Edolie shuffled forward, trying to peer at the man on the ground but she couldn't get a good look at him with how he was lying face down. She found a long, sturdy stick and reached out with it, prodding his shoulder and arm. She was well aware that the mechanical horse stared at her with that dead-doll expression that all constructs had.
The man didn't budge.
Releasing her stick, Edolie pushed her crossbow back into her boot, even as Kenelm chittered at her angrily.
"He's unconscious," Edolie said, smacking the strange ferret off her shoulder. He flapped his wings furiously to stop himself from crashing into the dirt, or a tree. "He looks... dead."
Ignoring the continued protests of her companion, she crouched down and grabbed hold of the man's arm. After a few attempts, as the black armor he wore was quite heavy, Edolie managed to get him onto his back. The horse snorted once, then dropped its head over her shoulder to stare at its rider. She idly reached up and patted it on its smooth, cold cheek. They would never compare to the real thing.
Edolie pulled down a worn, purple bandana masking the man's face and paused. He looked like some type of prince. His features were pale and pretty, with high, noble cheekbones and a straight, narrow nose. Even in repose, it was a face that both entranced and intimidated her. She rested her fingers against one of his cheeks, then pinched and pulled on the skin.
"Hey, guy!" she said loudly into his face, and got no response. Not even a twitch.
Kenelm sqwaked and shook his fur out.
"No," Edolie replied, her eyebrows furrowing. It couldn't be possible. "Well, actually... he is a bit too pretty. But then what could be wrong with him? They can go out in the daytime."
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
The Reason
"Ah," he said, canting his head to the side. "I think I see. I have never required such a thing, but there are plenty who would call me a psycho."
Mathias then let his confused expression slip away and lifted his weapon in a salute. So now he had a minor grasp of how this woman worked, how her mind clicked and ticked.
"Well," he continued, "I thank you for fighting with me, even if you find it pointless." He twirled his jagged blade and knelt down before her, laying his weapon over his knee.
Alaria let her hands fall to her sides. For the first time in her well battled and very long life, a creature of darkness surprised her. His head was bowed, so she couldn't see his face or any of the signals of what was running through his mind. Not that she was completely sure she'd be able read those signals; he was an enigma to her now.
"If it pleases my mistress," Mathias said, keeping his head bowed through Alaria could still see the rictus grin slicing through the shadows with perfect white, "perhaps she could give me a reason to fight, and then we will both be very much satisfied."
"A creature of darkness would so quickly shed his convictions to fight for the light?" Alaria asked, a frown marring her lovely features.
"A long time ago," Mathias said, his voice somehow muted and restrained, "a young girl told me that there is no absolutes in darkness nor light. Perhaps it is time for me to prove her correct."
Mathias then let his confused expression slip away and lifted his weapon in a salute. So now he had a minor grasp of how this woman worked, how her mind clicked and ticked.
"Well," he continued, "I thank you for fighting with me, even if you find it pointless." He twirled his jagged blade and knelt down before her, laying his weapon over his knee.
Alaria let her hands fall to her sides. For the first time in her well battled and very long life, a creature of darkness surprised her. His head was bowed, so she couldn't see his face or any of the signals of what was running through his mind. Not that she was completely sure she'd be able read those signals; he was an enigma to her now.
"If it pleases my mistress," Mathias said, keeping his head bowed through Alaria could still see the rictus grin slicing through the shadows with perfect white, "perhaps she could give me a reason to fight, and then we will both be very much satisfied."
"A creature of darkness would so quickly shed his convictions to fight for the light?" Alaria asked, a frown marring her lovely features.
"A long time ago," Mathias said, his voice somehow muted and restrained, "a young girl told me that there is no absolutes in darkness nor light. Perhaps it is time for me to prove her correct."
Friday, May 18, 2012
Ulrika's Defintion of "The End"
"That's it," Suke said, shaking her feathered hair back and forth and plucking out broken and ripped feathers.
"That's not it," Ulrika replied. She winced as Gisil and Sypha fretted over a wound still oozing crimson laced with ink on her side. It had been bleeding since the battle, despite Sypha's magicks and herbs.
"Have you gone mad?" Suke said, opening her black eyes wide. She spat out a bit a blood, then gestured around to all the wounded that surrounded them in this haven of a forest glade. Trees were shifting occasionally, walking on their roots in patrols. Bear stood stoic over Ulrika's injured form, watching every movement of the two trying to heal and stabilize her.
"Everyone is injured," Suke continued, "everyone is hurt. No one wants to fight anymore."
"If it's one thing I know--" Ulrika said. She interrupted her heated tone to let out sharp cry of pain. Sypha had just poured another herbal remedy into the wound. The inky color seemed to let out smoke, and there was a distinct hissing sound. "I-I know that good always wins."
Gisil paused, turning his head to gaze into Ulrika's pain filled face and eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Suke beat him to it, laughing coldly.
"This is not some child's story! The good guys don't always win. Most of the time, it's the bad guys. This time, it's the bad guys. The bad guys win, Ulrika. There's nothing you can do about it. This is reality, and this is the end."
Ulrika grinned. It looked more like she was baring her blood-reddened teeth than an actual grin. The inky-blackness in her blood returned, and Sypha let out a wail of frustration.
"If the bad guys are winning, if they have won," Ulrika said. She inhaled deeply, and let her head rest back down against Gisil's thigh as he supported her on her side. "Then it's not the end yet."
"That's not it," Ulrika replied. She winced as Gisil and Sypha fretted over a wound still oozing crimson laced with ink on her side. It had been bleeding since the battle, despite Sypha's magicks and herbs.
"Have you gone mad?" Suke said, opening her black eyes wide. She spat out a bit a blood, then gestured around to all the wounded that surrounded them in this haven of a forest glade. Trees were shifting occasionally, walking on their roots in patrols. Bear stood stoic over Ulrika's injured form, watching every movement of the two trying to heal and stabilize her.
"Everyone is injured," Suke continued, "everyone is hurt. No one wants to fight anymore."
"If it's one thing I know--" Ulrika said. She interrupted her heated tone to let out sharp cry of pain. Sypha had just poured another herbal remedy into the wound. The inky color seemed to let out smoke, and there was a distinct hissing sound. "I-I know that good always wins."
Gisil paused, turning his head to gaze into Ulrika's pain filled face and eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Suke beat him to it, laughing coldly.
"This is not some child's story! The good guys don't always win. Most of the time, it's the bad guys. This time, it's the bad guys. The bad guys win, Ulrika. There's nothing you can do about it. This is reality, and this is the end."
Ulrika grinned. It looked more like she was baring her blood-reddened teeth than an actual grin. The inky-blackness in her blood returned, and Sypha let out a wail of frustration.
"If the bad guys are winning, if they have won," Ulrika said. She inhaled deeply, and let her head rest back down against Gisil's thigh as he supported her on her side. "Then it's not the end yet."
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Apothecary and Alchemist
Hoof-beats broke the forest's evening symphony, racing at a gallop's pace. Edolie lifted her head away from her work of digging up a rare, hardy herb. Her long, earth colored hair was tied at the back of her head with long leather chords, but that didn't keep long pieces from trailing along her cheeks and framing a pale, slender face. She placed the roots she had gathered into a leather pouch attached to her belt. As she rose to her feet, a collection of small, bottle-like charms jingled from her belt and bandolier.
The horse was approaching her location, and, being less naive than she used to be, Edolie side stepped into a bush. She tugged her leather corselette straight and then pulled a small hand crossbow out of her boot. The arms snapped into place as the weapon was freed from the confines of hardened leather. Edolie crouched, kicking the train of material attached to her corselette behind her so she didn't get tangled up in it.
It was a strange occurrence to find someone was so far away from a town on their lonesome. Unless they were a Hellion, creatures that were believed to once be human but had their bloodlines cursed into monstrosities. Edolie looked over her shoulder as her little companion - an oversized ferret with black ram's horns and long, hawk patterned wings - poked his face past her's to stare ahead. His dirt covered claws dug into her bandolier and crinkle cotton peasant top to remain stable.
Edolie waved him back, then paused when she heard the horse dig its hooves into the ground and come to a sharp stop, swiftly followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. It was still out of sight, so she moved through the brush toward it, with slight caution but mostly curiosity. What she found was a tall, mechanical horse of a tarnished silver color. It's cog-work joints had plates of armor protecting them. Most fancies who could afford a metallic colored horse preferred to have all the mechanisms stylized and artistically -more like expensively - put on display. The horse was standing guard over what Edolie assumed to have been its rider. A man, wearing mostly black with a large cloak was lying face down in the dirt, not moving.
The horse was approaching her location, and, being less naive than she used to be, Edolie side stepped into a bush. She tugged her leather corselette straight and then pulled a small hand crossbow out of her boot. The arms snapped into place as the weapon was freed from the confines of hardened leather. Edolie crouched, kicking the train of material attached to her corselette behind her so she didn't get tangled up in it.
It was a strange occurrence to find someone was so far away from a town on their lonesome. Unless they were a Hellion, creatures that were believed to once be human but had their bloodlines cursed into monstrosities. Edolie looked over her shoulder as her little companion - an oversized ferret with black ram's horns and long, hawk patterned wings - poked his face past her's to stare ahead. His dirt covered claws dug into her bandolier and crinkle cotton peasant top to remain stable.
Edolie waved him back, then paused when she heard the horse dig its hooves into the ground and come to a sharp stop, swiftly followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. It was still out of sight, so she moved through the brush toward it, with slight caution but mostly curiosity. What she found was a tall, mechanical horse of a tarnished silver color. It's cog-work joints had plates of armor protecting them. Most fancies who could afford a metallic colored horse preferred to have all the mechanisms stylized and artistically -more like expensively - put on display. The horse was standing guard over what Edolie assumed to have been its rider. A man, wearing mostly black with a large cloak was lying face down in the dirt, not moving.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Any Reason, He Just Needs One
Alaria frowned, her eyes sliding closed and her brow twitching faintly. She remained standing straight, her arms folded over her chest. Suddenly, the shield morphed into lances and blades of light, rotated around her body once to force a back step out of the dark man, and pierced into his body. He looked like a voodoo pin cushion come to life, with how his back arched unnaturally and his black hair obscured his face into shadows.
Mathias chuckled, up-righting himself with a sickening series of cracks as the weapons of light started to become corrupt with an inky blackness. They started to fall to pieces, one by one, each piece shattering as it struck the ground and was no more.
"Oh, what fun," he said. The ragged holes throughout his form made him appear as if he was made of nothing more than a fabric of shadow, but it had been far too long since Alaria was surprised by this. They started to mend themselves, threads of black reattaching themselves together. "You truly are quite a magnificent woman, Alaria."
"Some way of showing it," she replied, "attempting to rend me in two every moment that you are awake. You are worse than the Order that I am forced to be a part of."
"You do not find this enjoyable?" Mathias asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward. "I find the sensation one gets when battling a challenging foe to be utterly...incomparable." His red tinted glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he peered at her, waiting for an answer that he knew he would not be able to comprehend.
"When there is nothing to be fighting for? There is no such sensation. Fighting for the thrill of a fight is not something I find enjoyable in the least."
Mathias paused.
Mathias chuckled, up-righting himself with a sickening series of cracks as the weapons of light started to become corrupt with an inky blackness. They started to fall to pieces, one by one, each piece shattering as it struck the ground and was no more.
"Oh, what fun," he said. The ragged holes throughout his form made him appear as if he was made of nothing more than a fabric of shadow, but it had been far too long since Alaria was surprised by this. They started to mend themselves, threads of black reattaching themselves together. "You truly are quite a magnificent woman, Alaria."
"Some way of showing it," she replied, "attempting to rend me in two every moment that you are awake. You are worse than the Order that I am forced to be a part of."
"You do not find this enjoyable?" Mathias asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward. "I find the sensation one gets when battling a challenging foe to be utterly...incomparable." His red tinted glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he peered at her, waiting for an answer that he knew he would not be able to comprehend.
"When there is nothing to be fighting for? There is no such sensation. Fighting for the thrill of a fight is not something I find enjoyable in the least."
Mathias paused.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Any Reason Will Do
Alaria leaned against a sheer cliff face, listening to falling water that was just out of sight through the forest to her right. It wasn't loud enough to drown out all other sound, but was still predominate. Her navy suit of plate mail glistened in the shafts of sunlight pouring in through the canopy, sparks of light racing along the silver embellishments and accents. She wore no helmet, so thick curls of brunette hair rippled over her shoulders, bouncing against the metal of her breastplate.
In a moment, arms clad in grey cloth reached out of her shadow against the cliff face and wrapped around her neck.
"Hello, beautiful," said a deep voice, before the arms tightened into a choke hold.
Alaria's reaction was fluid as it was instant; a dagger sprang from her high, armored boot and she jammed it between the second and third ribs of the one who seized her. She sprang away from the rock wall, spinning at the same time, and threw her arms out - one to sweep her heavy, midnight blue cloak behind her, the other to press her palm flat out toward him and focus her light into a shield around her. It glistened with her power - appearing as a golden mist encasing her body - cast a gold sheen over her, and made her hair and eyes appear to have gold flecks within them.
"Don't you get bored of this?" she asked, lowering her hand now that the shield was completed.
"Does a wolf ever tire of the hunt?" Mathias laughed as he pulled the dagger out of his ribs and tossed it aside nonchalantly. His messy black hair fell over his face, not obscuring the ruby of his eyes, and his smile was rictus. He drew his sword - a wicked item with a jagged edge made of blackened metal - and stepped toward her shining figure. His grey trench coat fluttered around his feet: it's movements were exaggerated as if the man was moving faster than he appeared. Today he had left it unbuttoned, exposing the black leather pants, silvered greaves, and the fact that he wore no shirt.
"Well, then aren't you just boring," Alaria replied, not going for the claymore sheathed on her back, passing under the cloak. "Only interested in spilling blood."
"Oh but there's such a thrill in it," he groaned, tilting his head back. A mild expression of pleasing memory flickered over his face. "The sound of life leaving the body, and the smell of fresh meat. It is exquisite."
Alaria sighed; all men were the same, even the inhuman ones. It was disheartening. Mathias' sword clashed against her mist, halting and sending a burst of sparks to the ground. Alaria didn't flinch, even as she felt heat against her stomach, where the blow should have landed.
Mathias' grin was homicidally gleeful now, and he pulled back only to assault her and her shield again and again. He searched for any weak spot, an exposed flank, but he knew he wouldn't find it. This woman's defensive abilities were more potent than her offensive ones. Something he couldn't understand, but he wanted to, so badly it hurt. He wanted to understand this strange woman.
In a moment, arms clad in grey cloth reached out of her shadow against the cliff face and wrapped around her neck.
"Hello, beautiful," said a deep voice, before the arms tightened into a choke hold.
Alaria's reaction was fluid as it was instant; a dagger sprang from her high, armored boot and she jammed it between the second and third ribs of the one who seized her. She sprang away from the rock wall, spinning at the same time, and threw her arms out - one to sweep her heavy, midnight blue cloak behind her, the other to press her palm flat out toward him and focus her light into a shield around her. It glistened with her power - appearing as a golden mist encasing her body - cast a gold sheen over her, and made her hair and eyes appear to have gold flecks within them.
"Don't you get bored of this?" she asked, lowering her hand now that the shield was completed.
"Does a wolf ever tire of the hunt?" Mathias laughed as he pulled the dagger out of his ribs and tossed it aside nonchalantly. His messy black hair fell over his face, not obscuring the ruby of his eyes, and his smile was rictus. He drew his sword - a wicked item with a jagged edge made of blackened metal - and stepped toward her shining figure. His grey trench coat fluttered around his feet: it's movements were exaggerated as if the man was moving faster than he appeared. Today he had left it unbuttoned, exposing the black leather pants, silvered greaves, and the fact that he wore no shirt.
"Well, then aren't you just boring," Alaria replied, not going for the claymore sheathed on her back, passing under the cloak. "Only interested in spilling blood."
"Oh but there's such a thrill in it," he groaned, tilting his head back. A mild expression of pleasing memory flickered over his face. "The sound of life leaving the body, and the smell of fresh meat. It is exquisite."
Alaria sighed; all men were the same, even the inhuman ones. It was disheartening. Mathias' sword clashed against her mist, halting and sending a burst of sparks to the ground. Alaria didn't flinch, even as she felt heat against her stomach, where the blow should have landed.
Mathias' grin was homicidally gleeful now, and he pulled back only to assault her and her shield again and again. He searched for any weak spot, an exposed flank, but he knew he wouldn't find it. This woman's defensive abilities were more potent than her offensive ones. Something he couldn't understand, but he wanted to, so badly it hurt. He wanted to understand this strange woman.
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