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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Apr 9, 2008 16:43:43 GMT -5
Disraeli stalked slowly down the path. She had been back in Dominion a scant week from visiting foreign shores. The bright-red haired woman scowled at the thought of the Free Cities and her visits there. They had come up with almost nothing, other than she was not the Wildling she had originally thought. The entire pilgrimage had been close to worthless, and she had almost lost her entire Court to the Dothraki and the Sorrowful Men. Apparently, she had made some enemies. "Just imagine that," she muttered. But most importantly, while in the Free Cities, the woman previously known as Mehran Pharys had dropped her name and taken one more likely to fit with her heritage. She was now known as Disraeli. It was a name she felt fit her better, like a well-tailored glove fits the hand of the rogue. She had invested time into becoming the person she knew she must always have been--Disraeli the Rogue. In that sense, the four-month vacation to the distant shores had been profitable. But now, they were back.
The Court had arrived just in time for the gathering for the Gates of Summer. People from all over were known to show for a chance at frivolity and merry-making. Disraeli had made valuable use of the time. There had been much news to catch up on; since the Court had left Dominion over the winter months, Disraeli had missed much new information, and ravens do not fly over vast oceans. She had had to put up with the lack of information to gain her knowledge in the west. After arriving (in secret, of course) at the Gates of Summer, she had put most of her women and men to the task of finding out the news during their absence. Her new Second, Sidheag, had found out much having to do with the council of Dominion--namely, a new Lady added to the ranks. Lady Nyt, as she was known, had acceded to the ranks of the governing, a thought that Disraeli found entertaining to no end. Reikoku and Taka had found that the Night's Watch was back on the recruitment drive, attempting to fight back the dark wraiths of the North and their Emperor, Kratos. A new rag-tag group of vigilantes had been spotted by Pyra, led by a man who looked remarkably like the old King of Dominion, Aster. Disraeli chuckled at this thought, but knew that there was yet another group of good-doers she would need to avoid. And she had found almost no news of the front of the Myrkridian Infantry. But this was no surprise--the group was as old and as unmoldable as statues of the Stranger.
What Disraeli found to be most surprising, however, was the the King of Centrawoven had gone missing. A valuable youth named Kye had stepped up to lead, but questions abounded about King Zan. The young-but-aged leader had been missing for some time, and no one seemed to know his whereabouts. Disraeli was less than pleased about this occurrence. She had heard all sorts of nasty things--that he'd been murdered in his sleep by the new King Kye, that he'd gotten drunk and wandered off the cliffs that bordered Centrawoven Valley, that he'd ran away from the throne in a fit of uncontrollable rage. But all seemed to end with the same notion: Zan was dead. Disraeli chuckled at this. Rumors held that he'd been seen at the Gates of Summer, but no one could prove this. And besides, how does a dead man show his face anywhere?
No matter the truth, Disraeli was determined to find out. This was a common trait of the young woman. She would find out what there was to know, and hoard the information. Surely, the day would come when the knowledge would come in valuable, and she would sell it for the correct price. Disraeli never did anything that didn't prove to be beneficial for herself or her Court, and this would be no exception. True, she had had an exceptional fondness for King Zan, but that would not stop her from doing what she needed to do to survive. And since the Harem of Irye dealt in death and information, she had to bring in the gold somehow.
That brought her to where she was. Dominion and Centrawoven bordered very close to each other, and the realms actually overlapped in one place. As she shimmied over the fence at the back end of the Abandoned Frost farm, a wind came down off the hills.
[glow=blue,2,300]Give this up. Zan is dead.[/glow] Disraeli paused, shivering. The chill was not because of the coolness of the breeze. It was that the wind seemed to speak. And she had heard it. Narrowing her eyes, she scowled. Rubbing her djinneyeh bottle, she spoke. "Whatever magics you think you can work, don't challenge me. I have magic the likes of which you have never seen. I will not be thrown off this path." She placed one foot directly in front of the other, and kept along her way.
As she walked along, her thoughts became overridden with the thought of that voice. It was not often one heard whispers on the wind, and even less often that they were intelligible. And yet, she had definitely recognized those words. Words of warning and threat were one of her best talents, and she knew when something wanted her gone. "All the more reason to search." Disraeli never had been one to back down from a challenge.
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Post by Tormir on Apr 9, 2008 21:59:34 GMT -5
Tormir was steadily winging his way northward when a strong, fel wind buffeted him and pointed him off of his given path. He shook his head and stubbornly regained his bearings. Then he stopped in mid flight and beat his wings rapidly to hover. He froze suddenly and glanced around warily. He heard a voice on the wind, a mere whisper. It spoke of warning, of threats. He was celestial in origin having come from Valhalla's gates and new that such things were not to be taken lightly. He looked over his shoulder at the land which was swiftly fading from view as twilight closed on the lands. Dark clouds rose in the east and lightning leapt between clouds, much like the fickle nymphs who flitted in and out of view in the ancient forests of Centrawoven. Thunder growled and died, only to rise again. And all the while the whispers ran with the winds. He must eat. And soon. Else the bloodlust become to strong and the daemon overtake his mind again. He spotted a small outpost a few miles northwest and headed in that direction. Surely they wouldn't miss a horse and a traveler stopping for the night and disappearing by morning wasn't uncommon.... Was it?
The wind played about him as he neared his destination and the words flew wild and free. He looked east again and shook his head. A storm was coming. The old king was dead. King Zan was dead. He had disappeared and the blood angel intended to know why, how and if there was a way to bring him back. He had heard of a being who went about, being glimpsed here and there but never distinguishable. Some said they had heard him muttering about being "King of Nothing, King Nothing I am...." But these were rumors. Until proven otherwise at least.
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Raikes
Heroic Adventurer
The Mandy
All must hail the Siren Song
Posts: 158
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Post by Raikes on Apr 10, 2008 1:45:27 GMT -5
In a tree in the forest, a small sparrow felt the first drops of what promised to be a torrential downpour. The sparrow ruffled it's wings and settled back into its nest, content with the weather. Somewhere further down the tree, sat someone much much less inclined to agree with the bird's such casual acceptance of the rain. When the water started to splash her long black hair she muttered a curse or two, and ruffled her own feathers. She also stood up and hopped down to land not with bird feet, but with human ones. Raikes was not in a happy mood, she came here to get away from the bad weather, not to get more of it, gods above and below she was ready for summer, this winter and spring nonsense was getting extremely tiresome. She was ready to sunbathe on beaches and well...she couldn't really sing, damned Infantry that'd...finagled that deal out of her. Yeah, they were supposed to be the good guys? Oh please! They'd basically lied to her to get her to agree to stop her songs that tended to lure unsuspecting sailors to their rocky doom. It wasn't her fault, she liked to sing...and well...she had no control over the fact that people just...flocked to her. How was that her fault? Honestly? She sighed, and shook her hair back down in front of her face, letting it obscure her eyes and face as was customary in her human form.
"Damned rain, when will it be summer?" She muttered up to the sparrow, her voice had music in it, but so long as she didn't actually sing it was fine. She wasn't going to agree to go mute, after all. Not without some serious recompense anyways, and the likes of what she considered recompense the Infantry would never agree to give her but 'oh well, life is hard'. She headed toward the outpost, wishing that she'd just stayed there for the evening, but she'd been flying for quite sometime and she did enjoy it so. Thankfully she'd been unaware of the whispers on the wind, and even if she had heard them, she wasn't looking for anyone by any name, she cared not for the politics of the land, she only cared that people sailed the seas...or lakes...or rivers, well water was required to sail and she was happy with any rocky outcropping she could get at the moment, even if it was only for a good sunning.
Perhaps she might just get lucky and see a ship run aground, they did that from time to time. Sailors could be so stupid when they saw land...or had been out to sea for too long and well, things could always get a bit rocky. She just loved it. "I should just stop thinking about ships. It's gotten me so wonderfully far, in finding some shelter." She muttered darkly, her voice carrying off on the wind, she sounded like the finest music box brought to life, even if she didn't look like it. Raikes was all lank hair and torn cloth, with fingers that resembled talons more than human digits. One step at a time, as she picked her way through the trees, trying to get to the outpost...or some form of shelter. Perhaps even the abandoned farm house. It would be shelter and much fewer questions that way, and it was a lot closer than the outpost.
Since meeting up with the god forsaken, perhaps they weren't forsaken and that's what gave them their abilities, Infantry, Raikes had had a bit of an issue with humans. She liked to be the cause of their death and if she couldn't by the gods above she would avoid them if she at all could. If she had to she could build a fire, burn the whole forest down if it kept her warm. She thought she heard some movement a few times ((which would be Dis)), but shook it off, lost in her own mind, as she wandered toward the farm, not knowing that there were two other people so close by.
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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Apr 10, 2008 8:48:51 GMT -5
((I godmod. If you don't like it, take it up with me in PM and we'll resolve the issue accordingly.))
Disraeli paused and immediately fell into a defensive position. She heard a voice, one with a twinge of music. Under any normal circumstances, she would stop to listen to a fellow traveller with the gift of song. But it was pouring rain, in the middle of the cold spring night, and seven gods forgive her, there was just something wrong with that picture. Her eyes narrowed, and she instantly began using the rest of her senses. Her ears told her this person was less than ten yards away. Her nose told her that the intruder upon her peace was not from this area--she smelled of waters that Disraeli had sniffed only on a ship destined overseas. Ferys was long dead, or he could have told her exactly what the foreign was, if he'd known. She felt a twinge of sadness at that thought, but let it go. Right now, her own defense was most important, and damn to the deep anything that stood in the way of her own safety. But silence; whatever had been muttering was quieted.
Taking out her priceless amethyst dagger, she stalked the creature. It was not of a mortal ken, a fact which would have worried Disraeli, had she not been in such a huntress's mood. She scurried behind a tree, but did not take her eyes off of the sight. There, in a semi-sparse clearing, stood a woman of dark hair and demi-tanned skin. It appeared as though the winter months had not been as forthcoming with the sun for this creature, though; where tan skin was to be, there was only a fair lightness. And the think stank of Myrkridian, a scent Disraeli hated with every inch and fiber of her being. Nothing was as despicable as a Kritter, not even the filthiest of Disraeli's own Court, the Untouchables. That group of soldiers had been the single most destructive force in Disraeli's demise at the War of the Iron Fist. The Mistress of Murderers felt her hot blood run like lava, and curiosity of just what this thing was blazed inside her. For the woman did not look like a Myrkridian.
Raikes stood, glaring in the direction of Abandoned Frost farm. Her long nails danced through her hair, clearing it of the water droplets that so weighed her down. "Will this infernal rain never end?" she muttered angrily. She, like most of her ken, loved water--when it stayed the seven hells off of her. Disraeli watched this being set off for the farm house, and was quite dismayed. She had just come from that direction, and was not quick to backtrack. the young woman scurried up a tree to keep a better sight of her quarry. The creature with talon-hands heard a brief noise, but assumed it was her sparrow friend. Disraeli almost chuckled; she was being quite careless and yet still was sneaky enough to avoid detection.
Unfortunately, it was this easy over-confidence that led to her fall. Quite literally, Disraeli fell out of the tree. After a dead branch had cracked under her foot, she came crashing down from the safe haven of blooming branches, thwacking her head on most every branch on the way down. She felt a few strands of red hair separate from her scalp, but that was the least of her pain. In a quick assessment of her situation, she found a pulled hamstring, a cracked rib, and more scratches, bumps, and soon-to-be bruises than she had time to count. Nonetheless, she yanked her dagger from its beautiful sheath. She threatened the being with all her might. "Name yourself, and your intent!" she demanded, right before the rest of the branch came down on her cranium. She stutter-stepped and shook her head, but tried not to give into the daze that threatened to overtake her.
When she gained control again, she glared at Raikes. "Now!"
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Post by Sir Zan Centrawoven on Apr 10, 2008 9:22:25 GMT -5
The nomad muttered to himself as he drew his tattered blanket closer as the damnedable rain began pelting his matted hair. He muttered a lot lately. Was it lately? How long was it? Who or why? Didn’t matter. Did it? No, no, of course not. They only want him to think it mattered. Yeah. It’s them again. Always watching. Have to hide. Can they see me? No, no…not in this place. This place is safe.
He hunkered down and rested his throbbing head against the rotting wheel of a broken down cart…or wagon…or something. Damned farms. But this wasn’t a farm anymore, no no no no, the farmer is gone, yes. Probably off raping his daughters like all farmers do. They do that, right? Probably. Prolly? I slur my own thoughts now?! Oh come now, I’m not crazy yet. Sharp as a tack, yes yes yes!
With deadly precision, he flung his trusty gladdius, or a salad fork as some would call it, across the yard to embed it neatly into the door of the caved in farmhouse. Yes, still sharp as a tack. Still kill a man with a toothpick and a fish bone! Yes, still. Still. Be still. Be still! They’ll see me move! They’re watching. Them again.
His bloodstained clothing might have worn out a while ago, but there’s no telling. The rain began collecting in puddles around him, soaking his backside to match his front side. An added benefit, though the thought never occurred to him, was that this rain may very well wash some of the stink off of him.
With a shout of terror and madness, he lurched away from the rotted wagon and the pooling rainfall, diving toward the door of the dilapidated farmhouse. He needed his gladdius fork. He must be armed against…against the world. He snatched the handle of the finely crafted eating instrument and tore it from the rotten wood before presenting its sharpened prongs at any blade of grass that dared threaten him. As soon as he was satisfied that no assassins lay in waiting for him from a hidden trap under the grass, he shouldered his way through the rotten door and flopped down beside the gaping chasm he had just forged. Content with being out of the rain, he promptly fell asleep, snoring loudly.
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Post by Tormir on Apr 10, 2008 11:22:58 GMT -5
((ooc: I promise not to godmod too horribly))
As Tormir flew onward, the wind pelting the rain at his face, he heard two cracks of wood very close to each other. His head whipped to the side and he spotted a small farm, very desolate and barren. Virtually devoid of life. But not wholly. He could smell their blood. And one of them had the smell of the sea! Perhaps it was a northman come on a raid. Then he could learn of the lands of ice. He could learn of the Gods doings away from him. Then again, perhaps not. Who knew, who knew. One way to find out. He winged his way towards the farm and spotted a black hair figured standing in a clearing and a red haired figure standing there with a purple dagger drawn. She was demanding the black haired one, who's muttering voice held a twinge of music, name herself and her intent. It seemed to be going rather poorly. He decided that it was best to land now and set an example.
He dropped to the ground with practiced ease and lightening flared bright casting his silhouette over the ground between the figures. The red haired one's eyes flashed in his direction briefly before going back to her current target. At least they appeared to... Could have been a trick of the light. He thought he heard snoring, but that could have been a trick of the wind blowing through the pine boughs. He raised a hand in the traditional Norse sign of peace. And then he spoke, baritone voice bellowing over the wind, like the sound of some lost God but carrying on it the mark of his damnation just enough to instill a hint of sorrow and fear in the hardest of hearts.
"I am Tormir and I come in peace." He bowed to each of them. "I come seeking peace and a place in the world. I've only come here seeking me. I have been damned and blessed by my Gods, but that is a tale for a hearth and merrily dancing fire. Perhaps I could learn of who you are, of your own intents and purposes. I am a God Skald. And if you know a place, I can fetch us a room and food for but a song."
As the tan, black headed figure continued to mutter and he heard the music on her voice, he named her for what she was. He raised his cowl and hid his face. He now realized he had met the red headed figure before, once when the daemon controlled him and once when he was more himself. His broad bladed sword sprang into his hand and his eyes rolled back in his head only to resurface a pale silver in color. He would again have to hunt, and soon. For if she had goodly intents and purposes, his duty to Thor must be done. He had received duties from each of the Gods and he aimed to fulfill them. And destroying abominations like these..... Perhaps he was wrong. He hoped he was. Not that he ever truly trusted to hope. It seemed to have forsaken him long ago. Both hands on the hilt, he raised the sword to the sky and neatly flipped it, bringing it point first down in front of his face, his eyes glinting with it's passing. He growled as his blood hunger twinged. And the rain drove onward, showing little signs of lessening.
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Raikes
Heroic Adventurer
The Mandy
All must hail the Siren Song
Posts: 158
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Post by Raikes on Apr 10, 2008 11:57:20 GMT -5
Raikes, wasn't happy to see all of these....people. She had almost been ready to state her name and purpose before she was joined by something more...well whatever he was. She tilted her head to one side, "Name's Raikes, and I'm looking for a place to stay for the evening away from the likes of the living." She said, her voice melodic even as it was angry, no more muttering, now she was actually speaking to them instead of ignoring them. Her hands stayed by her sides, merely watching the one with the dagger, and then her little friend. She hated this, here she was...getting wet...and for what? The one red head fell out of a tree and was trying to make up for her fall, and the other one...well she didn't know or care what the gods he was on about. That one seemed to take issue and they BOTH had weapons drawn on her.
"Now...if you all would excuse the likes of me, I have no ill intent toward you, and frankly I just want to get somewhere dry to get warm for the evening, and I'm going to that farmhouse there. I've not drawn weapons on either of you, and I am bound by my word to never use my song to kill another. So please if you don’t mind, put your weapons away or leave me alone." She stated, glaring through the mat of hair that covered her face from nose up. She picked up the ends of her hair and wrung them out like one would a piece of cloth. Without another word she turned and headed toward the farmhouse, having no use for them.
She had no weapons save for her talons, and the fact that she could shape shift into her more birdlike counterpart. Which if push came to shove at least she could go back to Dominion to the lake and get out of these…people’s hair since it seemed to Raikes that they had such a problem, at least they didn’t jump out and try to kill her there. Then they would be blissfully out of hers and her life could go on uninterrupted with threats and weapons. She could feel the water seeping down through her skin, she wanted to get warm, and she still had about half a league out? She couldn’t really tell so well in the dark, but she also had the bad habit of using nautical terminology, she was a creature used to dealing with ships and not…beings. They usually washed up on her shores dead for her to feast on like a carrion crow. She loved the feast that came after a good night, but that wasn’t what she could do anymore, so it was rabbit, dear…small game.
How low she had fallen! She thought to herself, still walking, ‘Wonder what the two of them were on about, why threaten the first person you see in the forest…’ She shook her head as she walked, never mind she was not a person in the strictest sense, she had a feeling that the one who could FLY wasn’t one either, but oh well. She really shouldn’t focus on these things, it would trouble her sleep. She reached the edge of the farm and picked her way through the field that surrounded it, and by the cart that if it had been lighter out she could have seen what appeared to be a depression from someone sleeping, but it was dark. Too dark for her to use her good vision, it was worthless in the dark, she wasn’t a ruddy owl or anything like that.
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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Apr 10, 2008 21:30:38 GMT -5
Disraeli's eyes narrowed. Things were certainly taking a twist now. Here was Tormir, that disrupter extraordinaire. He seemed to appear everywhere; if Disraeli didn't know better, she would have pegged him responsible for the disappearance of King Zan. "Tormir!" she hissed, pointing her dagger his way. "You wretch! What do you want here?!" She was so angry he had came and interfered with her quarry. For all she knew this "Raikes" and Tormir were in cahoots against Zan. Disraeli made it personal policy never to trust anyone who didn't owe her a favor. Many asked why she was so paranoid, and there was one simple answer: she had never been proven wrong.
She noticed a movement from her peripheral vision. Raikes was walking away, muttering to herself again. Disraeli scowled and glared at Tormir. "Wretch! We will settle this another time. Count yourself lucky." With a last scathing look, she turned from him and ran through the underbrush of the forest. Her leather boots kept her feet safe from the thorns and thistles of the unkempt forest floor, but her arms were full of scratches now--from branches and from falling from the tree. This made for a very unhappy redheaded woman. But she continued to run. She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to get to Abandoned Frost farm first. She quickly overtook Raikes in the distance, and stopped watching for Tormir. Her cloak, now ripped and muddy, flew behind her, but the green hue kept her well covered in the dark woods. She kept her hood up and her steps silent.
When she finally reached the fence she had climbed through not a half-hour before, she jumped over the top of it without a second thought. It was no easy task, since the fence was five feet tall, but she had to claim the house and lands as her own. She ran to the dilapidated front porch and stood on it, hands on hips, defiantly. Her demeanor dared the other two to try to take over what was rightfully hers. Maybe she would allow them rest space, maybe not. She did not notice, immediately, the holes the spines of a fork made in the door of the house, nor the near comatose body laying inside. The wind whispered words she ignored. Dark wings came in on the horizon, signaling Tormir's oncoming. And Disraeli heard the music approaching.
Snnn! Sppp...
Disraeli whirled and yanked her dagger from its sheath once again. She had heard a most obvious snore. The front door to the house was open, and inside was a raggedy looking creature. Disraeli held up her djinneyeh bottle, which was a natural light-giver, and moved closer to the sleeping form. She walked silently, knowing how dangerous it was to sneak up on a stranger asleep. The green bottle bounced light off of a shiny object, and Disraeli discerned a fork with short tines and broad base. Salad fork? she wondered. But it had been sharpened to a deathly point, and she did not envy the man who launched himself to the business end of it.
But he looked somewhat familiar. The gaunt face, rags, and smell hid his identity, but Disraeli was the Queen of Disguises. "Oh my Seven Gods..." she muttered, awed.[/color]
((WAIT for Zan to post now.))
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