|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Feb 03, 2010 7:38 pm
Though the Dread Dialect blackens all the lands of Darkness, even it seemed to amass a darker shadow than most.
Here, nestled with dim lamplight, is a large village that is protected under the orders of Lord Fleur.
Beings of shadow are sovereign here, and open trade and prosperity with all under the Seal of Fleur and the Dark Knights.
The sun never reaches this village, making it the perfect spot for the creatures of the night to dwell.
All that is wicked happens here... Murder, Rape, Thievery and Debauchery of all kinds and sort.
Not to worry... if you are a Knight of Internal Darkness, you are the law here. Your word and command is sovereign.
That is not to say the same if you are not, however...
Welcome to Sleepyknell, the most wicked town on the face of the Dark lands.
Enjoy your stay...
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 12, 2010 2:14 am
As if walking out of air, she slipped from nothingness and felt her toes tickled by dust... road dust... and civilization. It's been quite a while since she'd been anywhere with so many people that she wasn't sure what to do. The last time, she had been in disguise and underneath a fanciful, maroon veil in a busy winter market. That had been a trip with her former Master... he bought her a comb there, for her hair. Whenever she looked up, men stopped in their tracks and vied for a second glimpse of her face. Her eyes petrified all that saw them. Even women became mesmerized by the tiny opening that showed her face. It wasn't because she was inhumanly beautiful... rather because she was as beautiful as humanly possible. She was a form of 'perfection' as imagined by mortals. Her Master had been pleased to show little glances of her off to the less fortunate masses.
Compared to her past grandeur, her bloodstained present was nothing close. Her hair, once shimmering with silver, was matted in the dust of travel. Grit marred her opalescent skin. Her lashes caked with dirt, not glimmer. Her hands reeked of death.
The closest fountain quickly filled with her pollution as she plunged both arms, elbow-deep, into the stone vat of cold water. It didn't seem to matter to her that she was about to stick her face beneath the fountain of a stone gargoyle's consistent tinkle. She simply wanted to be clean... not just look clean, but feel clean. Meticulously, she cleaned all the blood from beneath her nails and splashed cold water onto her face until at least her cheeks regained some of her former magnificence. Somewhere beneath the grime of toil was a delicate maiden.
Somewhere beneath the maiden's skin lay false flesh and bones and borrowed time.
She shook her bangs of the water that clumped them together and made her look ridiculous. People were staring at her now... her armored dress of scarlet and gold was truly the work of the Dollmaker -- after all, they seemed clothes only a doll would wear. In a way, wearing his clothes was a way of showing her pride that she was his Masterpiece. Such was a dress that would only fit her and that few other than her were able to bear the weight of. As if in confirmation, she pressed her fingertips against the bandages on her right thigh. Her name was scarified beneath it... 'Hades' Butterfly'... the precious name that the Dollmaker presented her with upon her rebirth.
"Hey, girl. Lookin' sharp today, huh."
She felt the familiar creeping sensation of her nerves tingling from tailbone to neck, stemming from the source of a man's hand against her waist. He was a tall man with a confident smile -- not bad looking at all, really, but she could care less. She'd seen them and known them... and they were really just a dime a dozen. The suitors that had come for her had all fled. Chasing off men was one thing that she had gotten quite the experience in from her golden days of youth. The smell of alcohol on the breath was commonplace for her.
"C'mon naw. I'll buy you a drink."
Playing the innocent, she stood her ground, a childishly blank face declaring to him a most unusual ultimatum. "If you can carry me there, then I should be glad to go with you; but if you cannot, then I will eat you." She said nothing more.
Clearly the man did not take her quite so seriously and began to roar a hearty laughter that drew alarmed faces from all across the boulevard. Without further ado, he reached down, vulgarly, and clasped her by the butt and thighs, his other hand around her ribs and shoulders with forearm flattening her breasts. His ear-to-ear grin was all to reminescent of a hungry wolf's.
Yet he could not budge her even an inch... and repeated measures brought no fruit.
"Mister, your time is up." His heavy panting soured her left ear with the scent of rancid mead and rotting gums. His toil continued, as a man of hubris is trapped by his own pride.
She was a girl of very few words. Anyone could see that. The last thing he ever saw was the color of her hair and the blood before his eyes. The end of her longest calligraphy brush thrust through his heart, he found his final bed in the dirt-paved road. She removed the beautiful artifact carefully. It was made of ebony wood and wrought in gold. The fine hairs of its tip came from the head of newborn humans. Whatever blood touched it was quickly absorbed... vanishing from sight.
Replacing it in its rightful place on her waist bandolier, she looked at the corpse and its growing puddle of blood. It was below her to eat off the ground... and especially if it is rotten food. Noises around her clashed and confused her, but it did seem like there could be authorities arriving soon to check the dead and seek the killer. Already, their footsteps rang in her ears, their heels clicking on distant cobblestones. People surrounded the scene in a tight circle and trapped her from escape.
She knew it was going to be a bad day.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 12, 2010 6:20 pm
Indeed, the familiar clinking of any knights in heavy armored boots practically filled the air. The Knights of Lord Fleur, weapons abound, slowly began forming a circle around the girl.
Each knight had his or her face covered by a signature dark helm and armor, runes and dangerous... these were no mere simple soldiers, they were elites, and they were not to be taken lightly.
Things indeed looked bad... until a light laughter seemed to break some of the tension.
The wide circle of knights split open a bit, allowing a very particular knight stepped into the ring.
"Lovely, love.... a beautiful death."
The voice was rather soft and melodic... quite a strange feature of a male Knight of Darkness.
The knight, clad in the same armor as the rest, stepped up to the girl, keeping a bit of distance just in case. The only difference between him and the other knights, was that his face was exposed... revealing a rather devilishly handsome face. His white hair covered one of his eyes... and his pale complexion illuminated nearly white upon the many lamplight's in the area. By his features, and his fanged smile, it would seem he was a vampire of sorts.
The Vampire Knight approached the corpse, kneeling over it.
He stuck a finger into the hole where the caligraphy pen had penetrated and shut his eyes.
It was but a moment... and the trickling blood around the man... and inside hm, for that matter, began to drain away... in mere seconds, the dead man was but a bloodless husk.
The knight rose, a spot of blood still on his finger.
With a playful look to Nia, he licked the blood clean off.
"Delicious..."
The knight turned to his compatriots, making a lowering motion with a hand.
"Stand down men... I can feel a dread-stone on her..."
The Knights immediately lowered there weapons, and were off to their immediate posts.
"My apologies, love... we can't be too careful here, so close to the Citadel... Ah! But where are my manners...
The Vampire gave a quick and graceful bow, looking softly upon the figure of Nia before rising.
"My name is Captain Cornelius Ataire... and I will be your ticket into seeing the Lord of the Dark Lands...
...and you are?"
Captain Cornelius was a quite an inquisitive fellow indeed, but hopefully a warmer welcome than what the young lady had first encountered here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 12, 2010 9:58 pm
He reminded her a little of her former Master from only his voice. It was soft enough to be both gentle and and fearsome -- a voice of nonnegotiable authority and pride. The feeling of being a cornered animal was bad enough. However, she understood that even if they were on a barren tundra with only him facing her over miles of flat, frozen dirt, she would still feel just as cornered as she felt before. Her blood ran cold when he addressed her as 'love.' She had been called that too... among other pet names that brought down on her the wrath of her dead Master's spouse.
Her body was quick to remember, her muscle memory so strong that it only took that name to bend her around his pinkie. Old habits died hard. Pinching the side of her skirts gently, she fanned them discreetly and elegantly as she dropped to one knee -- or so it seemed. In reality, her knee was held, static, one inch above the ground, so it appeared that she was light and weightless when in fact, it was the work of her powerful muscles. Her head inclined forward in a graceful bow, her left hand still on the hem of her skirts with only the fingertips touching the fabric and not a seam of space between her fingers. Her right arm bent with her forearm resting upon her right knee and thigh, the palm face-up to reveal the inside of her wrist. Her ring and pinkie fingers were casually curled. Her pointer and middle finger extended to point towards her left. Such was the delicate and submissive bow of a Servant of Lust. She had yet to remember the change in her status. On the bright side, though, she only bowed the common greeting of a sex Servant, not the provocative kneel performed exclusively for a Master.
It looked as if she remembered at the last moment and almost thought to change her bow... but stopped. It would look foolish and reveal her ill-preparedness. She had to look like she knew what she was doing... what else would she be able to show to the one who now held her Command Key? Her clothes were still splattered in blood an covered in road dust. Even with her face and hands just cleaned, she felt that meeting that person without properly cleaning and dressing up would be rude.
Then again... would he care? She was now, after all, a Servant of Wrath. Few cared what Servants of Wrath looked like for they were mainly grotesque monstrosities that could not please the eye nor travel freely. Most likely, her new Master was expecting a large, deadly creature transported in a crate or cage, awaiting to be put inside his stables or menagerie. Maybe if she continued to pose as a Servant of Lust -- the ridiculously hard to use type -- it would make her far more credible. Now that the ruse was started, changing it took more effort than going along with the plan.
"Gynefieve, Hades' Butterfly. My pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir." Her name came from the Celtic word 'Gwehnw,' and the German word 'Feuer,' for fire... a name that meant 'White Flame.' She didn't look like a white flame right now -- more like a gray rag. Beautifully embroidered? Yes. Gray and dirty? Yes.
"I seek my new Master, he who holds my Key."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Feb 13, 2010 12:09 pm
"Ah! We have been expecting you, Love... though you seem far more beautiful than deadly..."
The ever so Flirtatious type looked around for a moment, reminded of where they were speaking.
The cold streets lined with stone returned to their normal bustling drear... people on the streets eerily moved by on whatever ungodly busyness they deemed... though they were dark knights, even they had to worry even the slightest here... there were too many monsters out to be sure of safety.
"...I cannot be so sure, however... nothing can be trusted in these lands..."
The Cornelius turned, and began to walk, expecting the lovely Gynefieve to follow.
"Indeed you are not as it seems... to be able to take down a Death-lord is but a feat of strength only a Dark Knight can follow... and by the looks of you, you rather enjoyed yourself."
Captain Ataire chuckled a bit, leading Nia through the dreary black streets.
Most of the citizens here, which ranged from Specters and Demons to Witches and Warlocks, seemed to move out of the way of the captain... others seemed to stare in some sort of defiance... not to mention a hungry looking Lycan would lick his lips once in a while... though they were known to do that for many occasions.
The district they walk through seemed rather run down... the buildings though active and lit, to some extent, were dusty and broken... if anything, it was a wonder with so many people buying, selling (themselves) and simply wandering how any building could be so run-down around here.
"How about we get you cleaned up a bit, Miss Gynefieve? It would be such a shame to send such loveliness to the Lord in such condition."
Captain Ataire stopped in front of a building much like the others...
'The Black Rose' It read upon the ever breaking sign.
Cornelius walked up the the double wooden doors... holding one open for Nia in a very gentle-manly fashion.
"After you, my lady... you'll find the decoration inside quite... different, from the exterior..."
...and indeed, a glimpse of warm light showed what could very well have been a mansions parlor. Light conversation and even some warm laughter could be heard drifting from the inside.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Feb 13, 2010 2:50 pm
It was a new sensation to be treated as a Freeman, let alone a Lady. The Servant followed with caution and mild distrust. What other choice had she? He was going to be her only thread to her goal. If she could not trust him, who could she trust? After all, he did say that he was expecting her and implied that he knew she was a Servant of Wrath.
Something about her never sat 100% comfortably with vampires. They really put her on edge... and Captain Cornelius Ataire was no exception. He was incredibly good-looking, as she would admit, and the Lust side of her wanted nothing more but to unsnap her armor and seduce him to the ground. Having been frozen at age 17 forever, she would no longer be able to escape her hormones with age. The remnants of her former purpose did nothing to help, obviously.
She had to restrain herself when she walked past him through the door, bowing politely as she entered... Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The first thing she noticed was the overwhelming musk of male odor in the air -- something enough to almost bring her to her knees. Her defense system kicked in instantly and registered the presence of so many males as a situation only present in one-on-many combat. It was an override protocol the Dollmaker installed, something to cover up the Lust function protocol. It was all she could do to keep her head clear and slowly straighten from her hunched position, adjusting herself to the new environment. This could take some getting used to.
Looking over her shoulder, she cast a quizzical glance at the Captain. What should she do at this point? The yellow-tinted lights made every fragment of gold and jewel on her body glitter -- that is, if they weren't covered in disgusting gunk.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 5:08 pm
"Don't be shy love, you're among brothers and sisters here."
Cornelius placed a hand just below her collar, nudging her forward.
The interior of the room was fit for a castle, satin lined couches and chairs, ebony tables and the like... there was even a bar, and the smell of food rising into the air. All with a very 'gothique' sense of decor.
All who were sanctioned within the Black Rose were knights of darkness... all with the same, or similar trademarked Dark Knight armor.
Few knights actually payed attention to the beauty who had just stepped in... with the exception of a few males, who were eyeballing her profusely, but discreetly.
Until Captain Ataire gave them a few sour looks, that is.
"Welcome to the Black Rose, love... a small sanctuary for Dark Knights courtesy of our most honored Lord."
Cornelius lead her inside a bit more... there was a small hall indent right when you stepped in, carpeted in red. To the left and right were elevated platforms that housed most of the seating, while directly left was the bar.
Directly in front of her a few feet, were a flight of stairs.
"If you go straight up, Love, you will find a bath-room close to the resting quarters... feel free to clean up as you see fit.
I'll have a guard make sure no one bothers you... when you are finished, I'll be waiting for you here.
I'll see to it personally you get into the castle then."
With a small smile and bow, Captain Cornelius dismissed himself to the right, where he sat down on a rather comfy chair and began to converse with a pair of fellow knights.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 8:08 pm
She nodded and quickly made her way up the stairs. Indeed there was a guard waiting at the bathroom entrance. He gave her a curt, courteous nod and moved to the right to allow her access into the washroom.
It was a simple room. Sturdy, functional, and simple. Just as well. A drain in the ground. A large basin. Faucets for water. Towels. There was some soap and shampoo sitting on the sill of the window. A small crack between the window and the sill let wind in. She closed it and began to untie the ribbons on her sandals. One glance at her armored dress would imply that she would be forced to spend an entire hour to dismantle it. The Dollmaker was not that foolish. For her more 'personal' services, he created the buckles and buttons, belts and snaps to provide entertainment. For everything else, there were hidden zippers in the seams.
She took care of the clothes first, removing every article of it from her body and laying it flat against the tiled floor. Tactfully, she ran the largest of her seven calligraphy brushes, watching the dirt vanish where the bristles touched. Somewhere in the world, dirt would be appearing, courtesy of the law of matter conservation. Only when her armor was cleaned did she take care of herself.
Water never felt so good. Soap too. It seeped through the finer cracks into her skin and flushed away the grit of the road and battle, taking away the stench of her own sweat. Her long hair soaked in basin after basin of water as she lathered it with shampoo. The faucet ran freely over her head to wash the soap away and pound pressure into her scalp and shoulders. Wraiths could feel pain. She was sore all over from being broken into her new purpose.
There were bruises on her body but they were visibly fading. Within another five minutes, they would have vanished. It was not difficult to heal bruises. A towel thrown over her head and another around her body, she walked towards the window and opened it, letting the wind in. She stood in the space and looked out. Wasting a little bit of time was fine, surely... And the air felt nice on her skin. From the angle of the tilted-up window no one would be able to see her from below.
Her body felt so strong that her first life, as a mere human, felt like a dream out of another dream. It was a fairytale within a fairytale. Unimaginable. Her finger tip traced down her side, gliding down her ribs and navel, subtly tickly her hips until it reached her right thigh. The scar that read 'Hades' Butterfly' marked her... titled her. She was a piece made by the Dollmaker.
Her father's grotesque face ripped through her eyes all of a sudden...
So she hurridly retrieved her clothes and put them on, snugly clipping Asmodeus' Fang into her hair. Her sandals laced up securely. She checked herself in the mirror and checked her expression. Master must have the best. She can't look displeasing. Her heels clicking quietly, she descended the stairs to meet the captain once more.
I am a doll. I see nothing. I feel nothing.
I am a Servant. I want nothing. I merely obey.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 9:02 pm
"Well now love, don't we look stunning!"
Captain Cornelius met Nia with a fanged smile as he rose out of his seat, clearly impressed by the newly clean Knight.
"Why, you look much more like a Porcelain Doll that a killing Machine... Lord Fleur must want to collect you." He joked around and the few Knights he had been speaking to snickered among themselves lightly.
Captain Cornelius gave a slight annoyed look, his sharp senses catching what they were exactly snickering about.
He snapped his fingers and the three of them found themselves on the floor, practically unconscious.
"That will be enough of that... if there is one thing I refuse to tolerate is disrespect of out Lord."
Whatever Captain Ataire did, it was faster than a normal eye, or the unprepared could see.
Perhaps even faster than Nia could see.
"Would you care for some food or drink before we depart, love? there is still quite a bit of time for you left...
you did arrive slightly ahead of schedule after all."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 10:21 pm
Her eyes widened a mere fraction of an inch. These eyes that the Dollmaker made for her were modified to catch instances far beyond what was too fast for humans to process. She couldn't see what the Captain had done. It gave her reason to be afraid -- no, not afraid -- cautious of this man. Her long, slender fingers folded gently over each other... not directly in front as ladies would do, but slightly more towards her left thigh. It was yet another piece of habit. Servants of Lust were to show that they were open for 'access' at all times by never covering that portion of their bodies. However, the men did not make catcalls at her or treat her as a prostitute. She was expected to be treated as a lady from what the Captain had just done in favor of her treatment.
It was true, what he said. She looked stunningly beautiful. Her hair gleamed a brilliant sheen of almost light copper-toned silver over the soft, silky, French gray that sparkled with dew all the way down to her knees. It was still damp but quickly drying, not dripping on the floor at all. It was as if the water was being absorbed... or teleported in small quantities. It was all part of her eternal youth protocol, to return to the time she was designated whenever displace. It was why few things could leave marks on her body and why she never changed. Always, she would look the same. Dust, left on her long enough, would vanish as well... but it would have been slow. Even when the world crumbled to dust, she would look her same, pretty self... the unbreakable doll, Hades' Butterfly.
She descended the last step and kept behind Captain Cornelius. Would she be mistaken for his whore? It wasn't as if that mattered much. After all, she was to belong to her Master. Anyone who thought strangely of her Master could face Asmodeus' Fangs, but anyone else would not be of great consequence. Such were the ideas indoctrinated within Servants. The Captain was backing this Lord's orders... so he must think the same way she did of his superior.
"I will not trouble you unnecesarrily, Sir Captain." She dropped into yet another bow. It was not as courteous or as inconvenient as the first bow she presented to him. This one only required her to bend forward at her waist an accurate 45 degree angle, her left hand tucked behind her back, her right arm bent at the elbow and placed beneath her chest, across her ribs. The hand gesture was the same, with the two fingered point extending to the left and her wrist facing upwards. The pale flesh of the inside of her forearm was exposed in submissive gesture. These small details that she had mastered was what truly defined her as a doll capable of obtaining perfection.
She was not 'hungry' per se. Her stomach did not require much but she was in need of human flesh. Without it she cannot retain her form. Her body would slowly age and rot. Human flesh was what allowed her to keep her time-defying body... well... time-defiant. How was she supposed to tell him that? She could still go two more days before she would really feel the urge to kill the closest human and devour him. Her new Master would already have been informed of her need to feed on humans and would probably have prepared rations for her.
Other than that requirement, she did not need to eat. Certainly, she enjoyed sweet things and it would metabolize. However, she did not pass waste. Everything would be either converted into energy or reversed in time until it was as if she'd never eaten it, leaving her with only a sweet memory of an alternate reality. What she had eaten, if unmetabolized, would be discovered once again. A chef might find himself with one extra tart. A butcher might find himself one extra piece of meat. It was a mysterious phenomenon.
"If you should care for me to dine, however, I will do so with pleasure."
Lifting herself from her bow, she let her permanently melancholy eyes fall to his cheeks. She was taught to try not to make eye contact so it was natural for her to let her vision rest where most convenient otherwise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 18, 2010 3:08 am
Chaldrion appeared at a dirt road, leading into a large town lit by dim candle lamps. He rode Kur'grohm through the iron gates at the village's entrance, surveying the dim atmosphere. Villagers nearby stopped their tasks and looked up at him; some gaping their eyes and mouths wide, while others hid their faces. Chaldrion paid little heed to the peasants, as lowly as they were.
Venturing further into the village, Chaldrion found some townsfold inflicted by disease. He gave a hearty laugh as he passed lepers, men suffering from skin conditions, and beggars with festering boils. What a joy it was to see his god's work here. Stopping at what was umistakably an inn, Chaldrion dismounted and left Kur'grohm outside the facility unchained. The Daemon-horse had the intelligence of men, and would wait for his master's return without wandering.
Chaldrion climbed the stone steps to the tavern's doorway and he turned the knob. He opened the creaking wooden door and at once all eyes in the facility were fixed on him. Chaldrion stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The smell of death and rot choked the air inside the building and many choked and covered their faces from the knight.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 18, 2010 7:51 am
The stench of the new arrival caused her to lift her head slowly, the starlight-colored lashes rising so her eyes opened fully. Normally, she preferred to look at people through her eyelashes to minimize direct contact but this man was far too curious. After all, he smelled like walking food.
Rotten meat or rancid meat. Diseased or healthy. It mattered very little to her for she was a doll. 'Living' illnesses can't inconvenience her so she was immune to bacteria. Therefore any remotely humanoid flesh would do well to keep her immortal youth sustained. This man smelled like her last meal -- quite appetizing, in fact. She noticed that some rot put flavor in the meat.
No one in that tavern would believe that such an elegant lady would eat raw, rotten flesh.
She could sense his companion outside. It had a similar feel to herself, she noticed, but it was not the same. She, bound as a Servant was bound to obey the orders of her Master. That same obedience emanated from a creature outside the gates... yet it was not the bind of a Servant. If it was, the binding signature is of an arcane and discreet nature. She could not make out the physical nature of said bind. Unconditional loyalty was a concept that she had yet to learn. Her loyalty lay only with he that held her Command key.
It was only then that she noticed that she looked like a flaming cardinal among a flock of crows. She was the only one wearing what looked like normal clothes. Everyone else bore the same armor... or at least in similar styles. Her crimson robes, glittering with gold and rubies, stood out like a gem on an obsidian beach. Furthermore, her long hair put her at even greater odds. Self-consciously, she quietly stepped back behind the Captain as to find some comfort in escaping social interaction. For a Servant of Wrath, she was incorrigibly shy. She cast no shadow onto the ground.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 18, 2010 8:46 am
Chaldrion walked towards an empty table in the back of the room and sat facing the tavern's entrance and the crowds of villagers seated before him. He removed his helmet, laden with a pair of great horns and the symbol of his god painted on the front; a trio of circles linked into a triangle formation. Chaldrion set it down on the table before him, revealling his head wrapped in discolored leather. His face was hidden but for a single eye, which opened wide and pierced the gazes of those before him.
He scanned the masses with his yellow-grey eye. Most were villagers, though he spotted some individuals clad in pieces of armor, ragged and like his own, unpolished.
His eye was drawn to a female figure dressed in red, quite unlike the others in the tavern. She was not dirty or unkempt, but wore fine cloths of red laden with gems and gold. Her face was smooth and free of blemish, young and beautiful. Chaldrion tilted his head, curious as to what such a woman was doing in a place so... different?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 19, 2010 11:49 am
“Yadata…” When Djelani opened his eyes, he found the change in scenery to be a shock to the system. He hadn’t expected to be thrown into civilization so soon. After all, his travels had only taken him further into wastelands of several varieties and small villages filled with sickeningly sweet old witches. Sleepyknell was what he’d recalled was the name of this particular town. It seemed to be plunged into eternal darkness and reeked of death and disease, not so dissimilar than that of the marshes. True, his appearance wouldn’t have warranted as many stares as the Knights that had come before him, and no one at all even acknowledged his existence, as far as he knew.
The elf didn’t feel unusual. Throughout the pain and suffering that Sleepyknell appeared to house, Djelani felt that it was the closest place to home than anywhere else he’d ever been. By his personal experience, the very first task that he wanted to fulfill was to locate an Inn, to acquire information, to rest, and possibly, to eat. As he was, Djelani did not know exactly what his duties were, nor how to go about finding his superiors. He quickly regained his composure after the dreadstone’s journey and went off into the village.
It was unusually easy to find the Inn with all of the activity going on inside the village. Somehow, he felt like he was drawn to it, like he was being led there by the dreadstone he carried. Outside of the establishment stood a mighty best of a horse, obviously a demonic creation, complete with a multitude of eyes and withered skin, clad in the armor of a warrior. Djelani smiled when he saw the horse and acknowledged it, “A marvelously formidable beast, you are.” He did not know whether it could understand his words. “Your rider must be a powerful warrior, who I am sure is proud to have a mount as mighty as you.” A bit strange of the man to speak to someone else’s mount, but he had never seen anything like it and was impressed.
Upon entering the Inn’s tavern, Djelani did not at all receive the amount of stares that his fellow newly recruited knights would’ve gotten. He blended in well enough, but a daunting feeling itched at his mind like a headache. He felt the presence of other dreadstone holders, but could not even begin to tell who they were. The Tavern was crowded, but there were a couple of individuals who, like Djelani, did not fit the image of the other villagers. The very first ‘person’ that the elf noticed was the unavoidable giant muscular lump of a man sitting at the farthest edge of the room. That, Djelani thought, Is the right man to become acquainted with.
As bold as he was, he could not think of a better thing to do than to push through the crowd and take a seat opposite from the ‘giant’ at the very same table. “It is busy tonight, no?” Djelani said to him, in as friendly of a tone that he could muster. “I expect that you are the partner to the incredible mount tied to the outside. Much respect to you, sir.” He looked at the table, with the massive armor sitting upon it and then into the man’s partially covered face and at the eye that peeked from within it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 19, 2010 4:16 pm
"Oh my... Today is such a busy day, isn't it?
Captain Ataire said, looking toward the two newest arrivals... a rather repugnant behemoth, and a dark skin of elven variety.
"If you will excuse me, love... head to the bar for a snack if you wish, I'll have to greet these two Deathlord Slayers Personally."
Cornelius gave Nia a quick bow, walking calmly over to the two newest Dark Knight recruits.
He examined them closely as he made his way over to them, The Dark Knight Captain keen in his eyes as to their being.
They had Slain a Deathlord each, and as such, must be quite formidable.
"Greetings Gentlemen..."
The handsome Captain Ataire bowed to the both of them elegantly, calmly rising in his presentation.
"I trust you found your trip suitable from the Bulwark... My name is Captain Cornelius Ataire, and I will help you gain entry into the Dread Dialect."
The Pulled out a silver pocket watch from his armor, reading the time.
"We have quite a bit of time still... so I implore you to enjoy some food and drink before we meet the Lord of this land."
Captain Ataire was friendly in his manner of speech, but delicate to his status as the Superior of Sleepyknell.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
