[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Things dont always turned out as planned especially when the dead are involved.

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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Rayage on February 13th, 2012, 5:48 pm

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Winter 43, 511 AVIf this doesn’t work for ya let me know

Flour, water, cheese, and Ichor the basis of the substance called soulmist. Last season Sunberth was assaulted by numerous ghosts and the town was not well prepared for such an attack. Even Ray did not have the skill to counter them. He was, for the most part, helpless, and he did not like that feeling. No, he did not want to feel that way ever again. Sunberth, so far, has been a most humbling experience, but it also served to drive him in new directions, to better prepare and educate himself. If power came to those who were worthy then he would surely extend his own reach once more and gain the power that so eluded him. He would rise to Sunberths challenge because he was no longer in the safe halls of Sahova. Sunberth was a different breed.

It was the rising to this challenge which brought Ray to this graveyard, the newfound sword at his side. It was the same place he had ventured to during the ghost attack. It brought back less than found memories of wolves though today he found no such evidence of the creatures. That was good. Rising the challenge. Today he would study more on the art of spiritism and try to run into a ghost which would accept his soulmist. It was going to be practice, and ghost hunting aside it would keep him away from the dangerous streets of Sunberth. Alongside him strode his second experiment H2-A, who had been walking calmly by him like any good and trained dog would. H2-A was special though, more so than other animals. He was a product of Alchemy, a mixture of lizards and a dog. The dog with scales instead of fur. On his robed shoulder rode, as usual, H1-A the lizard with fur instead of scales. Together, he thought, the two experiments made an odd pair to an increasingly odd collection of pseudo-animals, one of a kind creation’s from the mind of the Alchemist.

Not quite to the ridge yet the nuit chose a spot in the cemetery to sit and concentrate. Finding his spot the wizard kneeled down, taking the pack from his back and setting it in front of him. The pack contained all the necessary ingredients for soulmist production including a vile of his own ichor nicely prepared earlier today. He had been planning this extrusion for a while now; it would be silly to even think about coming unprepared. No, the nuit liked to be as prepared as possible in all situations. He even has his sword to back up that fact. Not that he is any good with it, but he can use it when the situation calls for it.

As the nuit got situated H2-A laid by his master, and H1-A jumped from his perch on the alchemists shoulder and landed on the dogs back. The two oddly got along rather well. Once planted the furry lizard made itself comfortable on the dog. They were the keys to his research into life. He was close, but yet so far. For now though he needed to concentrate.

Taking the cheese from the bag he broke off pieces and started chewing. Once it was broken down enough he added the flour, bitter stuff, and took a swig of the water. Mixing them around in his mouth he took a moment to clear his mind. All the thoughts of alchemy, of life, of what he was doing here, hopes of what he wanted to do, plans, everything needed to go in favor of a more focused thought. He wanted soulmist, and the more he concentrated the better quality the mist would be. The ‘better’ quality it is, even though he is a novice, the better a stance he would have against any ghosts he would come into contact with.

Mixing the substance around in his mouth rotting teeth grinding and mishing and mashing everything together. He popped the stopper out of the vial and put it to his mouth. Adding the ichor completed what he needed to make soulmist. Now all he needed to do is focus and concentrate on what he wanted to accomplish. He wanted to create soulmist. He repeated ‘Soulmist’ in his mind over and over and over again in his mind. He repeated it like a mantra, helping him further focus on his meditation to create the substance. Soulmist, the one word embellished all he wanted to accomplish. Slowly he could feel the concoction changing by his sheer will. It was not time to falter, just like what he would do in alchemy when he felt change, he would concentrate even harder on what he wanted. Nothing was going to interrupt this process. He was in his own little world now.

Feeling what he wanted accomplished done, the soulmist was created, he stopped thinking of the singular goal, slowly coming back to reality. He bent over his pack which he brought with him and spat the white gooey and slightly glowing substance into the bag. He had done it, it was soulmist. The substance drained from his mouth like it would when he was transferring bodies. Perhaps it was practice or maybe it was out of sheer habit that the soulmist did it just like his ichor. Interesting nonetheless. Now all he had to do was find a ghost, oh the fun was just beginning.
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Last edited by Rayage on March 12th, 2012, 1:10 am, edited 2 times in total.
“Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed to have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Mok on February 15th, 2012, 4:18 am

oocAny time between the 26th to 40th or after the 80th. On a side note, I hope that this post wasn't too long! I kind of got carried away when you said, lets get alot done. @_@ ! I hope you enjoy it none the less. :D

Mok sat alone, scarfing food down like no tomorrow. He didn't care what anyone thought of him. Hell, he had been up and about all day. He didn't have time for bullshit. He was hungry and he was feasting right now. He didn't care what the price was. He thought not his worries or troubles. He just focused on eating. The next fifteen minutes would be glorious as he binged:

Three full slabs of tough bread, dipped in pig fat. Some fat juicy potatoes grilled with garlic and butter. The nice ham from a big, fatty smoked in a master's furnace. The salmon was the best though. This twenty pound fish was grilled to perfection over a pig fat grill, in true Sunberth style. All the food was heavy. It was salivating extasy. It was a meal for the glutton.

Mok ate and ate. Filling his stomach to the brink. He didn't want to be full. He wanted to eat forever. Why? Because it felt awesome. Being full was the most relaxing feeling in the world. Sometimes even better than the ale. Yes! Better than being drunk. And eating meant another thing too: it was energy! Consumption of food was the fuel that kept the body going. Drunkenness could only take you as far as your fuel. Mok was preparing for a long night. Eating everything in sight only helped.

Within fifteen minutes Mok had eaten all of the food. Washing the last pieces of salmon down with some ale, the myrian burped in savage delight.

"Petch you all," the warrior burped. He didn't care if hungry men saw him. He doesn't mind if people peeped from the allies at his blatant gluttony.

Hell, this was Sunberth, not that basterdized piece of human shit city known as Syliras. Sunberth was a place that kept you real. Whether you were just walking the streets or being shady in the background, you needed to keep it one hundred percent. Anything is liable to happen at any moment. If you walk out of place. If you do something out of the ordinary, then shit was liable to go wrong. Most people had a free pass through each territory as long as they acted on the down low. Committing crimes on the wrong side of the street could get you killed. Just taking a step into the streets of Sunberth is like rolling the roulette die; each person's action their bets. Keeping yourself low key gives you higher odds of winning. That is what it meant to be one hundred percent real: even though people lie and deceit, you show your true colors in Sunberth.

One gets to show the world just how dark their heart was. Mok, however, was determined to be the darkest. None dared to approach the him. Why? Maybe it was because of Mok's aura. The darkness in his heart was deep and true. He had lived his whole life in hardest and emotional pain. The warrior was different though. He was beyond folly and depression. For now, he lived for the moment. He lived to feel good. He lived by the blade. He lived for blood. He worshiped none but steel. Some would call him a barbarian, but only those truly understood the myrian would know him a true soldier of his blood brothers and sister.

Sitting in the glow of the moon, the glutton licked his lips and leaned back in true relief. He was now full! He couldn't have felt better. His body's need for fuel was achieved and his brain was beginning to relax. The grinning fool washed the food around his face with ale. This was great! Now he was ready to work. He needed to pay for the meals right? It wasn't free you know.

Standing to his feet the myrian slung the flagon of ale around his shoulder and adjusted his sword belt. The darkness in his heart was now visible for all to see. No one in their right mind in Sunberth would approach Mok right now. Even if by the will of the gods they killed Mok, they would be fortunate to leave the fight without a life changing injury. Mok was crazy enough to try to take anyone to the afterlife with him. The warrior was no idiot though. He did not walk in the open streets. He took the back allies. He stayed behind cover at all times. He walked the shadows. It was safer. Melee encounters weren't what the warrior was worried about, it was the ranged ones. In the open, the myrian could get shot down in a matter of seconds.

~~~


Just as Mok crossed a well-lit street, a group of instigator’s blocked Mok's path. There were three hooligans in total, all thirsting for blood. The first one was a clean shaven svefra was a chopped haircut. His right eye was black and pussy. He wore a leather vest, with a couple of knives tucked into his belt. His arms and wrists were wrapped tightly with bandages, knuckles bloody and broken. He fought with the palms facing inwards and his right hand cocked like a typical svefran.

The two lackeys were all but lackluster. One stood a head above Mok, but his butch-red moustache made the myrian laugh. The other one looked like the typical son of a Sunberthian whore. Mok had no fear of these two. They would not dare approach Mok without this leader. He was the one the myrian had to worry about. He was the only one that the warrior would talk to.

Mok didn't care though. He had taken so many beatings in the streets he wasn't afraid of anyone, in other words, he was a total petching psycho.

"See here you petching cunt, I'll cut you first!" the myrian motioned, drawing a line across his neck. No time for games. No time for words. Both men knew and understood why they were there. It was for blood. This was Mok's idea of a good time. The night wouldn't have truly started until he fought someone to get the body pumping; to get the adrenaline flowing.

The instigators didn't waste any time either. He knew why he was standing there too. He was a sensible man. Mok liked him just for that. He was a true brawler. A true combatant of pain and misery. The darkness in his heart was immense. But it would never be as much as Mok's. This man had a breaking point. Mok didn't. His breaking point would happen when he was face to face with Lhex himself.

The leader approached the myrian, fists first. Mok greeted the man in similar response. None reached for their blades just yet. These were real Sunberthian fighting. Not drawing blades first but duking it out original style. Mok's fighting stance was loose. It was deceiving. It was quick. It was power. Or at least he liked to think! Anyways, he pointed his wrists at his opponent, ready to block with his forearms. He moved his arms up and down, up and down; moving his torso and back in rhythm with the strokes. Mok was hypnotizing the man with his constant movement. A strike could come from anywhere. A pump fake could come for anywhere. The knockout punch could come from anywhere. What would the man do? What would his response be in this situation?

Mok advanced. He would get first blood in this duel. Side jab right for the man's throat. Mok was throwing the fattest, juiciest piece of man flesh right at the man's throat. This was his aggressive nature. How would this man react? It was a risky move but Mok had confidence right now.

Gripst. Mok got snagged. Unbelievable! It was definitely a blockable hit, but how did he grab it. This guy as going to be a challenge. The warrior's instincts immediately went to the red. He was getting close to survival mode.

Ding! Ding! A jab to the face, wait no another one. Mok had snapped in survival mode way too late. Mok's other fist came barreling from the right as he rushed the man. There was only one thing the instigator could do was let go, the alternative being getting trampled. His fist connected once to the blooded bandaged forearm. But his hand was relinquished from those vise grips.

Mok went back into his stance of turning and dancing. His arms again went up and down, up and down. The myrian wanted to get this man on the floor and fast. That would mean the aggravation of his boys, but it didn't matter he could finish papa dog way faster on the floor.

Coming in for another blow Mok pumped with his left, and then came in with an arcing heel towards his opponent's chin. Stepping deep into the kick, almost between the man's legs, Mok would either smash him in the face or miss terribly. But that was the plan. His opponent dodged easily enough, and Mok brought his foot down by the instigator's right foot. Now the myrian's back was directly to the man, but for only a single moment. Turning torso, Mok reaching behind the man's back side and grabbed his genitals and pulled as hard as he possibly could. Now his hips were in the perfect position to toss the man on his face. Using the man's natural momentum, and a brutal trust of his hips, the half-blood got the instigator on the floor.

Now the man was vulnerable. If Mok acted quickly he would be able to finish him off. The two lackeys had other plans though. The ugly one charged first. Mok rapped his knuckled once and went off jabbing the man in the face, followed by a right hook that dazed him for a moment. The other was close behind. Turning around Mok was met was a long knife in the face. Turning his head, the myrian missed getting sliced by a thin margin. Reaching for his gladius, Mok unsheathed it in rapid fury.

Clank! Mok parried the next stab with the butt of his sword. Fully drawn now, Mok prepared for the next slice. Coming down with his sword Mok, blocked the weak attack, turned his blade against him, and smashed him in the nose with the butt of his sword.

"The blade isn't the only part of the sword," Mok spat on the moaning, beaten man, "Piece of shit."

Turning around, Mok was meeting with the first of their leader. He was back up again and fighting. The little move that he did earlier was effective, but all he needed was a breather. Eating a fist to the chin, Mok retreated a little. Seeing that the lackeys were down, the myrian put his sword in the dirt. This was going to be an old time Sunberthian brawl.

Charging again, the glutton came in was a barrel from the right. Contact with his forearm. Hook from the left. Mok circled his upper torso and stepped into the man. The hook was the svefra's fatal mistake. He opened up his chest way too much for quick guy like Mok. The myrian stepped into the man and immediately gained his inside leverage. He had about two chances to seriously damage this guy now. Cocking his elbow back, the half-blood brought up a devastating uppercut straight towards the man's jaw. He used every muscle in his back, hips, legs, and feet. He used all the kinetic energy to connect with this man.

Phoon. Mok ringed that guy. He stumble five or six steps backwards and fell on his ass.

Mok had won he had down all the guys. There was no need to kill them. They were true wild spirits and Mok was in an amazing mood. He didn't want to show the citizens of Sunberth any weaknesses; however he couldn't be killing some lads over a friendly brawl could he. This was Sunberth, but even sunberthian's had some twisted standards right? Oh well. It didn't matter to Mok. He did what he wanted when he felt like it.

Scanning the scene, Mok found that the man he had jabbed with the butt of his gun was beginning to stand. The myrian immediately ran the man down into the floor.

The myrian whispered into the man's ear, "Stay down. I am taking everything you own. Be glad I ain't killing you for pulling that knife on me. I am one hundred percent friend."

The man grunted in approval. He was one hundred percent as well. Mok pocketed his long knife first then searched his pockets. Nothing but a lint ball. Just before Mok gave up, he noticed a ring on the man's finger. Seizing it for himself, the myrian immediately bit it. Just like a gold mizah. Perfect.

"Where did you get this ring?" Mok questioned.

"I don't know."

Mok had no patience. Flipping the man over, Mok grabbed the man's shirt and, "Where did you get this!" That was enough. The darkness in his heart spilt over through his eyes, face, and voice. He was serious. He was desperate. He was simply petching insane.

The half-blood scoundrel had gotten the answer to the wear about of the plain gold ring on the man's finger: The Dust Bed Ridge graveyard. The myrian had never been up there before. There was no need. But now he had the perfect excuse to explore. If these stupid hooligans could find a trinket wandering drunkenly about, then Mok might find much more.

Putting on his hood, Mok retraced his steps out of the Night Eyes territory and towards the bay. He would move silently and quickly. He needed to get to the action as soon as possible.
Red = Myrian
Bold = Common
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"If you want some, get some, bad enough, take some,
But watch the sword by my side,
Because it represents me and the motherpetching east side"
-one of Mok's mottos
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Mok
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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Rayage on March 4th, 2012, 9:22 pm

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OOCDate changed to the 40th. Hope that works

Yes, the fun was just beginning. It had been far, far too long since he has really been adventurous. Usually he would spend his days and nights researching Alchemy, its effects, the positives and negatives of the art, and just pushing his theories to go that much further. He knew he would eventually one up Pycon, his dream of being just like the legendary alchemist was quickly coming to fruition. Well not quickly, it has taken him over five hundred years not even to accomplish what the mad did in a lifetime. Pycon… Why cant Ray catch up?

That did not matter now. He did not have time to think about his work, his life, his obsession, he needed to focus on the task at hand. Yes, the task at hand. Taking the bag up he stood up, looking down at H2-A he smiled at the mutt, ”Are we ready?” he asked as he began making his way slowly across the graveyard.

Now the nuit did not mind stepping on gravestones, over graves, or anything like that. He was not superstitious and respect for the dead should be preserved for the dead which are still living. These bodies under the ground meant nothing. He could not harness their power and he was not nearly as weary of ghosts as he should be. This perhaps a misunderstanding of some kind or maybe he just didn’t understand the potential power ghosts have and why they should be feared. He doubted that any would show themselves today. Though he would walk on, daring one of them to show, he wanted to see if he could strike a deal, or just further interact with the undead. Maybe ask them why they chose to live in such a pathetic existence. Dirty, lowly things… They were not but scum, but everything had its uses, no? Everything had a string that can be pulled with the right words, the right phrases, and the right gentle touch. Nothing is outside the realm of manipulation, everything can be controlled, and everything can be swayed, therefor everything can be changed. Yes, and that is what excited him the most. Everything can be changed. Those words echoed throughout his thoughts and mind. Change… That was his mission. He will change the world just as, if not more so, than Pycon did. Soon everyone will see the power of Alchemy.

Nodding to himself he walked on, the craggy ground, uneven, got even more so as he made his way towards his destination, the Dust Bed Ridge. If anywhere he was going to find ghosts it was going to be here, not in this part of the graveyard. Or maybe he was going there in hopes that he would find ghosts that are worth talking to. Either way he was headed there, slowly, but surely. His experiments following beside him, faithful and loyal, just how they were trained. So far so good.

Finally he made it. He could see the crypts in their solemn silence, standing there as great testaments to even greater people. Yes, even greater families. This was the part of the graveyard which he wanted to be. This was the perfect place. Though not too far in Ray could not shake a feeling that he was the only one here. No, there was something… he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. H2-A was even acting slightly different. Was this the effects of the ethereal ghosts? Could it be? He clinched the bag tighter in anticipation, but the magic surely faded, the excitement ended, when he heard a voice. Ducking against a crypt, hoping to remain out of sight, but then H2-A began barking. The darn dog did not follow his master, and H1-A was perched on his back. Why?

Now noticed the people who Ray was hiding from saw the odd pair, the dog and the lizard, and smiled. One of them commented on how much they could sell the oddity for, while another inquired on how they would taste. Ray, not wanting to let his presence known stayed where he was for the moment, before barks turned to growls. He could hear the people get closer, H2-A was warning them not to get any closer, and he meant it. Listening no more when he heard a yelp and then a scream of a man he walked out of his hiding place to see H1-A handing off a guys nose, and H2-A whimpering, probably from being kicked. H1-A quickly dropped off the mans nose, landing on his four little feet, and scurried over Ray, perching on his shoulder, little claws digging into the armored robes of the nuit as it made its way up.

”Please.” the nuit began, ”Don’t kick my dog.” he said looking past them, analyzing the situation. A crypts door was open and there seemed to be more people inside. These two before him where only the ones stupid enough to break from the group before the hunt was done, ”I can only guess what you are doing here.” he said, waiting for them to draw their swords already. He has only been in Sunberth for so long, but with numbers came power, that much was obvious. Now, how was he going to deal with this situation? ”If you would be as kind as to let me pass, I would be ever grateful.” he lied. Although he said he would like to pass, he did not make a move towards them. He just watched them.
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“Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed to have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Mok on March 12th, 2012, 5:14 am

Sinking into the shadow of a gravestone, Mok took a moment to catch his breath. Anticipation and suspense were building inside of his core. He was excited. His blood was flowing and his adrenaline glans getting warmed up. The darkness in his heart was ready to work.

Fear and horror filled his head. He was going into death's hands all alone. His blade was his only ally. The darkness in his heart was not enough to confront his mind. There was something missing. Putting his hand in his pocket, Mok removed a small wooden box which contained both Pulp and some resin. Next, the half-blood spread the resin all over his gums: top and bottom. It stung badly as the fiber cut his mouth, but it was all worth it. In his experimentation with the drug, Mok had found that placing the resin on the gum would produce the euphoric effect from pulp immediately.

Within seconds the effects kicked in. First his head began to get warm and fuzzy. All of the blood was rushing to his brain. Slowly the warmth of his brain began to spread throughout his whole body and in seconds Mok was feeling amazing. His whole body was numb now! But it would only get better.

The numbness began to grow and grow. Not able to hold him up anymore, the myrian fell on his back. The world was spinning. His vision was growing weak, but his body was in pure orgasm. Every single inch of his body was in pure euphoric joy; his toes, feet, ankles, legs, knees, hips, torso, armpits, chest, shoulders, arms, elbows, fingers, everything!

Slowly Mok sunk into the earth. Inch by inch the myrian fell, each moment lasting a lifetime. His body was pulsating now too. Before he knew it, the walls around him where over a foot tall. His vision of his surroundings began to fade as his sunk down. Lower, still lower Mok went. The myrian understood now. He was dying. If not dying, he was taking the place of corpse that once lay in this hallowed ground.

But NONE of that matter to Mok. His body and mind were in euphoria and that was ALL that mattered.

Eventually, the myrian could not see anything else. The earthen walls all around him now blocked the moonlight. He was way too deep now. Thick, wet, black dirt now embraced his body. He was now one with the earth: death. Beneath him he already felt his body decomposing. That when he realized that no one could escape nature. No matter who you where, death would find you and from dust you will return. Even the undead were doomed to die.

~~~

Several minutes later, Mok awakened from his trance, but this time his was loaded. Everything was different now in the half-blood's mind. Everyone was playing by his rules now. His mind now dominated reality. He could now cast fear aside and use the darkness in his heart to drive away his enemies. There was absolutely no doubt in Mok's mind anymore. Putting his pulp away, the myrian unsheathed his sword and proceeded into the world filtered by his mind.

The sky was a dark, milky green. The clouds were now swirling black shapes in the horizon. The moon was ghastly yellow. In fact, everything was tinted yellow. This only amplified the dark and gritty effect of the graveyard. Everything was distorted as well. Mok's perspective was all out of whack as well; every time he turned, the view would be startling different. This made it crucial for Mok to focus on what was directly ahead of him. He envisioned no problems fighting in this state, but he feared getting lost.

Jogging up a curved path, the myrian's senses began to overload. He noticed every twitch every little noise. Turning his head every which way, Mok would find nothing of importance so he continued with his hike up wards. Blood and small amounts of adrenaline began to pump through his system. His body was shocked. The alcohol dulled the pain with numbness and made his head heavy. The pulp heightened his senses and cleared Mok's mind of all garbage. The adrenaline keeping his alert and active.

The perfect mix! The perfect battle drug! Thoughts of bloodlust and cruel torture filled his mind. It was great! Fantastic! Amazing! He was ready for blood! He was ready to knock on death's door!

~~~~
At this point, Mok lost track of time and place. His whole being was focused on the task at hand. He had no memory of anything else. To him, he had been stalking his pray since the beginning of time waiting for the precise moment to attack. His mouth salivated as he spied on the two men walking away from an open grave. Mok couldn't see their faces, but he saw their shadowy figures in the distance.

Before he knew it, the two men were fighting with a dog. This was Mok's chance. He needed to capitalize. Following his instinct, the myrian pounced out from behind the tree and bolt towards the next grave marker. He did not stop there though. He continued sprinting towards the location of the two men. Mok didn't stop for one moment. He did not let his mind wander. He needed to get this fools before they could react.

The myrian was now within range. Suddenly a third shape. Another man had appeared from the shadows. Mok could not understand him or make out his appearance, he had no time. Ten yards before making contact with the two men, the myrian locked eyes with one, but it was too late for him.

Shhhhhhhhnnnk! THUMP!

The drugged out warrior ran into the first man sword first with a full head of steam. His sword pierced the man's stomach, but the impact of Mok's shoulder sent the man flying onto the floor. Blood sprayed into the air in a spectacular arc. Anyone within fifteen feet of the man would get feel crimson rain splash across their faces.

The myrian made no sounds though. That would be imprudent of him. Without wasting another moment, the blood soaked gangster sprinted towards the next man, sword pointed forward. The moaning cries of his broken friend in the background. The foolish man displayed his blade, giving Mok the green light to finish the kill without hesitation.

Bringing his sword down as hard he possibly could, Mok aimed to break the man's grip. The myrian but all the energy his could muster in this swing. It was all in. Maybe it was the drugs talking, but Mok felt that he needed to end this match as quickly as possible. Using the tremendous force in his back and legs the myrian disarmed his opponent, only to receive a hard knuckle to the face. The smack he received must have been a whallop because his mouth was now bleeding, but he felt absolutely no pain. That was the pulp helping of course.

Ignoring the pain, Mok spat into the man's face and stabbed his gladius. Drilling the point of his blade into the man's neck blood sprayed all over the floor and Mok's arm. His whole right arm was now soiled red.

He had not forgotten the third man though. Swinging his hips around, the myrian locked eyes on the third man. He was much too far away for the myrian to attack outright. No. Mok needed a few seconds to scan his opponent. Mok was swirling with darkness now and his eyes were glowing brightly. To the onlooker though, one would only see a blood soaked myrian who was out of breath.

He decided to attack. Raising his blade again, Mok almost sprinted forward, but something stopped him. Maybe it was something the man said, or maybe something that caught his eye. But he stopped dead in his tracks.


Red = Myrian
Bold = Common
Image
"If you want some, get some, bad enough, take some,
But watch the sword by my side,
Because it represents me and the motherpetching east side"
-one of Mok's mottos
User avatar
Mok
The Sunberthian Gangster
 
Posts: 261
Words: 149901
Joined roleplay: June 20th, 2011, 5:06 pm
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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Rayage on April 8th, 2012, 8:41 am

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There was a standoff between the three of them. The men, and Ray. Who would win? Well odds are that the armed men would win this war because Ray was so unskillful in the art of the sword. The only reason he carried around such a thing was because it interested him. He wanted to know more about it, needed to know more about it. Knowledge, after all, was power, correct? Smirking the nuit stood his ground, hand on the sword he slowly drew it, readying himself for a fight.

Ray was odd in the fact that he drew the sword with his left hand. People who have been around him who are observant enough would know that the nuit hardly ever uses his left hand, and so his skill would in the sword would be diminished even more, by logic, right? He wasn’t going to just let them hit his dog, but he couldn’t do much either. The moment was tense and the air was thick with all sorts of thought and emotion. Both parties were staring each other down, daring the other to make the first move. How did they know that Ray wasn’t good with a sword? They couldn’t possibly know, and so he would use that ignorance to his advantage. Knowledge after all was power.

He broadcasted a slight wave of anxiety to one man, and watched, observed, how he reacted to the subtle probing of his subconsciousness. The process however took more time than he had because he wasn’t very skilled in the art of hypnotism. He needed time to prepare himself and this little stare down gave him plenty. He needed to first concentrate on what he wanted to do and then translate that into Djed and the djed into hypnotism finally. His goal was to make his opponent anxious, and so he focused on the feeling, yes focused on what it was and how it felt, but more importantly his goal. He then used his force of will to project it out, casting the imagined feeling out of him like some kind of plague, with the help of djed, directing it at one of the men.

However the nuit did not get a chance to see how the man would react, for out of the blue someone else came, sword a swinging, and the man easily dispatched of the two fools who dared to get in his way and harm his dog. The mans skills were impressive, but he couldn’t let down his guard. As the man was taking care of the two Ray quickly, or as quickly as a novice could, prepared another subtle hypnotism spell. He did not know if the man was friend or foe, but in a city like this he would be on foe.

Starting the process over again he thought and thought and thought on what he wanted to send. This time it wasn’t an emotion, no, the man seemed oddly out of it, or in the high of battle to be effected by hypnotism of his level this late in the game. Instead he would send a simple message to the subconsciousness. Don’t fight this man was the simple message he would send. And making eye contact with the barbarian as the guy was charging he sent the message, projected it outward with his djed, giving flesh to thought as he willed it to go inside the other to perhaps stop the mans advances. It worked, the guy stopped.

Ray lowered his sword to make notice that he did not intend to harm the guy in front of him, ”Very well, glad you stopped.” he said, ”I would have hated to use force.” again he reminded himself to use his strengths. The man knew nothing about him, use that to your advantage, ”I must thank you for dispatching of those fools for me. It has been a real pleasure.” he nodded, ”Indeed.” he said his eyes drifting from the man in front of him to the two dead persons a few steps behind him. ”Such a waste of energy…” he muttered to himself kneeling down to observe H2-A, a hand gliding over the smooth scales of the dog, ”You ok, boy?” he asked, looking at the area that has been kicked and even pressed lightly on it. The dog let out a little yelp, but didn’t move to attack Ray, it knew better than that. ”Good.” he said, patting the dog on the head, ”At least you can still walk.” His eyes wandered back to the other, the nuit wondering what he was doing in the graveyard of all places. "Their lives might not have been worth much, but it appears they were graverobbing." he pointed to the open crypt in the distance, shifting shadows could be seen in there, more men, "Perhaps they have something valuable on them?" he asked, not at all hinting at anything. He would not make the first move, he would let the man do so, besides the nuits eyes were still evaluating him. Should he trust him?
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“Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed to have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Mok on April 9th, 2012, 4:31 pm

Mok's mind was peaking now from the pulp. Luckily, the alchemist was able to use hypnotism to calm him down before he was fully rolling. Now a vail of darkness consumed the gangster. It flowed up from the floor, swirled around his legs and consumed his body. All that remained was a manic face. His chin tilted upwards with a black, evil grin. His eyes where blood-shot and his pupils wide. Mok cast a hard look towards Rayage, one of demeanted hatred and fanatic zealousness. The eyes were the window to the soul and this couldn't be more true for Mok. Bitter, depressive, murderous intent leaked from deep inside.

Staring down the man eye to eye, Mok waited for the nuit to speak his part. Rayage on the other hand didn't look him in the eyes. Instead, he scanned the warrior's body, sizing him up and claiming that he would have hated to use brute force. This was a strange statement to the gangster and coupled with the fact he wasn't looking the myrian in the eyes lead him to believe that something was off about the man. He could tell that this guy wasn't a Sunberthian, or rather he wasn't an o-g. The man then went on to ramble about an animal he had with him. In Mok's eyes the scale covered dog looked more like something out of a horrible dream. H-2's tongue was long a dropping, hang down to the floor and squirming every which way. The alchemy dog's scales where melting and dripping onto the floor, producing a nasty white puss of the floor. Occassionally the dog would bark, sending mucus flying from its nostrils and burning anything it touched like acid. All of Rayage's other words where lost to Mok as he stared at the dog.

Then Mok snapped out of it when the nuit pointed at the crypt. Turnin his head around, he realized that the man was correct; graverobbers where incoming. Judging by the sounds, Mok had about a minute to prepare. What would he do? He needed to think of something quick. Looking back at Rayage he looked the man in the eyes again. They were almost completely lifeless. Mok couldn't judge his grit or what he was thinking. It was extremely strange. It was almost as if the man had no thoughts...it was a blank slate... The gangster didn't know it, but this was because Ray was a nuit. Therefore the myrian wouldn't be able to make judgement just yet. He needed to see the man in action first.

"Stay," Mok finally said. Up until now the myrian hadn't spoken a single word. His plan was to make the graverobbers attack Rayage. That would give the myrian enough time to ambush them and kill them unawares. All Rayage had to do was stand there. Mok also took into account that the nuit might try to loot the bodies or run. Either way it would help the myrian.

Sprinting towards a hanging oak tree opposite of Rayage, Mok began to climb with his bloody sword in between his teeth. There he planned would sit and wait between the leaves until the perfect opportunity to attack...The grave robbers would be there any minute....


Red = Myrian
Bold = Common
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"If you want some, get some, bad enough, take some,
But watch the sword by my side,
Because it represents me and the motherpetching east side"
-one of Mok's mottos
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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Rayage on April 9th, 2012, 4:59 pm

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Ray continued to examine the situation he found himself in. There was no time for idol or out of place thoughts. Something needed to happen, but what? The man, yes the other, was strange in that he didnt react the way the nuit had predicted at all. Shrugging though, it was just more loot for him. Ray had seen this done before, yes he had, with a fellow named Antar, yes, that is his name. You kill, loot, and then get some meager coin out of it. That is how it seemed Sunberths money circulated, covered in the blood of others. There was no doubt in his mind that any coin found here wasnt marred with the blood of others. In fact he was welcoming of this, because here, here, he could do his research in prevalent 'peace'. The trick was, to make sure your own blood didnt cover the coin that one hopes to earn.

The other seemed to have little interest in Ray, but more interest in H2-A, the dog that he had brought along with him. He wondered if the man even noticed H1-A, but that would be left up to speculation as the first and only word out of the mans mouth was 'stay'. The nuit about laughed, amused by the order, but nonetheless stayed feeling quite like a dog, but he had to remind himself that there was more to just 'following orders'. He still had his pride and shrugged, looming over the now quite dead bodies, none of them seemed to be in very good condition. The clothes were raggity and not worth stripping off the bodies, but the nuit wondered what was under them. Obviously the naked forms of the men, but the treasures hidden under the cloth, the 'riches' that were taken from the crypt.

Curious as to why the two left the party before the raiding was done could have meant a couple of things. One, they found something good and didnt want to share, or two, they wanted out. He hoped it was the first one. Kneeling down to the first corpse his hands groped and felt he body, the skin growing cold from the touch of death, the heat leaving, but still had the warmth of a fresh kill. Checking every pocket and nook and cranny he could find he finally produced a bag of sorts. A small coin purse, but from the sound of it and the size of the cloth-obscured object(s) there wasnt just miza in there. How...

His thought was cut off as a searing pain hit him and he was flung onto his back. Out of nowhere an arrow came and struck him, right between the eyes, forcing his head backwards and his body followed. Laying there for a minute it took him a while to register what was happening, or what had happened. He had been shot, and the pain.... Slowly he moved to get up and looked in the distance to the one who shot the arrow, [b]"That hurt."{/b] he said, his voice dulled with the passing of time, but there was a tinge of pain in it. Nuits did feel pain, and now to top it all off he had to find a new body as well.

Trying to stand he found another arrow, hitting him in the thigh, making a searing fire of pain shoot through him and the nuit stumbled. Archers are so annoying. H2-A by this time recognized the threat and began to charge, leaping up and mauling the archer, an arrow finding him too. Now he had to find H2-A a doctor. This just wasnt a good day, and there wasnt just an archer. The nuits eyes caught hold of three other men, making a total of four. The other three however were running towards Ray with their swords drawn. It was time to get out of here...

Though the first one was already on him, the grip on the sword tightened and he swung it in his defense, barely parrying the blade aimed to knock his skull in. The other two were right behind him, if he didnt act soon he would be outnumbered three on one. No chance of survival then.

Ray really wasnt a fighter, but there is one thing he would fight for, and that was his life. Parrying again, the blade of the other tomb raider caught his arm, cutting it slightly. Yes, his sword skills were far from perfect but it seemed this guys wasnt too good either. He could work with that. Stepping back, he tried to retreat while fighting off the blows, the clang of steel on iron could be heard as the fight resumed, carrying on longer than the nuit cared for it to.
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“Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed to have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Mok on April 9th, 2012, 6:23 pm

Foolishly, Rayage approached the two dead bodies and began to search through them. This only left Mok wandering even more if this guy knew what he was doing. Did he realize he was about to get slammed? He did point out that the enemy was approaching from the crypt, so he had to know right? This obviously wasn't the case because the nuit was nose deep in the carcasses and paid no attention to the men coming from the mausoleum up the way. Mok watched in skepticism as an archer took aim at the greedy nuit. In Mok's eyes, the bowman was a gnarled wolf-demon preying on the ignorant looter, sending waves of evil displeasure in the form of a deadly venomous snake. With a twang of the string, the red and black creature shot out of the bow, flew across the way, and hit Rayage with a direct hit.

Mok held his breath in horror as he saw the nuit collapse to the floor with a wiggling snake emerging from his forehead. Now he was sweating lodestones! He was a sitting duck in this tree. If the archer saw him it would all be over for him...But then the strangest thing happened. The man stood up again! The only explanation was that the myrian was rolling extremely hard and was out of his mind, but this? This didn't make any sense at all. The archer's face was filled with moral terror at the sight as well. Rayage just took an arrow to the brain and was standing. Frantically the archer reloaded and shot again this time hitting the nuit in the thigh. Was this man immortal? Why wasn't he dead? Questions and more questions filled Mok's mind.

Monsters armed with longs word then began to rush the nuit. They were big, furry beasts with pig heads and dog snouts. What the petch was this all about? The scene in front of Mok was unbelievable: the immortal idiot fighting the man-bear-pig-dogs. The gangster started to breath heavily. His humanity was starting to show. Mok was scared. He didn't know what the hell to do... it was way too dangerous to safely leave his hiding place. His eyes then darted towards the archer again who was now squirming on the hold a bloody neck. Looks like the devil dog had sacrificed itself to kill the bowman.

That’s when it hit him. H-2 had inspired Mok. Just as quickly as the fear overcame him, the darkness in his heart took back over again. He used the twisted evil in his soul to push away the terror that filled his mind. This unlocked his willingness to put his life on the life. He would roll the dice; he would pay the price and not count the cost. This was true gambling at its finest. Unlike Ray, Mok had a life to bet and this made the myrian the stronger opponent.

Mok sprang from the tree no holds barred. He aimed to land on top one of the tomb raiders, but missed terribly and rolled onto the floor. Jumping to his feet, Mok was ready to kill. Eyes darted his way and one of the long swordsmen changed his attention to the snapping myrian. The gangster wasted no time trying to intimidate the man though. Snarling, Mok rushed forward. He would be the first to strike.

Swinging hard from the right, the grave robber was forced to parry. Mok would strike again as quickly as he possibly could. The myrian poured all his cruel, nasty hatred into every swing. He needed to hit the man with power and speed in order to win. Mok kept on delivering blows. He blocked out the man-bear-pig-dog's ugly snarling face from his mind and focused on fighting. That was all that he could do.

From the corner of his eye the other monster came swinging. It was obvious now that they needed to be fighting Mok and not the crippled alchemist. The myrian dodged. His heart was beating and his mind was flashing. He needed to unlock more evil, more corruption, and more darkness. Back up, Mok disengaged for a breather. The two others obliged for but a second before attacking again. The half-blood needed more strength, more mental toughness, but how could he find it so fast? If he messed up on some technical bullshit he would die right there, he couldn't keep fighting because that would lead to his down fall. He only had one option now and that was to finish it.

The first opponent attacked with a simple overhead strike. Mok grinned. It was over now. Parrying the blow with his sword arm, Mok shot out a gauntleted left hand at the monster's blade and grabbed it. Next, he stepped inside and used the hilt of his own sword to disarm the beast. Doing the technique in one fluid motion, the myrian was successful. Using the grave robber’s own weapon, Mok skewered the unarmed opponent.

That was when Mok got hit in the shoulder. The sound was awful as the blade slinked through his brigandine and chainmail. The gangster was no doubtedly cut, but he was sure it wasn't lethal thanks to the thick layers of armor. Grabbing the man-bear-pig-dog's blade with one hand, Mok spun around stabbing the man in the throat. It was that simple. Blood spray in a fine pink mist everywhere.

Rayage had somehow successfully killed the last man, but the nuit seemed to be hacked to pieces. Dropping to his knees, Mok tried to catch his breath back. There was absolutely no pain in his shoulder. The pulp was coursing through his veins and he was still breathing, that was all that mattered.

The above events all took place in less than a minute. The bloodied warrior turned towards Rayage to judge his next move.

"Why arn't you dead?" Mok called out, his voice out of breath.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common
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"If you want some, get some, bad enough, take some,
But watch the sword by my side,
Because it represents me and the motherpetching east side"
-one of Mok's mottos
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Mok
The Sunberthian Gangster
 
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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Rayage on April 10th, 2012, 12:16 am

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The nuit focused on the fight. It seemed that they were trading blows, sloppily blocking and parrying each other’s advances. For the most part the nuit stayed on the defensive side actively looking for an opening… that was how it worked right? If only that ghost was there to guide him today, alas the captain seemed rather quiet today. It was slightly frustrating, but he was managing, somehow.

A cut here, a cut there, the blade sinking into flesh felt so different from when it was biting the hard steel of another sword. The nuit kind of liked feeling the bite of his blade hitting his opponent. Unlike himself he could see the life slowly drain from his opponents eyes as his blade made contact again. It wasn’t anything deep or major, but a lot of little cuts here and there, wherever he could really get a strike in was taking its toll. He liked it, the light slowly dimming he grinned almost on the verge of laughing. Death was with them, and he could feel it, almost seeing deaths hands.

The nuit had a distinct advantage over the situation, yes. He did not get tired, the man did, he did not have to worry about being stabbed in the chest, the man did, he did not have to worry about his life, the man did. There was so much for the man to lose, but also so much for Ray to lose, but he knew that he wasn’t going to be the one to die today. Yes, unlike these humans his body did not tire, but yet he felt the sting of every glance of the sword he took. It hurt, but he had to fight though the pain to win this battle.

As the fight drug on he could see the man was slowing down, this was good, for the nuits reflexes were not as fast as he would like. In fact, the human had an advantage for a while with the speed of his strikes. The nuit barely had time to ‘block’, which usually ended up with the blade biting into him anyways. A couple times though he managed to completely parry an attack, but alas he was new to this sword fighting thing. If alchemy could kill in the heat of battle… He found himself thinking that for a while and wondering how it could possibly be done. Though he did not allow himself to brood on it because any amount of distraction in a life or death situation like this one would end up badly for him.

Slowly wearing him down, holding on as the ichor dripped out of him. He could feel the sleight of hand, the trick of death coming to him, but he also saw it in the mans eyes, the man was exhausted, and he needed a rest, but the nuit was relentless. He needed to end this already so he could focus on acquiring a new body. This one was… damaged beyond salvaging. He had not planned on body switching today, but if he wanted to life he would have to do so. This annoyed the nuit.

Perhaps the most unnerving thing about the fight between the undead and the man was the nuit was completely silent throughout the battle. Letting out no yells or letting his facial expressions be read. He was a blank slate, and one with a sword. His opponent would have to watch the nuits blade if he wanted to have any chance of a parry. They were about equal in skill, it was quite obvious from how the two were fighting that they only had minimal blade experience, but it was also obvious the undead had the upper hand for the fact that it did not grow tired. With tiredness the man was getting sloppy.

Parrying another attack, for it came on weaker this time the nuit took a chance and stabbed at the mans stomach, again he felt his attack hit and the blade sink into the man, for flesh felt different than steel, and the nuit laughed in victory. However, the man had managed to do the same to Ray, stabbing the undead through too. ”You are dead.” Ray whispered to him, allowing the reality of the situation to be even more influenced by a hypnotic power. The nuit had the words sink into the mans subconscious be it force of will. He smiled, seeing in his eyes and face that he had given up living and with that the man died, sliding off the nuits sword.

The fight had taken quite the toll on him as well though, and there were numerous cuts, both deep and shallow, covering his body. He was losing too much ichor as it is. Now coming back to reality he had seen the other man had dispatched the other two swordsman easily, and had addressed the nuit a question. Ray kept his guard up, unsure of this one, ”Why am I not dead?” he asked, his white ichor slowly coming out of him, [b]”That is because I am already dead.” he laughed trying to show that he was stronger than what he was at the time although it was obvious he was quite new with the sword. ”The same question could be asked for you” he said observing the mans wounds himself before looking over at H2-A who was unmoving. The nuit frowned and walked over to the dog, and put a hand on it. No matter though. Ray nodded, no matter. He could always make a new one.

He then walked back to where he had dropped the mystery sack and picked it up examining it, trying to guess what lie within, ”Is that all of them?” he asked scanning the area, ”But… where there are rats there are more rats.” he sneered. Though this was definitely a good start. He wondered what other mysteries the bodies held.
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“Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed to have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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[The Dust Bed Ridge]Fortunes of the Dead(Mok)

Postby Mok on April 10th, 2012, 2:23 am

Mok's mind was racing. He was feeling a weird sensation all of a sudden, like he was falling or something. However, at the same time his eyes told him that everything was speeding towards him...not objects and people, but light. It was almost like he had tunnel vision, but he could still had near perfect periphial vision. Weird right? Mok attributed this to all of the blood rushing to his head and not the pulp speaking.

A few seconds later a dry, calculating voice responded to Mok's question; the man claimed to be already dead. Although the answer was surprising, his low monotone laughter was what really creeped the myrian out. It wasn't until the man laughed that Mok noticed that he had a strange way of speaking. Taking a closer look at Rayage now, the half-blood noticed all the cuts and laserations on his body; white ooze slowly leaking like a lazy river in the winter. Mok's mouth dropped open, making a weird face for a second. He couldn't tell if he was tripping out because of the pulp or if what he was witnessing was real. There was alot of information for the myrian to comprehend though. His mind was still barely just sorting out the information and it didn't help that he was rolling on the drug.

Remaining quiet as Rayage talked, Mok watched in awe and wander as the man who should have been dead was walking like nothing had even fazed him. The gangster stared in disbelief as the guy went about his buisness like normal. He showed absolutely no emotions either. How could he survive such a beating? How did he do it? He must have been cut a dozen times, but still he walked.What the petch? Mok tried hard not to believe his eyes. Over and over the myrian told himself that he was just high off pulp. That had to be the reason right? Yes, he was just tripping balls. There is no way that the man was the undead. Absolutely no way!

Now his mind shifted to the childhood stories of women raised from the dead whom came back to haunt the little kids of the forest. Mok understood now, he was just imagining a man who wasn't even there. It was a figment of his imagination...just a tall-tale coming to life, right?

The warrior finally stood up and walked toward the location of Rayage's struggle. There was maybe two or three dropps of the white fluid on the floor. Leaning over, the myrian poked the ichor with his index finger and brought the smelling liquod to his nose. He sniffed it for a moment, but it smelled worst than a five week old dead sunberthian rat. Mok was not detered though. Although he could smeel it and touch it, it still didn't mean it was real. Taking the droplet, the half-blood tasted it ever so slighty....bad idea though. It was RANCID! Immeadately, Mok began to cough and spit out the disgusting liquid.

The conclusion: it was real. Looking back up at the nuit, Mok saw that he was looting one of the bodies. What now though? What in bloody hell was he was supposed to do now? What would he say to the walking corpse? There was no way he was going to kill it...that was no option, so what now?

"Who am I to judge...I am not a cur-sed god" Mok said to himself. It was not his place to judge this creature. The half-blood would give the man the benefit of the doubt for he had done Mok no wrong. In fact, he had been extremely helpful to the myrian by taking out two of the assailents. Although he had lost his monster dog companion and been lasurated a dozen times in the process, he still got the job done. The myrian would run with this, however he would still keep up a good guard.

"What will happen to you?" Mok shouted accross the way, ignoring Rayage's words and pointing at the nuit. "You are bleeding, you trying to continue?"

The myrian tried listening to the nuits words patiently, but his mind was moving at a hundred miles per hour. He needed to do something. He need MORE! His bloodlust wasn't satisfied yet he realized, but there was no one else to kill. Mok decided to roll the dice and take a gamble. Petch it all! It didn't matter what type of shit he was getting in, he didn't care. Even if he died after two minutes with the nuit it wouldnt matter, because he already made up his mind.

"Listen. I'll help you with your bleeding, you help me rob these motherpetchers blind. Fifty-fifty," Mok coughed up a huge lugy and spat on the one of the graves, "I spit on these graves, what was once theirs in now mine."

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common
Image
"If you want some, get some, bad enough, take some,
But watch the sword by my side,
Because it represents me and the motherpetching east side"
-one of Mok's mottos
User avatar
Mok
The Sunberthian Gangster
 
Posts: 261
Words: 149901
Joined roleplay: June 20th, 2011, 5:06 pm
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