace of the staff clenched tightly in one lifeless hand, or from the magic that glowed and sparked around the figure's hand, twisting it this way and that to keep the corpse breathing even as its blood flowed like a river. There was something about the wet, ragged gasps that flowed through the hole that had once led to a man's mouth that was somehow enticing the figure to keep up this charade of life, something about the way the body quivered as its blood drained, the way it could almost move on its own... It was a gory parody of life, or of the moment before life became death...
The figure's glowing hand dropped, wiping itself against the black leather armor, utilizing the studs that jutted out every now and again to clean beneath the edge of his fingernails. Couldn't have himself being untidy, after all. That would just be... tragic. Of course, there was still blood coating his shoes and speckled over his armor from the fountain, but that was all moot. As the body collapsed, the warlock slowly turned, running his now clean hand up through his hair, sweeping it back into place. Slowly, a grin was spreading on Aethesh's sallow lips, as he strode through the house of the unfortunate victim of his prowess, plucking a small piece of paper from a table there.
A deed to the house? Perhaps some kind of financial document, that would secure Aethesh unending riches? A letter from someone high up in the government, exposing corruption? Well, though there was undoubtedly corruption to no end to root out, all this was nothing compared to what Aethesh had just killed a man for. And not just killed, but ENJOYED the kill, and even held the man alive for some time, after taking his head off with a carefully placed Eldritch Spear. What was it?
Aethesh slowly turned the paper in his hands, his eyes dancing over the words that were scrawled onto its surface. "This is it? This is the recipe?" He muttered to himself, staring down at the ingredients required for the now deceased doctor's potent herb potion. All that was scrawled upon it was three common items, which were mixed in a certain portion, before being applied as a salve. "Hell, could have saved me the trouble and just told me." He muttered bitterly, stowing the paper in the pocket of his armor, throwing a dark glance at the headless corpse. "See you later, doc. Got a party to get to."
With that bit of business attended to, Aethesh stepped out into the main road, throwing a glance left and right for a brief second. Not to check for anyone. Hell, the guards were so corrupt all he'd have to do was say a harsh word to one of them, and they'd promptly forget everything. But to make sure that he was actually going in the right direction. He wasn't a resident of this fine city, after all. "Looks about right..."
With that, the warlock turned, joining the throng heading towards the so called 'Party'.
OOC: A very good thing you made this adult, as I took full advantage of it. lol
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 5, 2008 20:50:37 GMT
OOC: As will I. @folks: remember to send me your short descriptions! SilenceA woman leaned against a great pillar in the gardens that hosted the party before the evening ball. The gardens were beautiful: flowers of all colours, plants of all sizes, and beautiful sculptures and works of art were everywhere. There was a huge area in the square to congregate, as well as the many wide gravel paths. Huge, artistic columns such as the one she leaned against were also common, The whole place was grand- a fantastic, almost magical mixture of wild, uncontrolled growth and areas of pristine gardening, as well as art of all kinds. Many people wandered around in their best clothes, talking away- nobles enjoying the frivolous excitement of being ina garden, commoners enjoying the thrill of being with nobles. The woman was not in her best clothes. She was in dark, belted leathers with runes etched into the leather straps. She wore a midnight cloak, pushed back behind her shoulders like a cape to reveal her outfit, and the hood was down so that she might wear her shabby swashbucklers hat. A small stringed instrument hung by her side. And yet somehow, she fit in. People walked past her without thought or care. This was one of Silence's many gifts: to choose when she wanted to be seen, and when not to. She knew exactly the posture, exactly the way to wear her clothes, exactly the expression, and exactly how focused her eyes needed to be in order to avoid people's attention without aid of spell, song or stealth. Such was the bard's power: to understand people, and how best to deal with them. She watched a pair of pretty commoner girl's walk past. Almost lazily, she tuned into their conversation, her keen ears picking out their voices alone amongst all the others- this, the skill of a musician. "-We'll get ourselves a right princely man today," one said excitedly, her accent thick with urban peasantry. "Well, not a prince, mind you, but perhaps a nice merchant's son-" "Certainly, Jeza," the other replied. She was more calm and sedate: there was fire and determination in her eyes. "Remember to flirt right, but give nothing. That's the way to catch a man." It was an effective method, but not the only one. My grandmother would certainly disagree with you there... Silence thought, amused. But you're boring me. She tuned out of the conversation. Everyone here was so... boring. So normal. So... average. Even more than other bards, Silence craved the unusual and the arcane. Something new and exciting. Of course, that was why she was here. She knew well of the underground war that was happening- any who knew how to Sense the Motives of others could have determined it- and she wanted to be there when it happened. But will it be about her... she wondered, looking up at the young debutante. Or will it be about fear?If it was about the noblewoman, Silence couldn't care less. Kidnap her, use her as leverage- whatever. Silence had no heart for the nobility, except for what she could gain from their purses. But if this stretched to the common folk- that was where she stepped in. That was where the bard was necessary- to calm the hearts of the frightened, to prevent a dangerous- even fatal- frenzy. It's not like I don't sympathise with the rogues... she thought. Murderers, enforcers, thieves- they're all decent folk when all's been said and done. They're just doing what the world has created them to do. So I'll just do what I have been created to do, and everything will go well, Selune willing..."Griffin?" she enquired, stretching her fingertips almost imperceptibly, but that movement contained her will, that tiny switch in her mind that she need only to flick in order to make her wishes come true- as was the vocation of sorcerers, above all other spellcasters. In a brief swirl of purple light, that seemed to flutter in Silence's heart as well, a small red fox appeared. "Take a look around," she instructed her familiar in a low voice. It was a voiec pitched at just the right tone so that nobody would hear it. It was a voice she loved dearly- one of her favourites to use. "Move quickly, and people will not pause to think of you, and they are less likely to deal with you. Use not only your eyes, but your senses. If you find someone interesting, bring them to me. I weary of these folks, and I want someone to pass the time with before that dratted tournament." The tournament she fully intended to mess with. Oh, she wouldn't enter, but a lone singer with the right kind of undetectable power could easily affect the outcome. Oh how she loved her little games. "Don't hesitate to use force if someone attacks you: I give leave to use Lesser Firebreath, Minor Force Cone, and Fuddle. That oughta teach them to pick on small animals." The fox nodded and slid sinously from his place by her side, disappearing into the crowd. As Griffin left, Silence pondered the nature of her familiar. What had once been a normal fox was now a being of magic with an emotional link with her- and even a voice of its own. They shared experiences as if they were one being, and rarely required actual communication, as they could communicate mentally by telepathic link in most instances. No, what was interesting about familiars was the degree to which their minds became conjoined. Griffin was only his own creature to a certain degree- there was a good deal of him that was just another part of Silences' mind- as part of her mind was Griffin. She'd often wondered if perhaps druids had a better deal- animal companions were true friends, not servants like familiars, and their minds were not melded in such a potentially harmful manner. And yet, she would not give up Griffin for the world. So she continued to lean there, awaiting an opportunity for something more- as was the bardic way- and her mind split on two different activities: her eavesdropping, and Griffin's spying.
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Post by FC4 on Oct 5, 2008 22:06:17 GMT
Herista Comae walked through the city streets towards the gardens where the pre-ball tournament was to be held, her twin steel scimitars tapping lightly against her sides as she moved. She certainly wasn't dressed for any ball; she looked better dressed for a fight. Her leather armor gripped her body tightly, moving with her as she walked, and the hip pack she wore had been moved to her stomach so people couldn't pickpocket her.
When she finally reached the gardens, the Genasi Illuskan stopped and inhaled deeply as a soft breeze blew over her, moving her long hair around her head and causing many of the strands to fall in front of her face. She left it there, staring through the sparse screen of hair with her vibrant sky blue eyes, and looking at the scenery around her. Her arms were crossed behind her back in a carefree manner as she began to walk, a small smile decorating her fair-skinned face.
"Well... the rumors of these gardens were definitely not lies. They are most certainly dazzling." She spoke, her voice more comparable to a loud whisper than a normal tone, as she looked at the intricate pillars and arranged flora. Her steps were quick and precise, and she moved with flowing grace considering she seemed to be paying absolutely no attention to where exactly she was going.
"I wonder where the sign up is for the tournament."
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 10, 2008 12:11:58 GMT
Desny
"What do you think you're doing here, hellspawn?" the tournament registrar demanded rudely. "We don't like your kind around here. This is supposed to be a party, not a funeral- go reap souls somewhere else, or whatever it is you scum do."
Desny eyed the handsome warrior-like man before him. A knight of the city, although no Neverwinter Nine. He was not impressed: his own skill, power, and looks greatly outdid this mere human man- not to mention his great intelligence.
Looking at him with more than just normal sight, Desny sensed that here was a good, idealistic man- one who was honourable and tried to follow laws, but never at the expense of what was right. Such men annoyed Desny. There was no fun in torturing them: they all broke the same.
"I'm signing up for the tournament..." he said, his words laced with magic, power expelling from his breath. "Here is my family crest-" he passed the man a small shield crest with a withered black tree upon it. "And my name is Desny Darkwood. I believe you wish to allow me into the tournament greatly: in fact, you want to route for me to win."
"I do," the registrar replied, mesmerised. "Remember, no magic allowed, sir."
Desny smiled. "Of course." He turned on his heel and strode away. When the tournament started, he could not wait to see who he was up against. He would relish proving his superiority over them.
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Post by Vrek on Oct 10, 2008 16:13:11 GMT
Perum watched quietly, almost hidden in his place. It was always easy for a halfling to stay hidden, even among crowds. Especially among crowds.
The small warrior had signed himself up for the tournament much earlier, and sat here, biding his time. It was partly for the organization he was in, mostly for himself. Sure, he was working as a hawker, finding out who entered the tournament. He wasn't aware of any plans the Red Lips had made for it or the ball. Perum just wanted to fight and to win, let the Lips do what they will when he won.
Most of the entrants seemed to be rather pathetic. Mostly humans, barely men. A few guards who looked like they knew how to hold a sword. One man caught his interest though. Most prominent was the glowing face, though even from his distance the halfling could see red eyes. Looked like a demi-human was joining the fighting. Perum smiled from his hidden perch. This could be fun.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Oct 17, 2008 22:31:41 GMT
(Going to assume its nighttime?)
Aravel walked swiftly through the crowds, his image seemingly shifting in and out of the night around him. His chained scimitar rattled on his back, his tannish rags trailing behind him. Currently, he was dressed for the direct opposite of a formal grouping, what with his worn-out, torn clothes and his darkened chainmail, but he wasn't here to socialize.
As he approached the tournament registrar, he noticed the man acting slightly unsure of how to proceed, and he could tell the man did not like being unsure of someone. Aravel wasn't a diminutive figure, but neither was he overly imposing. What the registrar found most intimidating, Aravel reasoned, was that he was finding it hard to focus in on Aravel, due to his almost second nature crossing with the plane of Shadows.
Aravel gently pushed aside the young man in the splint mail who was next in line and initiated dialogue with the registrar. "A tourny, eh? I guess I'll be puttin me name down then, would'n I? I be Aravel Dunerunner, and you can be puttin me down for pretty much anything except archery then, can't you? I be havin me nuun of tha family crest bi'ness, now, since I is a desert nomad, aye?" He paused to think a moment, putting his finger under his chin for dramatic effect. Then, he said "I think me gold might be in the persuasion of persuadin you to schedule me for night-time or low-light matches, now wouldn' it?" The registrar nodded briefly and Aravel dropped a large sack filled with his most recent bounty in it. "You be havin a good day now, Im sure. Catch ya later, mister." With that, Aravel turned and walked into the crowd, soon to be consumed by the shadows. He watched and waited on the edge, seeing who would come.
(Imagine how he speaks as something reminiscent of Gaelyn Baeyl, from BG2.)
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Post by webster52402 on Oct 17, 2008 23:29:00 GMT
Aethesh breezed through the crowd, barely even noting the shadow-plane crossed man before him, as he stepped through the door into the rest of the tourney's works. He had other business to attend to. Business that was far more pressing than a few fools that he would be destroying the moment the tournament began. So, Aethesh didn't bother to make any sort of introduction, simply swooped right past the registrar. "Aethesh, that's all that you will know me by. As for the fee..." A small bag jingled as he dropped a few coins onto the table, securing his place in the tournament.
With those words and his coin given, Aethesh swept back into the city, to await the tournament's beginning. Much to his amusement, and his happiness though it didn't show on his hardened face, he wasn't followed or challenged about his place in the tournament. Good, it seemed that the tournament would go off without a hitch... And though he may be a Warlock, and they seemed to have something against magic, Aethesh really didn't care. After destroying everyone in the tournament... Well, they wouldn't be in much of a position to do much ABOUT it, would they?
His eyes shone brightly, his hand slowly tightening into a fist and relaxing. Tighten, relax... Tighten, relax... Ah, how he couldn't wait to claim a few more lives to his name...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 18, 2008 10:40:56 GMT
OOC: He seems pretty Chaotic Evil. Whackos, the lot of them. But that's what you love... Would anyone like control of any of the main NPCs/ characters? I'll have to do all of them if someone doesn't take one, which'll put a real wrench in any non-npc rping I can do. I don't mind, though. I already call head of the Shadow Thieves, so they're under my power. IC: SilenceEvery psycho under the sun seemed to be signing up for the tournament- minus her, of course. Fighting was the most barbaric and least interesting of anything that might happen there that night. There'll be a few 'good guys' just looking to make a name for themselves or have a good time, perhaps gain a little gold... Silence mused. And maybe two or three 'all-powerful' types who figure they can break all the rules and go on a killing spree. Boring sods...But in all honesty, I reckon the Thieves'll make a move before the tournament, and nobody'll notice. Then, when the Lips make their not-so-subtle attack, there won't be much chance for fighting...Dimly, she sensed Griffin was excited about something, but she wouldn't summon him back until he was scared. 'Course, any idiot who joins that tournament is subject to MY power... she thought with a tiny, wry smile. All these guards, they think they have everything under control. They think they're the real authority. But magic and music- those are the real powers to be reckoned with. And I control both.----- The small red fox-familiar slipped easily through the crowds. Nobody even paid him notice as he hardly went under foot, and those that spotted him weren't exactly frightened. Afterall, what could a fox do? Griffin liked to think he was a cleverer familiar than all the others out there. Certainly, that was why Silence had chosen him, a fox, rather than some other beast. Fox's were cunning. They were extremely resilient. And they were skilled escape artists. The fox trotted on, tail swishing slightly and held just above ground level, head turning this way and that as he looked around. Silence would want to know something interesting about those entering the tournament. He knew how bored she got, and how much she loved to amass information- get dirt on people. And that's when, peering out from behind the legs of one of the Guards, that he saw the Warlock. Couldn't have been more obvious that he was evil: the familiar had cunning sight, and could usually tell the alignment of folks. But then, what warlock wasn't evil? There was Cassan, the feylock... he was alright... the familiar thought, but his eyes followed the warlock. His fists were clenching and unclenching, as if barely able to contain his wish to destroy someone. The fox's ears perked forwards in interest. He would follow this warlock, and see if he was truly as 'powerful' as he seemed to think. A happy sound emerged from Griffin's throat. He and Silence would enjoy ruining his game. The more arrogant they were, they harder they fell.
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Post by webster52402 on Oct 18, 2008 14:23:08 GMT
OOC: Only in mind. His deeds later will show why I put him as Neutral Evil, instead of Chaotic Evil. Never had thoughts that you decided not to act with later? He's obsessed with power, and craves it's use, loving the font of burning energy within him, but that doesn't mean he won't restrain himself. IC: Aethesh paid the fox that was trailing along behind him no mind, not even thinking to look around for someone following him. He was confident in his ability to hold his own, and his ability to slay any of those seeking to interfere in his path, so why should he be bothered? Let people find out what he was doing, he didn't care. He was there for his own purposes and his own purposes alone. Never mind what everyone else wanted of him... His choice in destination, considering the nature of the warlock, was hardly surprising. The great Library was the perfect place to research and delve deeper into the various realms of knowledge that were bouncing around his head, all the facts, skills, relations, and twists, quirks, and everything bouncing around his skull like an awry spell. He hoped, while he still had the time, to read up on his own Patron deity, Meyanok, and set up a place where he could worship the god. He would need the cunning of the serpent, and the venom of his fangs, if he was going to make it through this tournament. Especially if he decided to go magic-less. The heavy doors groaned as Aethesh slipped inside, his gaze giving the library a cursory sweep. Not one of the largest that he had ever been in... But it would do.
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Fanchon
Waker
Scourge of Eberron!
Posts: 126
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Post by Fanchon on Oct 18, 2008 14:52:46 GMT
The crowd parted before the figure in awe and fear as it made its way down the street toward the tournament grounds. Its cloak swirled in the cold wind which marked its passing, the slight clanking of plated feet hitting the pavement sounding off like cracks of thunder in the wake of silence it left behind.
Clank... Clank
The platemail shown beneath the gray cloak was the black of an open grave. Exquisite silver filigree trimmed the edges in tasteful patterns, so much so that one could hardly believe that it was used for anything other than ceremony...
Clank... Clank...
The cut of the armor clearly showed the wearer to be female, and a shapely one at that, but the face was obscured by the drawn hood. The only thing visible was a pair of eyes... cold and silver, with a measured gaze that seemed as if it could pierce through light, shadow, earth, and flesh with the greatest of ease.
Clank... Clank...
A gray steel morningstar hung from the hip, and looked slightly out of place with its mediocrity amidst so much splendor. Not that any of the peasantry about would dare even think such a thing, not when those eyes could come to rest upon them....
Clank... Clank...
The woman was gone, turning down another street toward the tournament grounds. The people shivered in the cold wind of a crisp night, and after a few moments went about their business, none of them exactly sure just who or what had passed through.
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Post by FC4 on Oct 19, 2008 16:21:43 GMT
"Excuse me." Came a whispering feminine voice, causing one of the tournament registrar workers to look up uncertainly. Before his table stood a thin, lithe, fair-skinned woman, kind sky-blue eyes inquiringly gazing at him through a screen of white hair. On her right leather shoulder sat a red-tailed hawk, looking at the back of the woman.
"Yes, how may I help you?" He asked politely, taking in her garb. She looks ready for a battle, not a ball. Leather armor like I've never seen, and those swords. She couldn't be-
"I was wondering, sir. Where might I sign up for the tournament?" The woman asked softly, her voice low yet clearly heard by the man. Others, however, might have heard naught but whispers.
The man paused, caught off guard by the fact she was actually asking the question. "You... do realize this tournament is designed to find a suitor to our lady, yes?" The woman nodded, her hair fluttering in a soft breeze from the motion, and smiled playfully.
"I have no interest in courting your lady, sir. I merely wish to test my skills in the arena. If I win, the second-best shall take the prize." She replied, still smiling. The man seemed hesitant, so she fluidly opened her pouch and placed some coin upon the table. "I have enough for the registration. I merely wish to compete. I'm not likely to win, nor do I want to win. I'm just bored and this seems exciting." She told him, her voice seeming to come a little closer to normal volume. The man looked at the money as she closed the pouch, and jumped slightly when the hawk chirped.
"Very well, what is your name?"
"Herista Comae. Thank you sir." She told him, giving a polite nod before walking away, heading for one of the flower patches in the area.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Oct 19, 2008 18:21:44 GMT
(OOC: As an interesting (And my hopefully only OOC notice for a while) note, my character looks like this with darker chainmail and an emerald-ish blade edge: mrbob0822.deviantart.com/art/Sharnevan-Dunerunner-59613730?offset=20#comments)Aravel stepped out of the shadows from one of the corners of the garden. He admired the exotic plants, shipped in from far off countries and areas. He figured that the owner was quite rich, judging from the various flamboyantly colored plants spread across the garden. Something besides the plants caught his eye, however. It seemed that a female had joined the competition,and he could only assume that it was for much the same reason that he himself entered. What first caught his notice was the fact that she was a female. Then, the flowing white hair and bright blue eyes. Next, the bird perched on her shoulder. And finally, the twin scimitars she wielded. He took a few strides towards her, unconsciously(?) taking short strides through the shadow realm. Within a few moments, he was infront of her. "Why, ello ello! Me name be Aravel Dunerunner, and I can see ye be geared up for this'n tourny. It be a pleasure to meet you, for sure, my'lady. If'n I migh' be so bold, praps we could exchange weaponry techniques before the tourny starts? I could'n help meself but notice those fine blades of yours and that nice lil' birdy perched upon yer shoulder, impressive as those items are. What be you sayin to that, then?" He eagerly exclaimed in a rapid fire barrage of inquiries and introductions, all with a wide smile on his face.
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Post by FC4 on Oct 19, 2008 19:29:29 GMT
Herista had been sitting on the bench of one of the garden areas, simply looking at a violet flower she was twirling swiftly in her fingers. It was a flurry of purple as it spun this way, then that.
That flower dropped quickly when a man spoke loudly right in front of her, startling her and Jyril into action. Herista spun to the right with a swiftness not typical of an Illuskan, sliding off the bench and onto the balls of her feet smoothly, her left hand sliding the scimitar out of the sheath on her left hip. She stopped the slash before it could do harm, holding the scimitar in a reverse grip in front of her as her hair came to rest like falling snow over her shoulders. Jyril's reaction was to instantly take off, freeing his master for motion and escaping the perceived danger as well.
The second of time this joint reaction took was followed by a second of silence, as Herista listened to the man speak quickly in an accent unfamiliar to her. The thoughtfulness was broken by the screech of a hawk, Herista looking up quickly to see Jyril diving towards the man, Aravel Dunerunner.
"Jyril!" Herista snapped, extending her right arm and her legs, lifting her body into a reaching stance that intercepted the hawk's diving strike. The hawk slowed and hit her leather-clad arm, and the woman spun herself to concentrate his forward momentum, bringing her arm over Aravel so as to not hit him.
When she stopped again, she stood facing Aravel, Jyril clasping her right arm, and her scimitar held at her side, running up her left arm. She gave him a glare. "Please, do not scare us like that again. It is likely to end up with your accidental death." She told him softly, her voice once more a whispering wind. How did I not sense his approach? I couldn't hear his feet on the stone, or the swish of cloth.... She took pride in her natural senses and their keenness, and to have a man get the jump on her disturbed the Genasi Ranger.
But when her mind quickly thought back, she noticed she had heard steps, she had smelled him; but he had been farther away, and somehow... She sighed, no longer dwelling on those thoughts as she slowed her heart beat. Raising her left arm she sheathed the blade at her side again, then held out her hand to Aravel.
"Herista Comae. It would have been a pleasure... had the circumstances been different. I'm sorry; Jyril and I are not used to surprises such as that." She told him softly, still put off by that fact.
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