A Storm to Remember (Closed)

[Shadowfang]

Shadowfang was awoken by the feeling of little feet crossing over his legs. The sight that met him as he opened his eyes was a welcome one. Rats were scuttling everywhere, all running in one direction. He had opted to take a nap in the alley for a while and was happy for the free breakfast crawling all over him. Striking out, he managed to grab one of the rodents by the tail and lifted it up to drop in his mouth. Suddenly, his sensitive ears noticed something. There was an ominous rumbling in the distance, almost like thunder only... different, more dangerous. Shadowfang dropped the rat into his mouth anyway and instantly regretted it. It tasted like feces. Fresh feces.

He stood. The storm, or whatever it was, sounded like it was getting closer every second. Perhaps it would be best to seek some form of shelter and maybe some information while he was at it. A tavern. That's where he would go. He hated social situations and places with too much noise, and everyone else hated him, but there were always loose tongues at taverns and if he was inconspicuous enough then perhaps no one would pay him any heed. He let out a low growl as he turned his dull red eyes toward the sky. It was far too bright for him to be awake and with the storm coming it would be too dangerous to take to the air so he wrapped his wings around himself and began the trek towards the Pig's Foot tavern.

As he entered the head of almost every patron turned towards him, some looked at him with curiosity, some with hate, others didn't care. Shadowfang shiftily made his way over to the corner and leaned against the wall. Most of the patrons had already lost interest in him and returned to their drinks, but Shadowfang kept an eye on the ones who still examined him. Settling himself, he listened to the conversations around him, waiting to hear anything he could use. A specific conversation caught his attention, not the conversation, so much as the people who were talking. A Human, a Myrian, and... some other creature. He had read about them before, but couldn't remember what they were called. Konti? Shrugging, he decided that whatever conversation that went on between the three in this odd group of races would be interesting to hear.

[Wrenmae]

Location: Temple of the Unknown The first day of Spring brought a whisper of life to Sunberth. Flowers had not yet sprouted, stubbornly clinging to their loam and soil, fear of flat feet and clumsier muscle plucking life before life could thrive. Today, Wrenmae was himself, the first time in what seemed like forever. Something about the peace in the air placated Shroud, who had become steadily quieter as the days had progressed. His goals had been sighted, and he was content in the power he held over the body he resided within. Weaver came only when least expected, carving out evenings for rampage and ruckus, leaving only foggy memories behind. But no, today he and Ana had come to the Temple of the Unknown to offer prayers. It was a strange thing, the Temple. In all his time through Sunberth, the storyteller had never visited its ancient depths. The people treated it with a sort of unsaid reverence, and even stealing from the inside was treated with a kind of silent solemnity. Even thieves had their gods and goddesses, despite their insistence that they hadn’t. So it was today that he knelt before a torn tapestry, the remnants depicting some standing figure long lost to rot and looters. It seemed as good a place as any to pause, and he did so. This was a temple to storytellers, despite its intended purpose. Now, men could only guess at the use it had before, what god it enshrined, what point it served. Only the storyteller, a fictional weaver, could breathe life into what is only ruins and dusty grandeur. Ana was behind him somehow, but he paid her no mind. Today was one of quiet reflection on his life, the tangled paths it wove, and the darkness that had taken root in his heart. “I pray to the architects of this place,” he said, his voice echoing in the mostly empty place, “That their will be made manifest one day and show us the meaning of why they sculpted this temple, wove these tapestries.” He fell silent again, pensive. Shroud offered a prayer to Vayt, the ever present tester of strength…Weaver only marveled at the hidden history here, already working on a tale to bind such themes into something just ridiculous enough to be entertaining and just vague enough to be believable. More and more, Wrenmae was not a master of himself. He was only a voice among many. Outside, a distant clang of metal on shield rose through the empty temple, echoing from distant places and breaking the solemnity of his visit. Wrenmae looked up sharply and back, to Ana, and beyond, “Warning?” He said, a question to Ana, “What’s going on?”

[Mok]

"Maybe not gold or silver, but anyone can be bri-" Mok couldn't even finish responding to Lessira when a familiar voice echoed over his shoulder. Mok didn't recognize it right away, but the voice called him by name. A woman's voice too.

Mok's eyes lit up when he saw that the voice turned out to be one of his old Crimson sister, "Zandelia! You live! I should have known it was your snappy tongue." Standing up, the myrian clasped forearms with his friend and grinned at her one eye.

He had almost forgotten about Lessira. The myrian had accidently drowned out the konti's timid introduction and now her face was full of emotion. Mok couldn't tell what she was feeling. Although he considered himself good at reading body language, he was never good with judging women. Mok reckoned that it would be too complicated to try to figure it out. Leave women for women.

"Lessira, this is Zandelia, a member of the Crimson Edge. We used to work together, but she had some business to do and has finally returned," Mok put his arm playfully around Zandelia's neck, "She is real Sunberthian and real Crimson Lessira, you can trust her."

Spinning around the myrian let go of his friend and introduced her, "Zandelia. Lessira, she is my gal pal, I am showing her the ropes of Sunberth."

Letting the two women gossip and whatnot, the myrian walked towards old Merv to order some drinks. A great plan popped in Mok's mind. He was going to start of the day right. A breakfast of champions. Mok was in the tavern for less than ten minutes and he was already making plans to get plastered. He didn't even think twice of the consequences. This was the half-blood’s life and he loved it.

"Merv, a bottle of the usual. Also I'll be renting the balcony room for the rest of the night." Removing the required coinage from his purse, the myrian gave the barkeep the coin. Merv winked and nodded. The myrian was a regular and the barkeep knew he wouldn’t try anything. Plus, the myrian always paid upfront at the tavern. Mok wanted good business with Merv.

Anyways, with bottle and key in hand, the myrian returned to the table. This gave the girls about two or three minutes of juicy conversation. Instead of trying to enter their talk, Mok slid in and interrupted them.

"Oi! I got a nice bottle her and the key to the balcony? Why don't we go sip on some of this upstairs? I want to hear your story in privacy Zandelia!"

Mok winked at Lessira and immediately turned towards the stairs, assuming that both women would follow. Unknown to both of them, the myrian had more sinister plans than just hearing Zandelia's story.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Zandelia]

oocI decided to elave Zandelia's story until we are on the balcony and in private. It didn;t feel right saying it to the whole tavern in her current mood. So feel free to respond with whatever you wish and get them to the balcony. After that I'll chip back in with the rest of he story and Mok can get the cycle of posts going again after that

Zandelia could not bring herself to share Mok’s sense of wondrous enjoyment, his vitality and way of life both simple and, at the same time, quintessentially elegant. He enjoyed the moment, lived for the call of battle and found numerous pathways to further those two ends. Zandelia had been as he was once, if slightly more fulfilled by clandestine practises than by the ringing of metal upon metal. Still, she had felt her heart swell with adrenaline and become one with the sprays of red, the crunch of bone, with wilful abandon. Now, however, she was not sure she would be of much use in a fight if the opportunity arose. It was not to say she would not try, nor even be successful after a fashion, but more that it did not hold the same relish as it once had. Still, she put on a small smile for the giant whom encircled her shoulders before mincing off towards the bar, spirits much lifted.

At least I still affect others for some good. More pity them she thought as she took her seat opposite the other woman and got her first really detailed observation of her form. She was a Konti.

Zandelia let the silence reign for a number of moments as she studied her new companion, for want of a better term. She was classically beautiful as all of her kin were, a fact which Zandelia had learnt from the bitterest of experience. It was not the other woman’s fault, she knew, however flashes of memory accrued upon the island city of Mura were impossible to stop inside her head. Elegance beyond measure, eyes so beautiful they were beyond measure. She had left that place behind for reasons beyond the failed quest to get her eye healed, she had left as it had been a constant hammer blow to her self-esteem. Zandelia had always thought herself to be attractive, if not beautiful, but she had been proven wrong in her assumptions in the harshest way possible. Now, back in her city of grime and death, there was another presence to remind her of her fallacies. She shook her head as she took in the woman, a dark grimace flashing across her lips as she plucked up the self-control to break the silence.

“So...you and Mok are together are you then?” she decided to lead with, direct and to the point so she could establish the necessary boundaries, “he is a good man and no one would like to see him hurt. Treat him well or someone else will” she ended, leaving it up to the other woman to decide if that were Zandelia or not. Misdirection brought more information than truth she knew, investigation her priority now.

Hey gaze took in the other people around them, shifting this way and that as she also used the opportunity to discern more of the Konti before her. She saw a fragile woman, but more than in the physical sense. There was a sadness that mirrored Zandelia’s own and a withdrawn aura around her that spoke of a cloak between Lessira and the rest of the world. She had noted how she had shifted closer to Mok upon her arrival and could only assume she saw him as a protector as well as companion. It was a weakness the unscrupulous would exploit, one which Zandelia would have done had she not been with the barbarian warrior. In some ways it was probably for the best Mok was with her, keeping her safe.

I just hope she doesn’t get him bloody killed. I need all the allies I can get was the chief thought, self-centred and calculating.

“Well, at least he picked a good woman hmm? Pretty, delicate, what more could a man want?” she stated, the compliment tinged with a slice of melancholy as she drank a larger portion of her beverage than was needed. It was as she took in Lessira’s body, her desires still not immune to her curves, that the mark found upon an old acquaintance’s life met her gaze.

“But...not a Konti? Something more perhaps? There was a man I knew once, a season or two back now, who wore such a distinctive emblem about his person. Only he was no man to be sure. He had no memories and a yearning for knowledge and purpose...” she let her words trail off, looking the woman closely in the eyes now to watch for any telltale signs of recognition, or deflection.

Mok was still busy at the bar as the Konti woman became infinitely more fascinating to the novice intelligencer. Still, silence reigned across the table and Zandelia felt as if she were merely speaking to the air.

[Cade]

Location: Pig Foots Tavern

The berthian barbarian stumbled down from a rented room above the tavern he had spent all night in celebration of V day. Most were in dark moods as such a day was in remembrance of atrocities of the past but Cade used it for a an excuse to indulge in excessive drinking and merry making. The merry making was evidence by the two paid whores that followed in his wake, just as intoxicated and satisfied as the man they laid with all night and morning.

As Cade entered the main area his eyes fell upon his cousin and two female companions that were somewhat blurred to him at this distance. His hesitation at the stairwell entrance let the two half nude whores catch up and press their bodies against the savage warrior, bare breasts blessing his studded leather armour. His signature wolfish grin formed upon his sweated face, his belly seeking nurishment and drink.

His right hand pointed out to his kin " YOU!!!" His voice echoed the tavern with a deep tone myrian accent " UGLY AS EVER!" Hes guts ruptured in laughter in jest of Mok. " Come bring your whores to me and lets drink and eat before you start your day of...... not satisfying their needs" he commanded.

The half blood myrian lead his entaruage of two to the closest table waving to the barmaids to bring his usual. They knew the brute only tasted for the honey wine and he had only needed to signal to get his horn filled. Now he waited for Mok to join him so he could get a better look at who he is keeping company with.

[Ana Sol Starris]

Location: Temple of The Unknown Following Wren into the temple, Ana halted after passing and shutting the ancient doors behind her to take in her surroundings. The building was old, decrepit and falling apart but held a strange peace about its hall of an unknown god, or goddess, what deity could have possibly been worshipped in Sunberth that could have made a building feel so serene before the town itself became the famed anarchy city known today? The origin did not matter to Ana, but she was glad for it as the temple had acted as a sort of safe hiding area on many previous accounts before this, to actually visit the building instead of hiding inside its calm halls. Walking to be behind Wren as he was praying, or so it seemed, she stared up at the tapestry with a scrunched up expression before locating a spot she could sit. Spotting a nearby pew, she began to lounge on it. Ana wasn't religous, and nor would she formally, openly, pray in front of others. Getting comfy on said pew, with her arms crossed and a leg dangling back and forth lazily. Ana pondered about the gods and their purpose in the world, if she should worship like others did? Her brother had warned against it, to not be like a sheep.. Exhaling tiredly the thought was rather annoying as it lead to controversial matters Ana had no real experience in. Switching her thoughts from that to Dira, the goddess of death that Kreig had told Ana about days past. Had the goddess taken good care of her brother when he had passed? Ana hadn't bothered to ask Kreig that day.. But she hoped so, silently mumbling the question outloud. Lolling her head to look at Wren, eyes half open, his voice was oddly placed in the building and she wondered if maybe others were listening in. The thought normally would have made her alert, paranoid, but this wasn't a place that invoked that feeling and nor was the temple a place of violence. Things would be fine, she felt secure nothing terrible would happen to them in here, and the temples spell was already lacing itself around her, so she relaxed. It was when Anas mind began to drift that the clang of metal, maybe even thunder rang outside the walls, for a few moments Ana thought she was just hearing things and thus shrugged it off. Wrens voice was almost misplaced as his words mingled about Anas fogged ears, but she grumbled a sleepy reply "dunno," before turning on her side and drifting, her voice trailing on her words "place 's suppose' to be.. safe.." then she drifted off, half asleep. Dream like images of flying putzed across her closed eyelids, the whipping of the wind passing by her face, inviting her in to fall even deeper asleep, before they shook, crumbled and dissipated into creatures of horror, blood spatters and darkness, sounds of violence, clashing words of animosity echoed in the little thiefs sleep state. How real were they in the awake and conscience world? It had not occurred to Ana, that her companion, Wrenmae, could leave her inside the temple for doing something so silly as sleeping if he deemed it necessary. But a small voice tugged at Ana to wake up, coaxing her to break through the nightmarish onslaught parading through her brain, causing her limbs to twitch ever so lightly when something came out of the black at her. Wren : Shake her, abuse her, leave her, do what ya' want to get her awake (or not. )

[Xavior Silhouette]

Early Morning Spring 1 513AV Temple Of The Unknown oocFor those in the Temple. I was gone before y'all arrived. Xavior lay asleep, like the dead, on the dirty ground of the chapel. The bottle of ale stood alone, half drunken much like Xavior. He snored loudly and enjoyed the euphoria of sleep after a great night of celebration. Though his peace was abruptly broken when he felt someone kick his side firmly. The body jerked with the strike and rolled over onto it's back. Light had barely begun to show through the broken windows, yet Xavior's form had shifted. As his eyes cracked through the crust of sleep, he found that even the dim light was to much to handle. "Wake up!" A familiar voice of the beggar man rang in his ears. Xavior only mumbled something before he received another blow to the side. "Get up you petching drunk before I plunge my dagger deep into your side!" This got Xavior's eyes to shoot open and scuttle away across the ground. "Tsk, for a man who isn't afraid of death, you sure move fast when threatened with it. Or perhaps you aren't the same person we enjoyed a great celebration with?" All the information made Xavior's head spin. He sat up and found that he had nothing but a loincloth on. But as his hands moved over his form, a more pressing matter presented himself. He didn't intend to stay in the city over night but now that he did, he'd have to deal with whatever consequences flowed his way. "I...I can explain." "I'd hope so, we don't take to kindly to Ziths." The man's face was covered in dirt and grime, yet his stern eyes cut through the soil like the dagger in his hand. There were others, people Xavior only half recognized. Perhaps his generosity the night before had grown bigger then he remembered. "Who are you and where is Xavior?" The man pronounced the name in one syllable. "I am Xavior," this got a hushed murmur from the small group and a hardy chuckle from the man. "No you are not, Xavior wasn't a Zith. I've had many beatings in my life and last night was minor. No, my eyes did not deceive me. Where are your horns then?" The man kneeled down to look at Xavior closer. "It is hard to explain, look I can prove to you that I'm Xavior. You told me your real name last night." Xavior remembered a part of the conversation they had before he became to drunk to remember. He motioned with his hand to have the beggar come closer. When he did he whispered into the man's ear, "Azrael Charles." There was a brief pause as the man remained hunched over Xavior's body. The stoic but serious face soon turned to a great smile. Azrael's hands moved to give a quick hug before he stood back up. "You are full of surprises aren't you Xavior?" Xavior didn't reply right away, his eyes followed Azrael's dagger until it was placed back into a hidden holster. When it was sheathed he breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled, "So uh, where are my clothes?" There was a soft, collective chuckle before Azrael clued Xavior in, "You kept complaining it was too hot and took them off. I have them here." Azrael said as he dipped his hand under some rubble and pulled out the leather pants and jacket. He tossed them over to Xavior, "here you go brother." "Brother? I do not think I have brothers." Xavior questioned as he too stood and began to put back on his clothes. "We're all brothers and sisters here, you have no home, we have no home. You're broke, we're broke, it is a hard knock life." There was another chuckle before Azrael adopted a more serious tone, "though we think it is going to get much much harder pretty soon. Brother James spotted the rats acting strange. They are headed underground." "Isn't that what they usually do? Rats live underground right?" Xavior crooked his head before he jumped and felt something heavy land on his shoulder. His wings flapped as he yelled and looked to find what had fallen. When he looked to the floor he watched as a large rat began to run out a hole in the wall. "That was, bold." His words trailed off as he came to the realization of what Azrael meant. "Yeah, real bold. Too bold. Either there are invisible forces on the move, or we are surrounded by the biggest gangs of Sunberth! Either way, it can't end well. The later usually leaves us alone, but the former." "Well what do you suppose we do?" Xavior pulled up his pants a bit more. The leather hung loose on his body. "It's obvious Xavior. We follow them," Azrael began to walk away and hugged a group of beggars, a family from what it looked like, and shooed them off. "Follow them Xavior, they'll lead you to safety. I have to help spread the word, something is up and I don't want to be around to find out what it is." Xavior nodded and gave Azrael a firm hug, "I know where to find you when this is over. I'll meet you there. Be well Azrael." He departed the temple and followed the family. They skittered through the alleyway, Xavior behind the children, slower than them as he adjusted his wings under the jacket. His pack jingled with a bit of coin and glass, emptier than what it usually would be. His crossbow was slung across his back, a pouch full of bolts near by. The mother turned and waved for Xavior to hurry. Xavior had to stop a moment to catch his breath. He looked over down through a tight alley and was met with a stern gaze from another man. Xavior wasn't sure what was up and a look of fear crossed his face. He began to run after the family, following the beggars of the streets to supposed safety. If their premonitions were wrong, it would still be a fun adventure to tell to Leth in person of his adventures. Shortly after his eyes met the gaze of the man, a loud, metallic chime rang through the city. The mother with much more urgency told Xavior to hurry. Xavior didn't know what was going on, but he could tell by the increasing number of people moving through the alleys this wasn't a normal occurrence.

[Blayze]

Blayze was lying outside the Pig's Foot, face down on the ground, hidden behind a barrel, snoring loudly into the mud. She could have been mistaken for a drunken boy if it wasn't for that prominent rear of hers. Passers by made no comment, nor looked at all surprised by the unconscious Konti. It was Sunberth. It was normal. What wasn't normal was the searing ache that set her head throbbing when she regained consciousness, face pressed into the mud. A groan escaped her and she pushed herself up with her hands, letting out a hiss as light stabbed through her eyes, lightning bolts of pain ricocheting about her skull. Her arms wobbled, but she managed to hold herself up. Stifling a whimper, she pushed back, momentum pulling her upwards. She bent her legs at the knee, setting back to sit on her feet, kneeling in the muck. She wiped at her face, cursing when she realised she was probably wiping more dirt on than she was off. She was cut off half way when her own words vibrated through her ears into her head, setting the ache burning with renewed vengeance. She bit her lip, one hand on her head, and, gripping the rim of the barrel in front of her, stood, if albeit, shakily. "How the petch do I always manage to get into these sort of situations? I mean, by Avalis, why couldn't I have seen this coming? Might have been handy if I'd been clairvoyant instead of all touchy-feely-trusty weird. Ow. Talking hurts." From a distance, she looked as if the sun had tanned her skin. Up close, it could be seen that it was actually dirt smeared across her face. Somehow, her ever-present black eye make up survived, her jade irises still smouldered under the black lashes. She tried to fix her bangs, unaware that bits of dirt clung to her hair like maggots to rancid meat. She blinked, head throbbing. The sun hurt her eyes too much, which in turn hurt her head, so she made her way toward the door, praying to Rak'keli that it wouldn't last too long. The dirt-covered Konti pushed the door open, the warm, alcohol stained air hitting her like a slap to the face. She walked slowly in the direction of the bar, unaware of the mud smeared across the thighs of her leggings and bottom edge of her corset. The neck of her blouse, circling around her shoulders, had somehow remained clean. She climbed onto a barstool, leaning her elbows on the bar and cradling her head in her small hands. She mumbled softly to herself, cursing her lack of memory of the night before. Of course, few would understand what she said even if they could hear her. It was all spoken in Kontinese.

[Aerika]

The small kelvic girl walked down the streets trying to think of something she wanted to drink. Feeling a sudden chill running down her spine, Aerika's body shivered and randomly twitched as though in a fit. When she regained control a short moment afterwards, she looked around confused of the feeling, and decided to go into the next shop she saw, which just happened to be the Pig's Foot Tavern. Paying little mind to the smell, Aerika heard the sounds of people inside laughing and talking to one another and thought that it would at least be an easy place to try and get something simple to drink. Walking toward the Tavern, she noticed her stomach beginning to ache and then that the dirt road turned to mud. Thoughts filled her mind of the new place but she knew now she was hungry and thirsty, therefor she would need a meal. Entering through the door, her light, almost white hair, pale skin, and her white dress filled the entrance with unexpected light reflecting from outside. Aerika looked around to notice several unfamiliar people, all seemed to have red faces except for a few, and some took time to turn and look at her. One woman was wearing something to cover one of her eyes, another woman was small and white hair almost like her own, and another woman with light hair at the bar but with mud and dirt all over her body. A few men were mentionable, but only one truly caught her eye, it reminded her of a strange winged man she fought in the Pits once before. His wings were folded around him and his fur was a light grey rather than the dark blue man she had to fight. Aerika's thoughts raced as she began to approach the man, still thinking of food and drink yet curious with the man all the same. Aerika sat in a seat next to the man, yet the stool was a good distance away from him. The little girl looked ahead and asked the man known as Merv for a meal of beef and milk and pulled her bag to her lap sitting as upright as she could. The man known in Common as Shadowfang sat in his chair, paying little attention to much in the Tavern and was becoming more and more intriguing to the pale kelvic girl. The shy girl pushed her chair toward the man and looked dead at him, almost in a starring trance, and waited for him to notice her. When it was obivous that her appearance was at least known she asked him "Do all of your people fight in the Pits? Why does your skin have so much hair and why is it different from the other man I met?" Her face showed slight excitement and extreme curiosity as her eyes were completely focused on him and little else. Her arms remained over her bag and hands between her legs, her small body was leaning forward and head tilted upward. Pure innocence exposed itself across the face of the child as she merely remained in her position waiting patiently for her answer.

[Mok]

Before the myrian could take another step, the colossal silhouette of Mok's cousin Cade made its way down the stairs. The half-blood let out a deep laugh from the pit of his stomach at the sight of his grinning kinsman. He did not laugh at him, but rather he laughed with the pure joy of seeing that his comrade was doing well.

Mok responded to Cade's joke with one of his own, "Cade! You smell like the asshole of a dead fish! What were you doing to those poor females up there!"

Motioning Lessira and Zandelia to follow, Mok clasped forearms with his cousin, "What is good in life, Cade?!" This was the half-blood's way of greeting his cousin.

"You bloody tiger! Shii~t, have you seen who turned up today? Look its Zandelia! Guess she missed your company, eh, Cade?" Mok erupted in laughter and took a seat opposite to Cade, leaving room for Lessira and Zand to sit beside him if they so choose.

Mok then introduced Lessira, "And this is Lessira, Cade, she is the female that I was talking about earlier. She's one hundred brother, no doubt in that. A valuable ally to the Crimson. Fell from the sky she did, but she proved herself already. One hundred." Noticing his cousin eyeing the day bright konti, the half-blood gave Cade a scowl. There was no way in hell Cade would be bedding her in Mok's presence.

Letting the chit-chat continue for a minute longer, the myrian produced a small box from his tunic. It was about half-way filled with the finniest pulp in all of Mizahar. "Cade, I got some good product right here. See? It is nice and dark. Look at it! It is so sticky that I could throw against the wall! Here smell it too."

The myrian then passed the box of pulp around for everyone to smell, "I got the balcony for the rest of the day, why don't you all follow me upstairs, huh?"

Standing up, Mok did not wait for his Crimson allies for he knew that they would follow. Lessira was having a day out with him, Cade was usually down for some pulp, and Zandelia had a story to tell. They would follow.

As he passed the barmaid who was bringing Cade his meal, Mok spinned her around and told her to bring it to the balcony.

It was time to get loaded.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common