|
Post by DarkLordZant on Aug 16, 2014 2:08:46 GMT -6
Name (last name optional):Ria Nobel Gender:Female Type:Paladin Gem (any existing jewel IRL):Diamond Age:24 Appearance:Average height.Has blue eyes.Ria has long black hair.She has fair skin. Height:5,6 Style of clothing (the type of clothes the character would usually like to wear):Wears a white long sleeved shirt with black pants.She has black boots.Ria usually wears golden earings with a small bead made of the rare lapiz lazuli stone.She wears a gold bracelet on her left wrist. Weapon (base it on your type):Sword Personality (mostly just addition to your Type):Nice.During battle she isn't mercifull.She is kind and carin out of battle though. Past (optional): Other (anything you'd like to add):
Edit Name (last name optional):Ria Nobel Gender:Female Class:Paladin Gem (any existing jewel IRL):Lapiz Lazuli Age:24 Hair Colour:Dark black Hair Style:Ria's hair is long and straight Eye Colour:Dark blue eyes Height:5,6 Style of clothing (the type of clothes the character would usually like to wear):Ria usually wears a white long sleeved shirt.She has black pants and boots.She wears valuable jewelery of lapiz lazuli and gold,including earings and a bracelet. Weapon of choice (Anything under the sun or moon):A long iron sword with a iron and golden handle. Personality (mostly just addition to your Class):Often nice,except during battle,where she is fearless and merciless. Past (optional):Ria grew up in a large rich town.She loved watching the knights and paladins go out to battle.This is a large reason she became a paladin. Other (anything you'd like to add):
|
|
|
Post by ^w^ on Aug 16, 2014 20:27:22 GMT -6
Wow, already this thread is bumped up to a new page? Cool! And: I need more guys. But I work with what I've got. ^w^ CHAPTER III: "Let go of me! Put me down this instant!"
Bismuth was almost at the edge of his patience. Which was new since he usually had the most patience for children, especially girls with promising features when they grew up, but this one was just pushing it. After getting the girl in white off of his horse, he swung her across his shoulder and was planning to bring her to the nearest town to drop her off. The Dark Forests or any other place in the Dark Lands for the matter, wasn't the safest place for a child as weak as this. Sure she proved she could be a worthy Beast Master someday, proven by the fact that she managed to tame his steed so easily, but that day is still a long way away.
Once he finds a suitable town, Bismuth thought to himself, she'll be off and gone from his mind as quick as he could swing his lance.
Roselle grabbed his silver hair with both hands and started tugging to get his attention.
Bismuth didn't move an inch but put his horse from a walk to a gallop.
"Bismuth! Put me down!" The girl wailed after letting go of his hair from the movement of his horse. He ignored it, and conitued Coal with his gallop. Once he finds the nearest town, she'll be off and gone from his life as quick as he could swing his lance.
They reached a town known as Rothadt. The only town situated near the Dark Forest. It was a vile place really, filled with drunkards and thieves, and just plain worthless bums. It was mostly just the best place to get information out of contacts, but other than that, even the pubs were terrible, selling more water than alcohol. But because of the terrible class that live here, no one ever noticed.
Roselle felt Bismuth stop Coal from his gallop and turned slightly toward him. Before she could utter his name completely though, she felt him raise her by the neck of the back of her white shirt, and, before she realized his intent, was thrown toward a tight thicket of bushes.
"Hey!" Roselle yelled when she managed to raise her body. The bushes were thick enough for her to sit down on them with ease.
Bismuth continued to ignore her, and got off his horse with a swing of his leg. When she continued to call his name for attention, he glared at her, a look that sent grown men running toward the hilltops, for silence.
Roselle ignored his irritation. "Bismuth, answer me! Where are we going!?"
He burrowed his brows even further. Didn't this girl know when to be afraid? Didn't she even feel slightest bit of fear toward him? He sighed when she continued to pout. Apparently not. He pointed to ward the town visible from where they were. He was going to get rid of her anyway, might as well just endure.
"We're going in that town over there. But my armour would cause too much attention so I'm going to strip into more casual clothing. Just wait here and watch over Coal for a bit, you got that?"
Roselle looked toward the filthy looking dump Bismuth called a 'town' and her pout turned into a frown. They were going there of all places? He HAD to be joking! But when Roselle looked back at him, he was already gone. Apparently, he was serious.
Meanwhile, inside the only bar in the town of Rothadt, a sober woman with long black hair, commonly referred to as Mytia, was bored. She laid her chin on the counter as she stared blankly at the jug of beer with blood-struck brown eyes. As she did so, she thought about the life she once had. Beautiful ball gowns, gems and pearls of all the shades known to man, glass slippers and sandals, all the high class food and wine she could ask for, a life full of fake laughter contained in a diamond cage.
Her attitude turned sour at the remembrance.
"Hey there Mytia." A tall, rather handsomely devilish man with spiky front hair said. his smile was usually a charming picture to see whenever they chance to meet at this bar, but right now, as she felt as sour as an old mango, she thought it annoying.
"Go away Ashan." She said, referring to the man's last name. Usually, she'd flirt with him, as was a game they played to get the other to talk more about themselves, but right now she didn't want to. She should remember that remembering her past makes her sober self turn surly, but right now she didn't mind.
Mark minded, rather surprised that Mytia would refer to him by his surname: Ashan. She rarely did so, only mentioned it when they first met actually. Maybe she was just in a bad mood, he thought, but then again, maybe he could lighten uo her mood with a little play.
"Oh Mytia," He started. "Fair, beautiful Mytia, tell me you jest with your utterance of my surname." He ended it with a lady-killer smile. Something he was well known for in a good way.
Mytia merely looked back at him with a raised brow, irritation still evident. Didn't the man understand when he wasn't wanted? She decided to give him the cold shoulder instead, sitting back up in straightness, She took one, good, long swig at her jug of beer and slammed it back down on the counter. No one in the full packed tavern turned their head toward her, most actually used to her noisy antics with alcohol. The bartender came up to Mytia and poured her another jug full of translucent beer.
Mark never even batted an eye over her action, he was used to it, so after Mytia took another swig, this time shorter than the last, he continued to pester her into noticing him.
As Mytia continued to endure the stubborn man, two opposites were sitting back to back in two two separate tables. They both sat alone in their own tables, but the fact remained that they weren't entirely uninterested about the other.
Ria Nobel wasn't an overly tall woman, but she held herself so straight and proud in nobility that she gave away a regal bearing, along with her shining accessories of golden earrings and bracelet, she wasn't quiet one to hide her identity. Along with the sword placed on her tabletop next to her plate of grimy soup, everyone could see the Royal Court's emblem of the Pegasus. She wasn't even trying to hide her social status, but why she didn't want to, now that was a story for another time.
The one sitting behind her on another empty table was a woman hiding behind a dark cloak. She tapped her fingers on the rough tabletop. Impatient over her late contact, she gritted her teeth. What was taking them so long!?
Amidst these people''s problems and lives, Roselle and Bismuth make their way through wretched place that was considered a 'town'. How people manage to live in such dire consequences, Roselle might never know, but though her heart ached to help the poor and the needy sprawled on the streets, she knew she shouldn't. She only needed to help the man walking beside her, though right now that proved to be quiet more challenging than the idea of turning this place into a cloud city of purity.
Bismuth kept giving Roselle side glances from time to time, wondering why she looked so godforsaken. Was it the sight of the town? Or maybe she had an idea on why they were there in the first place? He sighed over the thought, then adjusted the wide-brimmed straw hat that he wore to hide his silver hair. Though he already wore a black shirt with torn sleeves that had his lance in the holster strapped across his chest, as well as ripped jeans paired with his leather boots, his hair was the deadest give away on who he was.
Even in such a world of magic and mayhem, albino hair was still rarer than green, or blue, or violet, or even pink and other plausible colours imaginable. His eyes might not be though, since red wasn't all that uncommon. Though the colour had been associated with vampires in the cult, such a belief had died down in time, and was now quiet as much accepted as any other common eye colour like orange, or pink, or whatever.
But now as they made they're way through the town, he couldn't help but stop his thoughts when they cross a bar filled with noise. The screams and cheers, mixed with the howls of pain, sounded like there was a bar going on. And yet even so, a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat open the entrance and went inside, as if there was nothing going on. But when the door open and closed quickly after, Bismuth saw a sight of chaos over-boarding any tavern fight he ever came across.
Why, in such a disorder, one could lose his hand without knowing it!
"Hey, Roselle." Bismuth stated, calling the girl by her name for the first time ever.
Roselle felt her cheeks flush at the hearing of her name come from the man's mouth. She looked up at him, knowing full well that she liked the tone that her name sounded when it came from him. "Yeah?" She asked expectantly.
"I need something from in there." He said, pointing toward the bar. "Let's go in there for a second."
Roselle read the tavern sign before looking back at Bismuth. "Happy-go-Lucky?"
Bismuth nodded. "It'll take a while, but would you mind?" He asked again, feigning thoughtfulness.
Roselle nodded eagerly, thankful that he was starting to act more nicely and thoughtful. Maybe there was still hope for him after all.
And so they both entered the rowdy tavern, unbeknownst to them that was the only move needed for their adventure to begin.
|
|
|
Post by ^w^ on Aug 18, 2014 2:37:36 GMT -6
|
|
|
Post by User on Aug 18, 2014 3:04:07 GMT -6
Name (last name optional): Matthew Gender: Male Class: Archer Gem (any existing jewel IRL): Topaz Age: 18 Hair Colour: Blond Hair Style: Short and Wavy Eye Colour: Blue Height: 5'11 Style of clothing (the type of clothes the character would usually like to wear): Leather boots, plain t-shirts and leather pants Weapon of choice (Anything under the sun or moon): Bow and arrow Personality (mostly just addition to your Class):Matthew enjoys being in the presence of others, but is cripplingly shy when getting to know them. He is polite and will often put the needs of others before his own. Past (optional): Other (anything you'd like to add):
|
|
|
Post by Leslie on Aug 18, 2014 4:59:41 GMT -6
Can't I just keep the appaerance thing? I belive I did write down there everything important about how my characters do look. But if you still want me to change it I can do that.
|
|
|
Post by ^w^ on Aug 18, 2014 5:39:21 GMT -6
Leslie Meh. I guess yours was pretty specific enough. ^w^ Okay, yours don't need any changing. Then I guess only DarkLordZant and @az should edit out a few stuff.
|
|
|
Post by Leslie on Aug 18, 2014 6:00:17 GMT -6
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 18, 2014 8:02:21 GMT -6
I think I only had to change one thing. So I edited mine, ^w^
|
|
|
Post by ^w^ on Aug 21, 2014 0:04:58 GMT -6
CHAPTER IV: “Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on.—“
“Would you shut up!?” Mytia exclaimed, now unable to hold her temper from the annoying man. Couldn’t he take a hint that she wasn’t in the mood for their usual play? Either he was dense, or just plain stubborn.
Mark smiled his victory. He knew she wouldn’t be able to continue to ignore him. All he needed was a little bit of stubbornness to get his way, and this time it worked just as usual.
Unfortunately for him, though. It didn’t work as he anticipated. Mytia stood abruptly, marched toward the other side of Mark’s stool, and then grabbed him by the back of the collar of his jacket. He only had time to react with a scream when she threw him across the room with one full swing of her muscled arm, sending him flying across the air and landing face-first on the wall.
Mytia walked back to her own stool, finished her jug of ail with one swig, then asked the bartender for a refill just as Mark fell from the wall and onto the table that was placed next to it.
Now, as you might remember, Ria was a graceful woman raised and bred in a noble family. She was taught all the laws of dignity and decorum, as well as how it was used and practiced. She was elegant, agile, as well as calm and kind. However, she was also a Paladin. That much doesn’t change. And with her class also comes a dark side that can only be triggered by a battle of life and death, or an interruption of her meal.
So when Mark rudely landed his body on her table, flipping over her bowl of disgusting soup to the already filthy floor, she wouldn’t take it in stride. Her eyes changed as swift as she unsheathed her blade and pinned down Mark on the table. From a light shade of blue and kindness to a dark color of blue and death. Her long, straight hair running down her shoulders; her sharpened iron blade ready to pierce the man’s neck.
“Any last words you rude man?” She asked, her voice cold, deadly.
“I…” Honest to goodness. Mark doesn’t know what to say!
On the other hand, there was a girl hiding under a cloak sitting on the table where Mark and Ria were situated in. Her name was Viviene, and all this time she had been waiting for a contact for her to sell her goods to. Unfortunately, at the sight of the sword taken out by the rich girl beside her, she jumped a good way away from the two, being the coward that she was, and ended up on another table a few meters away from them.
She sighed at the sight of safety she found, but by the unconscious movement of her hand toward the table, she ended up knocking over the handle of a spoon full of foul-smelling porridge that was left at the brim of the table by the drunken men who currently sat there. Watching the wooden utensil fly across the air and hit a bald head, Viviene stayed silent.
Now, this is where the tavern starts getting rowdy. The bald head wasn’t owned by an ageing old man, or a hairless imp; rather, it belonged to a muscular, rather large human being who had a temper.
At the feeling of a disgusting goo dripping across his face, the ugly man winced, and abruptly stood up, yelling his outrage.
“WHO THREW PORRIDGE ON MY HEAD!!?” He yelled.
All eyes went to him just as his eyes looked around for the culprit. Even Ria and Mark and Mytia couldn’t help but stop their own businesses to notice the giant.
Now, as said earlier, Viviene was a coward. So when she saw the giant see the bowl of porridge on the drunken men’s table and the fire of rage come over his ugly eyes, she immediately pointed toward the men behind her with her forefinger, as to try and place the blame on them.
Luckily, for her, it worked. The giant’s face grew bright red with rage, and he charged at the drunken group’s table.
Viviene, agile and swift as if she were a cat, dodged just in time as the beast of a man rampaged the fools’ desk. She sighed in relief, now feeling happy she managed to avoid getting hurt. The man seemed so huge, probably standing eight feet tall if it wasn’t for his lack of neck cause by his hunched, muscled shoulders. She tried to escape then, but stopped just as immediately when a drunk was thrown across the air, missing Viviene by a hair’s length.
That man landed on another at the other table, then was thrown at another drunk sitting beside them. The two fought with words at first, then started using their fists. One man landed on another, then they started fighting, and so did another, until one man punched another for no apparent reason and the tavern went to chaos.
Mytia shouted a hoot, wiped away the drops of ail that dripped from her chin after her last jug of alcohol, then, with one strong, swift throw of her wrist, she sent her jug sliding across the counter toward the man in a black suit.
The bartender caught it with ease, nodding toward Mytia, a regular customer of his when she asked for a refill.
Jumping of her stool but swaying a bit when she landed on her feet, Mytia tried to stand straight, failed, then decided to slouch her shoulders instead. Making her fists crackle before her neck, she gave a wide grin of enjoyment. A brawl! Now that was what she needed to get her mind off her past! A fight, be it with one or many, had always helped her get back to a good mood.
Marching into the pandemonium, she immediately grabbed two heads looking at opposite directions and slammed them together with one fluid motion of her hands. She heard a noise come from her right, side stepped, then immediately flipped over one man who ran toward her with a swift effort of her foot, knocking him out when he hit the floor. This fight wouldn’t be any different from the rest. She’ll be back to her carefree self in no time at all!
Backing back up to her stool, she opened her palm on the counter and caught the jug the bartender threw at her. To a normal person, the strength would’ve knocked them to the ground, but to her, it felt no more than a slow ball. Taking her jug of ail into the chaos, she continued her participation with hearty laugh of enjoyment.
Ria had let go of Mark when the chaos began, stepping back a bit, her long sword held tight by her firm hand, her entire demeanor went cold, deadly, valiant, her demeanor whenever she needed to fight as a proud Paladin. For any normal human being, they would only hear noise, random shouts of this and that, but for a trained Paladin such as herself, she knew how to separate the noise that were useless to her, and the noise that she needed to focus on. An example being the two separate shouts that came from both sides.
She stepped back, just as two drunken idiots slammed their heads together, knocking each other out with their own stupidity. Ria shook her head at them, then spun around to give her next worthless competitor a sound roundhouse kick, spinning him around to drop unconscious with the other two. She stepped back again, only to try and make her way for a safe spot where she wouldn’t be spotted to fight, but bumped into someone. She looked back to see who she bumped into, but only managed to see the back of a short, black cloak, running away and disappearing into the crowd.
Ria opened her mouth to call out the figure, but then closed it again, when she held her sword high and knocked the next drunken b*stard unconscious with a good strike of the back of her blade. She forgot about the figure then, and continued to fight those who tried to approach her, one thought running across her mind: Just how many drunken baboons were in this tavern!?
Mark waded around the crowd, careful not to smite anybody that day anymore. Though he tried his best not to touch anyone, he still ended up bumping into a cloaked figure. He tried to apologize though, but the short little thing just ignored him and went on through.
Well that was rude… He thought. Whoever that must’ve been might not be as social as the rest of them, but, then again, they might just be in a panic to get out of the chaos, just like him. He wasn’t one for fights, he was more of a romanticist. But can anyone blame him? It was in his nature since he was born. Though he might not mind a battle of words, a fight with fists is another thing, especially when it came to women.
Mark continued to shuffle through the crowd, careful not to get on anybody else’s bad side anymore. He tried to massage his shoulder to ease the pain of crashing into the wall earlier as he made his way toward the corner most of the tavern. There he stood, massaging the small twist that formed on his shoulder. It would heal soon, just like the rest of his past wounds, but it would still take time. Just a little bit of time.
Meanwhile, amidst all of this, a pair stood at one corner, hoods covering the light of their faces. Their heights were similar, as well as their colors, their quivers, and the way they stood firm among those who tried to dissuade their stance. When a fool would try to charge for another, the opposite would assist the other with the beating and vice versa. They were two peas in a pods, their thoughts known to each other. The only difference seen would be the visual obviousness of one being female and the other being male.
And so the ruckus continued, Mytia continued to jug down her ail as she beat up one fool after another; Ria was just as quick and agile as her first day of Paladin training: deadly; Mark finally got the knot of his shoulder out of his system and tried to look for Mytia, dodging with ease at anyone who tried or would accidentally bump or jump or slide him.
Viviene, who was now grinning ear to ear with her new collection, was already contentedly making her way through the crowd and all its chaos, dodging and wading and sneaking toward the exit.
But just as when she reached for the knob, the entrance threw open from the outside, making Viviene jump a good foot away to stick to the wall, just as a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat strolled inside.
Bismuth entered the tavern with his usual swagger, Roselle following him in a sudden air of timidity. Though just when he entered, a cloaked figure rushed passed them, bumping into Roselle in their haste, and exiting toward who knows where. He ignored the scene and studied the happenings in front of him.
Chaos, disorder, havoc, screams of pain, laughter of the enjoyment of a brawl, shouts and howls, everything Bismuth breathed life for. Everything he grew up with. Everything he was used to. Everything Roselle never understood even until now.
The girl tugged on the back of Bismuth’s shirt, and when his red eyes bore a whole toward her teary blues, she whispered her concern.
“I think I’m having second thoughts in following you in here.” She said in haste. “Maybe it’d be better if I should just wait outside.”
Bismuth remembered the reason why he would even consider bringing a child into such a place, and thought of a way to get the chaos under control. Though he lived for the fight and the pain and suffering of those who opposed him, he still needed to get rid of the kid in a more gallant manner as to ensure she’ll live old enough for him.
Grabbing the grip of his lance and unsheathing it in one swift motion, the blade’s metal chimed as it passed the wind with its speed, vibrating an echo high enough to call upon a bat and get some attention.
Mark heard the deafening noise and immediately shielded his ears with his palms. Stupid sense of hearing! He thought. Who would make such a terrible blare!?
Everyone stopped whatever their businesses were to look at the new arrivals at the front of the entrance. Mytia put down two drunkards when she opened her palms in the air and sent them with a thud to the floor. Ria put her sword back in its holster as her foot rested on a small mountain of scum. Jade and Matthew, the pair with the quivers, stood back to back and stared through the darkness of their hoods. Mark glared at the man who caused his ears to start ringing, his irritated red eyes meeting Bismuth’s calm ones.
And that was when Bismuth and Roselle met Mytia, Ria, Mark, Jade, and Matthew.
|
|
|
Post by DarkLordZant on Aug 21, 2014 0:48:29 GMT -6
^w^ ,will our characters ever die?Like way later,so if we want to try making characters of other types we can?
|
|
|
Post by Leslie on Aug 21, 2014 3:19:48 GMT -6
^w^ ,will our characters ever die?Like way later,so if we want to try making characters of other types we can? On the first page it says that if you want a new character then one of your current characters has to die. I suppose you'll have to tell ^w^ that you want your character to die and she'll do it for you in the next chapter or so... But lol, it's just the 4th chapter up yet and you already got bored of your current characters?
|
|
|
Post by DarkLordZant on Aug 21, 2014 3:28:49 GMT -6
No,I mean for the future.c: Leslie
|
|
|
Post by ^w^ on Aug 22, 2014 20:39:13 GMT -6
DarkLordZant Yeah. You can just PM me if you want your chara to die and how they die. Or you could just leave it to me. Though I really am hoping for this story to go that far. ^w^ Maybe if I get contented with an arc I'll post this story on wattpad. But of course, that'll be in the future. BTW. I might end up posing the next chappie next week, after my exams. For now, I'll be absent from both forums. ^w^ See you all in a little while!
|
|
|
Post by ^w^ on Aug 29, 2014 4:42:20 GMT -6
anais Butchmaddness Cade195 Cupc4k3Crystal cute-chibi-leek hermiethefrog kaysie @l liliflowerxoxo midna Miekcam multibite Opal Romanadvoratrelundar Talon™ @jediunicorn UserThere! Now make me two charas before y'all think about deletin' your avatars too! >.<!! CHAPTER V: A necklace, a bracelet, a locket, a ring, a couple of gold chips…
Viviene smiled smugly at her added collection. Though she wasn’t one for face to face combat, preferring more in the surprise attack tactic than anything else, she loved chaos on rare occasions. It was the only time she could really get her hands in other people’s pockets without them even knowing it.
Tugging on the brim of her cloak’s hood to hide her face more, she strode along the streets of the filthy town of Rothadt. Humming an off-tune key of a song she faintly remembered of her childhood.
Happy-Go-Lucky was silent. The last sound echoing through its walls after the high pitch of metal piercing air was the faint cough of a random old man somewhere along the crowd. Everyone at the brawl didn’t make a move, all staring beguiled at the sight they basked on the entrance.
All of them gawked bewildered at the little girl timidly hiding behind the tall man under the straw hat.
Bismuth eyes everything and everyone in the godforsaken pub. He breathed for a sigh in order to express his disgust, then stopped abruptly toward the action in regret. The tavern smelled of rat dung and watered ail, a scent that befit the lifestyle of those who did not belong to class or nobility. A place that seemed like the dumpster pile for those who held no worth anymore.
He sighed through his mouth, then calmed himself. This was nothing compared to the Minotaurs he fought in the Land of Shadows, that placed smelled worse than hell! Especially if it were compared to the time when he had to clean the dried bloodstains left on his armor after a week long battle for the Tower of Enoch. Yes, the stench of this godforsaken pub was nothing compared to all those times.
The thoughts made him breathe lighter and, now casually breathing through his nose again, he returned his lance back to its sheath and studied the lowlifes blatantly staring at his direction. He didn’t have to follow their sights to know what or who they were staring at. It was obviously Roselle.
So he continued to look at each one with a piercing glare while every one of them was distracted. A physique caught his attention first. All the curves in just all the right places. Her face stern and calm; that of a princess’ framed with her long raven hair, her skin just as fare. Yet her stance and eyes said completely the opposite. Her bearing was rigid, set, that of a trained warrior ready for any attack possible to come. Her eyes were a strange shade of dark blue. Deathly, yet beguiling.
Though not as beguiling as Roselle’s light ones, they were a pretty pair nonetheless.
Bismuth’s eyes travelled lower from her face. Lower and lower still until he saw the sheath at one corner of her belt, as well as the sword ready in her grip. A warrior… He lost interest just as he saw the pile of unconscious drunkards under her feet. She was too shady. What an obvious noble was doing in such a pub was too big a question to leave unanswered.
He continued studying the people inside. His next inspection was that of a tanned woman, standing amidst a pile of her own cataleptic victims. Others already gave the hint that they were backing away from her judging by their stances. She wore a tight shirt and leather vest that showed off her strong muscles, and yet she didn’t give the impression of a feminine man. She was definitely a strong woman. Bismuth was about to consider her when he noticed something in her burnt sienna eyes.
They were blood struck.
An Alcoholic… He thought as if it were a blasphemy. For him, Alcoholics were no better than trash, wasting away their time in pubs and lessening their lives with continuous ail. Aye, he has tasted the sweet allurement of alcohol many a times in his life before, but the amount Alcoholics consume was that of death to him. He loved killing men, and even more so if they were drunkards, women were a different matter however. He would much rather have them suffer their lives away with delusions and stomach filth than waste his time on them.
He continued his search, his third victim was that of a pair in the corner. This time only a few bodies laid under their feet, half their faces covered by their hoods, their quivers, arrow feathers peaking at its brim, strapped across their body as their bows were set along their shoulders. There were only two types of use with the bow and arrow. That of the Ranger, and that of the Archer.
Rangers were more of a tolerable breed, living their lives on top of branches of trees, practically being one with nature and freedom themselves, rarely taking the lives of those who are innocent. They were pussies in bismuth’s opinion, but at least they were a better choice for a guardian than that of an Archer.
Archers were cowards who practice the art of killing and fleeing, much like that of a Rogue aside for the fact that Archers like long-range instead. Aye, they were masters of their craft with the quiver, but they were too unpredictable nonetheless.
Unless he could ensure the fact that the pair were Rangers and not Archers, Bismuth wasn’t going to get Roselle anywhere near them.
He was about to give up when the people he saw next were brutes and drunkards and maniacs and lowlifes nonetheless. Some even showed lust in their eyes for the imp behind him. He wanted to kill those right there and then, but didn’t dare in thought of blowing his cover. Just one sight of his albino hair and everyone would be sure to flee and he wouldn’t be able to get rid of the girl then.
His last inspection was that of a man, tall and well-built, his red eyes darker than that of Bismuth’s. He had firstly thought about the fact that women might make better guardians than that of a man, remembering the rumors he had once heard that women would also guide just as well as guard their charges. But, unfortunately, basing the fact about the women he’s studied so far, he might just consider leaving Roselle to a man.
His thoughts were final when he saw that the man was unscathed and yet no body was under his feet. Maybe he was the agile type who wouldn’t get hit so easily, or maybe he was just plain lucky. Either way, He was the best bet so far.
“Come on.” Roselle heard Bismuth say as he tugged her lightly by the wrist to come out from behind.
She bowed her head low as she followed him along, still unable to escape the fact that she was so timid. She could feel their stares piercing a hole on her head. Was she so strange looking? Was it because of her garb? Was it too clean for this place? Or maybe her hair was too long. She couldn’t tell. All she could do as she thought of these was stop when Bismuth did as well.
Mark wasn’t sure how to react when the newcomers walked toward his direction and stopped just in front of him. Though he was tall, ranging around six feet or higher, the man under the straw hat was taller than him. Why, he might’ve been seven feet high! The polar opposite of the lass he was with. The little innocent seemed to only range by four feet, maybe taller but not so much. In that of looks, well, all Mark could say would be that she looked as heavenly as an angel.
Bismuth was about to tell the man besotted by Roselle that he’ll be taking her in from now on, but was cut off from the start when a yell of outrage shrieked across the tavern.
“I’ve been filched!”
The statement from the random character came down like the first drop of a thunderstorm. Almost immediately when the announcement was give and processed, hands surfed down into pockets, jackets, limbs, and even shoes and boots. When one was robbed, it wasn’t too far of a chance that everyone else might’ve been as well.
Bismuth lost the man when he started rummaging through his trench coat pockets, showed an expression of loss before outrage, then started yelling blasphemies and threats to whoever or the air.
Roselle covered her ears to the noise everyone started making. She heard some words she didn’t really knew the meaning to, but was astute enough to know that they were said in hate and disgust. Amidst all the bedlam, she suddenly felt weak and small, as if all the curses were directed to her even though she knew for a fact that they weren’t. It must’ve been the large amount of loathing suddenly filling up her surroundings. Her teacher always warned them to stay away from dark feelings if they weren’t strong enough to deflect human emotions.
Strong emotions could be the death of a weak little figure such as herself.
Her hand dug through her dress pocket to look for the circular trinket given to her as a gift by her teacher. It was given as a congratulation when she passed her finals exam and was told that if ever she needed strength, if ever she would have to go through a situation that would leave her lost and weak, then all she had to do was hold close to that piece of metal turned sacred and remember her lessons, remember everything her teacher taught her, and remember that she could do anything as long as she would put her mind to it. Fear was normal. Overcoming it was a rare instance.
Her hand stopped abruptly when she realized something of grave importance. Her ring wasn’t there anymore. Almost immediately as the thought came over her, tears weld up in her eyes and she suddenly felt as if a hard blow was struck down on her. It was gone. The only remembrance she had of her dear teacher, the only remembrance she had of the place she once knew as home, the only trinket she ever considered as a treasure, it was gone.
Bismuth turned around to see Roselle standing as if in shock, tears already running down her pale cheeks, one hand lifeless in a pocket. Now what was he supposed to trouble his self with?
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” he asked, by this time, panic was already streaming out the entrance.
“It’s gone…” Roselle said in a bare whisper.
Mark heard her. “You were duped too?” He asked, now having a realization on who the thief was.
Roselle nodded with a wipe of her tears. “It’s gone… His gift… It’s gone…” She muttered between sobs, practically staggering.
“I know who took your treasure kid.” Mark suddenly said, voicing out his thoughts in small volume. He knelt down and held her by the shoulders, squeezing tightly, acting on impulse and urgency. “My name’s Mark, and I’m going to get my stuff back from that thief. But I can’t find them by myself. Will your friend help me out?” He said with a nod to Bismuth.
Roselle looked straight back at the man named Mark. Her light blues studying his darker shade of red. He was sincere with wanting to help.
Bismuth saw Roselle look up at him, eyes pleading for him to say yes. He thought it over for a second. If the girl grows attached to this man who called himself Mark, maybe he’ll have an easier time getting rid of her. He nodded.
Roselle was elated, if her expression wasn’t hint enough. “He’ll do it!” She said, her voice still shaky yet calmer than earlier.
“All right.” Still kneeling, he looked up at Bismuth. “I have a plan.”
“Might if I join in your little plan, Ashan?”
Mark looked back at the familiar voice that spoke. Behind him stood a Mytia he never saw before. Her expression was grave, deadly, as if she were ready to kill. He gulped the lump that suddenly filled his throat in surprise, then stood. A thought made him realize the reason of the Alcoholic’s demeanor.
“You were duped too, weren’t you?” He said.
Roselle saw the woman grip her fists tighter when she nodded. She was a beauty, if her muddled long hair was just fixed, she’d be irresistible. But her blood-struck eyes, though now turning brighter through sober, indicted she came to the tavern for its purpose.
“You’re in. I could use all the help I can get I guess.” Mark said in a standoffish way, completely different from how he’d always interact with him. He usually sounded nicer, friendly or even flirtatious among others. But he can’t afford to be his calm self at the moment. Right now was urgent, something dear to him was just stolen and he wouldn’t be lenient about it. It was too precious to be lost just like that.
“So what’s the plan?” Bismuth asked, studying the new character. He decided then and dare to hate this lady.
“We corner ‘em.” Mark said with fists at his sides. “But they’re sneaky, probably a Rogue at best, so we’ll need to make sure they don’t end up just anywhere. Mytia and I know this town like the back of our hands, so all you have to do is make sure you get them on the last turn.”
Bismuth stared at Mark. “And how do we find them first?”
“If we’re dealing with a Rogue then…” He looked back at Mytia.
The Alcoholic knew exactly what was on his mind. “There’s only one place where they’d be.”
They both stated the thought in unison.
“Traders’ Alley.”
|
|
|
Post by Romanadvoratrelundar on Aug 29, 2014 10:00:24 GMT -6
^w^lolk. Which types have been chosen? I want my character to be a type that nobody else is.
|
|