The words flowed over him, though he seemed to have trouble digesting them. Even as the tall thin man fell to the ground, and the lumbering creature began his steady approach once more, Altias stood where he was. Orbs of brilliant violet watched, ticking steadily between one and the next, finally resting upon Ariane. There was a part of him that knew her, and another that saw her only as a woman.
"No."
Simply, he turned to see the shade-like man rise from what should have been a killing blow. Watched the man pick up his hat, dust it off and begin again, as if nothing out of the oridinary had occured. This...was interesting.
"A gentleman does not leave a lady to fight for him. It is...wrong."
Despite the fact that he has nothing to fight with, that he wears naught but a simple platinum robe, stained with blood and occular fluid.
It seemed that the dark man had no interest in them, only in the ox lumbering toward them, a gleam of murder in the dark eyes set below that sloping brow. It seemed wise to him that they allow the determined gentleman to go about his business with Simon.
In the Eyes of the Beholder
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by Brother Prime » Tue Dec 19, 2006 8:19 am
He could smell the fear...fair see it upon the woman. The strange metallic scent that began to overwhelm the scent of her blood and her sweat. So focused was he on his intended prey that the arisen Nightshade does not register with him. Even the word given to the night winds does not find his ear, so intent is he focused upon the others.
"Die. Quiet."
Once more the hammer rose, as he trundled toward the pair, a smile on his thick lips. A rictus grin showing his broken and rotting teeth. Simon did not seem to fear, if he even realized, Ariane's growing glimmer. Nor did he know of her reputation as an excellent swordswoman. Hammer beats blade. Their death's were written in his gaze, sealed with the ruined laughter that flowed from his horroific face. The hammer swung forward, Ariane the obvious target, It was time to die.
"Die. Quiet."
Once more the hammer rose, as he trundled toward the pair, a smile on his thick lips. A rictus grin showing his broken and rotting teeth. Simon did not seem to fear, if he even realized, Ariane's growing glimmer. Nor did he know of her reputation as an excellent swordswoman. Hammer beats blade. Their death's were written in his gaze, sealed with the ruined laughter that flowed from his horroific face. The hammer swung forward, Ariane the obvious target, It was time to die.
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by Nightshade » Tue Dec 19, 2006 8:44 am
The hammer swings in a deadly curve towards Ariane but just as quickly as the swing began, it ceases, checked in its motion by a black-gloved hand. Nightshade's fingers curl around the steel striking face, holding it as if there were never any force driving it in the first place. Then his arm snaps back, fingers releasing the hammer to clench into a fist which is then driven straight into Simon's chest. The blow that slams into Simon feels like an anvil wrapped in leather, delivered with a speed that defies any attempt to track the transition between the open hand at head height and the closed fist now extended in a direct line from Nightshade's shoulder to Simon's ribcage.
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by Brother Prime » Tue Dec 19, 2006 8:54 am
The anticipation of the blow was the sweetest. Even more satisfying than the crunch of bone, or the spray of blood, was the look upon the face of his prey just as they realized they were about to die. That look had just begun to twinkle in the gaze of Ariane, as the hammer's swing halted.
The force of such a swing being stopped so aburptly was shocking enough, the muscles in his arm feeling as if they might unspool from the bone entirely. Before he even had time to consider what had happened, he felt as if a tree had been felled upon him. The air left his lungs with a violent, involuntary, force, even as his massive form was being propelled toward the ground.
If he were a thinking man he might have tried to ponder what had just happened, but all he could really do was try and recover the air he had lost, and right his bulk, as he realized where the blow had come from.
Above him, for he had fallen, rightly so, stood the man he had just killed. Hadn't he? The bones had crushed in his skull. He had felt them, heard them, break. Had seen the side of his head cave in upon itself like a sail without the wind. Still, here he stood, arm extended, this the only place the blow had come from.
A shake of his head, a rather soft growl, as not to waste the air which was barely flowing regularly into his lungs, and the behemouth is rising once more. Tottering to his feet like a giant toddler.
"You. Die. Again."
This time the hammer would swing toward the threat. The prey could wait. Foul teeth clenched, a hiss of defiance as he staggered toward his new intended target.
The force of such a swing being stopped so aburptly was shocking enough, the muscles in his arm feeling as if they might unspool from the bone entirely. Before he even had time to consider what had happened, he felt as if a tree had been felled upon him. The air left his lungs with a violent, involuntary, force, even as his massive form was being propelled toward the ground.
If he were a thinking man he might have tried to ponder what had just happened, but all he could really do was try and recover the air he had lost, and right his bulk, as he realized where the blow had come from.
Above him, for he had fallen, rightly so, stood the man he had just killed. Hadn't he? The bones had crushed in his skull. He had felt them, heard them, break. Had seen the side of his head cave in upon itself like a sail without the wind. Still, here he stood, arm extended, this the only place the blow had come from.
A shake of his head, a rather soft growl, as not to waste the air which was barely flowing regularly into his lungs, and the behemouth is rising once more. Tottering to his feet like a giant toddler.
"You. Die. Again."
This time the hammer would swing toward the threat. The prey could wait. Foul teeth clenched, a hiss of defiance as he staggered toward his new intended target.
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by Nightshade » Tue Dec 19, 2006 9:07 am
One more time the hammer swings and again its deadly flight is interrupted. The flat face of Simon's maul meets Nightshade's fist with a ringing CLANG, rebounding from it as if it were not an implement of murder but a blacksmith's tool hammering on a blade. As Simon continues to swing the hammer in short, brutal arcs, each time it meets the same unyielding resistance. Nightshade's movements are flowing, fluid, graceful, a dancelike counterpoint to the lumbering beast of a man before him, his strange amber gaze boring into Simon's eyes the entire time; luminous and unblinking.
"Your days end here, murderer. Your time is over. You will trouble these people no more. Now you reap your reward for your service to your god."
"Your days end here, murderer. Your time is over. You will trouble these people no more. Now you reap your reward for your service to your god."
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by Brother Prime » Tue Dec 19, 2006 9:12 am
Now, Simon was not a bright man, not by any stretch of the imagination. However, there is a difference between brilliance and self-preservation. Simon knew how to survive. Sometimes one had to fall back and regroup.
The hammer was drawn back, as the huge creature turned and fled. Away toward the old farm where Ariane had been shown the "corpse" of the man who now stood behind her. He would find shelter there, allow his arms to cease their aching, and his fingers to once more find their grip upon the hammer.
"Soon."
This spit at Ariane as he lumbered away like a wounded beast, though his dull and muddy gaze rested on the face of Okulari. Traitors....they would all pay.
The hammer was drawn back, as the huge creature turned and fled. Away toward the old farm where Ariane had been shown the "corpse" of the man who now stood behind her. He would find shelter there, allow his arms to cease their aching, and his fingers to once more find their grip upon the hammer.
"Soon."
This spit at Ariane as he lumbered away like a wounded beast, though his dull and muddy gaze rested on the face of Okulari. Traitors....they would all pay.
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by Carnath-Emory » Tue Dec 19, 2006 9:51 am
Hammer beats blade ... thinks the man who wields it, and this is precisely the miscalculation that can slay his brutish sort. Hammer beats blade, if it has the chance to touch it. Hammer beats bone and flesh and muscle, and even the armour that clothes it, if it can only be caught. Let him imagine that it's fear which lends that flat sheen to her eyes. Let him conjure despair, for the features her helm conceals, for his certainty is her gain.
Hammer beats blade ... if the blade is wielded by some slouch, perhaps, but this is a woman whose body was designed best for such moments as these. Whose limbs are shifting her into a slanting crouch as that heavy bludgeon reaches the peak of its swing; who draws like a whipcrack, and sends that slender blade lunging for the vulnerable spot beneath Simon's raised arm. There is no armour to turn her weapon back, not there; nor bone, nor muscle, nor anything at all to keep the schiavona from piercing his heart --
Except that of a sudden Simon is not there anymore. This is the agility of strange Nightshade, and certainly the strength of him: that thug Simon is knocked from her reach before her weapon can quite send him to his grave instead. The fight is taken from her, Nightshade proving uniquely competent to tackle that smug-mawed man -- leaving Ariane with a bloodied Bromn, a stubborn Bromn, and one who'd best prove more readily moved now, than just moments earlier. There's pause enough to be sure that they've time for their escape, and then:
"Now. Now, yes? Or do I carry you?" Which is clearly an impotent threat, as is the tiny, menacing shake of the schiavona, before it's sheathed back at her side, and she has the man by his shoulder instead. There is no time left for talk, nor for tarrying; they're moving for the horses immediately, and at as swift a pace as she can bully from the man. Perhaps there is the occasional shove to his back. Perhaps fingers are grown a little tight upon his arm. Perhaps she glances too often up towards Bromn's features, as if to reassure herself that they are his; as if to be sure of what -- after all these many months -- she holds.
And when they reach the beasts, the reins of her own are seized, and the onetime Governor urged towards its hulking side. "Now," she breathes, for the third time over, and there is this much: a backwards glance. An unspoken request, from a woman who has no gods to petition. And a voice gone hoarse and thin, when it urges "Go," of the man -- and moves to take them far from here at last.
Hammer beats blade ... if the blade is wielded by some slouch, perhaps, but this is a woman whose body was designed best for such moments as these. Whose limbs are shifting her into a slanting crouch as that heavy bludgeon reaches the peak of its swing; who draws like a whipcrack, and sends that slender blade lunging for the vulnerable spot beneath Simon's raised arm. There is no armour to turn her weapon back, not there; nor bone, nor muscle, nor anything at all to keep the schiavona from piercing his heart --
Except that of a sudden Simon is not there anymore. This is the agility of strange Nightshade, and certainly the strength of him: that thug Simon is knocked from her reach before her weapon can quite send him to his grave instead. The fight is taken from her, Nightshade proving uniquely competent to tackle that smug-mawed man -- leaving Ariane with a bloodied Bromn, a stubborn Bromn, and one who'd best prove more readily moved now, than just moments earlier. There's pause enough to be sure that they've time for their escape, and then:
"Now. Now, yes? Or do I carry you?" Which is clearly an impotent threat, as is the tiny, menacing shake of the schiavona, before it's sheathed back at her side, and she has the man by his shoulder instead. There is no time left for talk, nor for tarrying; they're moving for the horses immediately, and at as swift a pace as she can bully from the man. Perhaps there is the occasional shove to his back. Perhaps fingers are grown a little tight upon his arm. Perhaps she glances too often up towards Bromn's features, as if to reassure herself that they are his; as if to be sure of what -- after all these many months -- she holds.
And when they reach the beasts, the reins of her own are seized, and the onetime Governor urged towards its hulking side. "Now," she breathes, for the third time over, and there is this much: a backwards glance. An unspoken request, from a woman who has no gods to petition. And a voice gone hoarse and thin, when it urges "Go," of the man -- and moves to take them far from here at last.
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by Altias_Bromn » Wed Dec 20, 2006 7:50 pm
Two figures move under the cold night sky; one hulking, lumbering slab of a man and one tall, angular, silent apparition in black that follows. One's breath rasps harshly between clenched teeth and lips drawn tight in a rictus of exertion; the one that follows breathes not at all. One's feet, shod in worn and dirty boots, tromp and smash beneath the weight of their owner as he runs; his pursuer's progress is far smoother and nearly soundless. One man runs seeking escape. What follows behind him moves at a pace just slightly faster than walking, determined strides that keep his prey well in sight.
Nightshade was unsurprised that Simon had chosen flight over fight finally; animal-level instincts obviously served him far better than intelligence on his brutal path. Even now those same instincts were obviously guiding the man toward some place of sanctuary, here in these woods, a place where he either thought to hide or perhaps make a stand. Either way it did not matter; whether Simon realized it or not, these would be his last moments of drawing breath. He would not live long enough to harm another innocent. No matter how fast or how far Simon ran, eventually his flesh would tire and Nightshade would find him when he could run no more. But not before he felt the fear of the hunted, not before his heart hammered from terror instead of exertion. Not before Simon lost hold of what the Order of the All had crafted him to be.
Nightshade was unsurprised that Simon had chosen flight over fight finally; animal-level instincts obviously served him far better than intelligence on his brutal path. Even now those same instincts were obviously guiding the man toward some place of sanctuary, here in these woods, a place where he either thought to hide or perhaps make a stand. Either way it did not matter; whether Simon realized it or not, these would be his last moments of drawing breath. He would not live long enough to harm another innocent. No matter how fast or how far Simon ran, eventually his flesh would tire and Nightshade would find him when he could run no more. But not before he felt the fear of the hunted, not before his heart hammered from terror instead of exertion. Not before Simon lost hold of what the Order of the All had crafted him to be.
Wrong, in all the right ways
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by Nightshade » Wed Dec 20, 2006 7:53 pm
Two figures move under the cold night sky; one hulking, lumbering slab of a man and one tall, angular, silent apparition in black that follows. One's breath rasps harshly between clenched teeth and lips drawn tight in a rictus of exertion; the one that follows breathes not at all. One's feet, shod in worn and dirty boots, tromp and smash beneath the weight of their owner as he runs; his pursuer's progress is far smoother and nearly soundless. One man runs seeking escape. What follows behind him moves at a pace just slightly faster than walking, determined strides that keep his prey well in sight.
Nightshade was unsurprised that Simon had chosen flight over fight finally; animal-level instincts obviously served him far better than intelligence on his brutal path. Even now those same instincts were obviously guiding the man toward some place of sanctuary, here in these woods, a place where he either thought to hide or perhaps make a stand. Either way it did not matter; whether Simon realized it or not, these would be his last moments of drawing breath. He would not live long enough to harm another innocent. No matter how fast or how far Simon ran, eventually his flesh would tire and Nightshade would find him when he could run no more. But not before he felt the fear of the hunted, not before his heart hammered from terror instead of exertion. Not before Simon lost hold of what the Order of the All had crafted him to be. Only then would it be time for this hunt to end.
Nightshade was unsurprised that Simon had chosen flight over fight finally; animal-level instincts obviously served him far better than intelligence on his brutal path. Even now those same instincts were obviously guiding the man toward some place of sanctuary, here in these woods, a place where he either thought to hide or perhaps make a stand. Either way it did not matter; whether Simon realized it or not, these would be his last moments of drawing breath. He would not live long enough to harm another innocent. No matter how fast or how far Simon ran, eventually his flesh would tire and Nightshade would find him when he could run no more. But not before he felt the fear of the hunted, not before his heart hammered from terror instead of exertion. Not before Simon lost hold of what the Order of the All had crafted him to be. Only then would it be time for this hunt to end.
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A time for change
by Michael Renne » Sat Dec 30, 2006 8:19 am
Michale knelt at the feet of his God. His head bowed in reverence to a deity so long awaited. As Thadius spit his venomous words, Michael lifted his head and smiled upward. With a single soft motion, he removed Thadius' hand from his hair, smoothing it back gently.
"Father. All is as you wished. The Chosen One has served his purpose. He has been returned to his people. Ariane Emory believes me a traitor to you, and fully believes I will die for my crimes. The Order is safe once more."
Michael rose from his kneeling position, offering a smile to Thadius. A small shake of his head.
"What does it say of you Brother Dhrin, that you would be so willing to throw one of your own to the pyres to advance yourself?"
Moving from before his God so that others might receive his blessing, Michael placed a hand on Thadius' shoulder.
"Now is the time when we must move as One. Think as One. Act, as One. He has come, and now is the time for us to be thankful and blessed for his presence is all that we have waited for. Do you think I would have thrown it all away for some...woman? No, my dear Brother. That was you. Or have you so soon forgotten your love affair with Emory? I doubt that you have."
"Father...I await your instructions. I can not return to Myrken, not as yet. It is best they think me dead by your hands. Perhaps we should even consider giving them evidence of such. It will be as you desire."
With those words, Michael is moving away from the Faithful and The Father. If he was allowed to continue, he would return to his chambers and begin the preperations for the movement of their home. It would not be wise to remain here a third time. They would not be safe if one such as Kerrak spoke to Ariane. It was time to find a new home.
"Father. All is as you wished. The Chosen One has served his purpose. He has been returned to his people. Ariane Emory believes me a traitor to you, and fully believes I will die for my crimes. The Order is safe once more."
Michael rose from his kneeling position, offering a smile to Thadius. A small shake of his head.
"What does it say of you Brother Dhrin, that you would be so willing to throw one of your own to the pyres to advance yourself?"
Moving from before his God so that others might receive his blessing, Michael placed a hand on Thadius' shoulder.
"Now is the time when we must move as One. Think as One. Act, as One. He has come, and now is the time for us to be thankful and blessed for his presence is all that we have waited for. Do you think I would have thrown it all away for some...woman? No, my dear Brother. That was you. Or have you so soon forgotten your love affair with Emory? I doubt that you have."
"Father...I await your instructions. I can not return to Myrken, not as yet. It is best they think me dead by your hands. Perhaps we should even consider giving them evidence of such. It will be as you desire."
With those words, Michael is moving away from the Faithful and The Father. If he was allowed to continue, he would return to his chambers and begin the preperations for the movement of their home. It would not be wise to remain here a third time. They would not be safe if one such as Kerrak spoke to Ariane. It was time to find a new home.
The light in the window is a crack in the sky
A stairway to darkness in the blink of an eye
A levee of tears to learn she'll never be coming back
The man in the dark will bring another attack
Your momma told you that you're not supposed to talk to strangers
Look in the mirror tell me do you think your life's in danger here
No more tears
A stairway to darkness in the blink of an eye
A levee of tears to learn she'll never be coming back
The man in the dark will bring another attack
Your momma told you that you're not supposed to talk to strangers
Look in the mirror tell me do you think your life's in danger here
No more tears
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by The Baie » Sun Jan 07, 2007 6:03 am
The Baie was pleased. As the faithful drew closer, awaiting their blessing, the Baie didn’t bother hiding his smile. All was as it should be. At least, it was until Thadius spoke.
Accusation spilled like acid from the man’s mouth and it was clearly directed toward Renne--the man known as Prime, whose anonymity was destroyed by a single flip of a hood. The Baie's smile faded...now was not the time.
Renne’s reply was smooth, controlled, and every bit as irritating to Baie as Thadius’s venom. Baie’s eyes moved from one man to the other. They were buzzing mosquitoes good for little other than drawing blood and creating a disturbance. It was all Baie could do to restrain himself from tearing their throats out. This was the time to be revered by his chattel and these two men were distracting him with their petty one-upmanship! The Baie’s jaw tightened, his teeth creaking under the pressure.
Renne was wise to walk away--insolent, perhaps, but wise. It helped mollify the rage growing within the Baie.
So, as the man known as Prime walked away, the Baie looked down at the hooded faithful who was now bowing before him. The Baie focused on letting the anger melt away; he placed a hand upon the cloaked head before him. As he did, he spoke to Thadius, [I]“All will be as it should be, Thadius. In time. Believe me.â€
Accusation spilled like acid from the man’s mouth and it was clearly directed toward Renne--the man known as Prime, whose anonymity was destroyed by a single flip of a hood. The Baie's smile faded...now was not the time.
Renne’s reply was smooth, controlled, and every bit as irritating to Baie as Thadius’s venom. Baie’s eyes moved from one man to the other. They were buzzing mosquitoes good for little other than drawing blood and creating a disturbance. It was all Baie could do to restrain himself from tearing their throats out. This was the time to be revered by his chattel and these two men were distracting him with their petty one-upmanship! The Baie’s jaw tightened, his teeth creaking under the pressure.
Renne was wise to walk away--insolent, perhaps, but wise. It helped mollify the rage growing within the Baie.
So, as the man known as Prime walked away, the Baie looked down at the hooded faithful who was now bowing before him. The Baie focused on letting the anger melt away; he placed a hand upon the cloaked head before him. As he did, he spoke to Thadius, [I]“All will be as it should be, Thadius. In time. Believe me.â€
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