Open [The Cursed Bridge]A stroll through Nyka

[Omaru]

39th of Spring, 513 AV

Omaru stared across the great bridge connecting the center of Nyka with the Western part of the city. Unlike the other bridges in town, this one was not guarded by monks. One part of his mind argued that there must be a reason why this bridge is abandoned. But having dealt with the supernatural all his life, Omaru was not so concerned. Before he had the chance to start walking, however, Omaru became aware of another presence at the bridge.

He glanced to his right so see an elderly woman, also staring across the bridge. But this was no ordinary woman. This woman had no shadow. She had no truly stable form to look at, as her image flickered and faded in and out of focus occasionally. Yes this woman was a ghost. As a Spiritist, it was Omarus duty, no, his privilege to aide the spirit in any way that he could.

"Pardon me ma'am." Omaru said, gingerly as he approached the spirit. She did not turn to look at him however. Her transparent figure locked, staring across the Aperture.

"He hasn't come yet..." Her voice seemed to come from everywhere, yet nowhere at once. "He hasn't come...I must...I must..." The woman simply continued to repeat this, over and over. Must what? Omaru thought. But he was patient.

As she repeated herself endlessly, Omaru pulled from his bag a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and small apple. It wasn't much, but it was enough to achieve his goal. He took one bite of each of the three foods and chewed slowly as he listened and watched to woman. After a few moments, he bit the tip of his thumb hard. At least, hard enough to draw blood. He then allowed himself to bleed for a few moments before taking the mush of food from his mouth and smearing the blood wherever he could on it. Before replacing the bloody mush in his mouth he asked the woman,

"What must you do?"

Slowly, the womans head turned to face him, and she spoke,

"I must go to him."

Omaru nodded as he continued to chew his mixure. When he was done, he spat the food from his mouth and into his hands. He smiled inwardly for it had worked. The concoction was an off-white gel that was cool to the touch. It wasn't perfect, but it was Soulmist. Omaru then rubbed it up and down his arms and around his fingers and hands, as if he were washing himself with the stuff. It quickly dissolved into his skin.

Omaru then reached out and placed his hand on the womans shoulder. To many, the sensation would disturbing. To reach out and touch a ghost. But to him, it was a common event.

"Where is he?" he asked, genuinely concerned. In response, she simply pointed across the bridge. And so, it was decided. Omaru would help this old woman across the bridge to the other side. Hopefully, in more than one way. And so, Omaru held out his arm, gentlemanly, for her to steady herself.

Omaru was vaguely aware that he was being watched. Those who could not see the woman deemed him mad. Those that could see her showed more curiosity at what was going on. But all who watched him stared in disbelief at how carelessly this foreigner simply began to walk across the Cursed Bridge.

Their arms interlocked, Omaru smiled as the old woman began to tell stories of her husband, the man on the other side of the bridge. Their gait was slow, but Omaru didn't mind. He was happy to help the dead pass on. And he certainly enjoyed the company.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

A mellow chilling breeze seemed to glide off the rugged features of Senghor Vilhjalmr as he walked across the bridge, it confused him that it'd be somewhat desolate between on a bridge that connected two places together, he shook his head slightly as it didn't concern him, what'd he care about monks and their simple thoughts?

As he looked down at this feet and raised his head, he saw a another person across the bridge, yet the person was an oddity as its figure had its hands outstretched at its chest and seemingly talking, he frowned slightly at the figures disposition and murmured coldly below his breath,

"Keep praying, it's not like they'll do anything..." were Senghor's words as he neared, shifting the weight over his shoulders, onto the left was his bag, denied its swaying motion as he walked by obstructing it with his left arm and over to the right, nigh-grazing at the golden brown strands erecting at the roots of his head was his longsword, the body of the blade flint seductively in the light as he walked, probably lost, mostly bored.

A nimble sigh slipped from his parting lips as he shadowed his gaze by casting his head down and letting his body merely relax with his stride, his footsteps echoed with the joined sounds coming off the confusing figure, as they decreased in volume its mumblings were beginning to be heard.

As he inclined his head to the male for a second to look at his actions, his ears soon after were flowing with confusion and voices, it'd seemed that when the figure spoke, clearly male that the air would murmur back.

"What the..." asked Senghor lowly as his eyes slowly began to widen in confusion and intrigue, he was going insane, finally all the deeds he'd done were back to haunt him with insanity and hatred is what he thought.

Intrigued by what was unfolding before him, he turned to listen to the whimpering whispers the air would let loose to their ears, as the mysterious figure talked the wind replied, incoherently to Senghor yet the words and their formation were there. As the figure spoke again and the wind replied, Senghor's rage began to well up, it began usurp all his other senses slowly and cause him to tighten his hold on his belongings, veins began running along his palms lithe and beautiful as a human work of art.

He grit his teeth and looked at the figure to speak, "He..." and than there, amidst the winds grasp, it's sensual caress and copious forming confusion Vilhjalmr saw a transparent figure phase in and out with the wind.

"Ghost!" he said disgruntledly with a slightly angered cry, as he closed his eyes to blink and opened them he found himself with a flowing movement of the arms and wrists, he'd shrugged off his bag and let it hit the bridge whilst both of his arms fell to the hilt of his blade, his knees bent slightly as he brought his body forward to let the figure of the longsword sway seductively with his thoughts.

'Damn Ghosts....' he thought coldly for a moment as his muscles tightened in readiness.

A minute passed and it caused his right brow to arch in confusion as he sensed a air of little to no hostility towards the figure and its fading companion. He let his body straighten and stiffly stand, his muscles seemed to hugged the shirt he wore tightly, each definitive muscle on his upper body appeared along with the bulging necklace outlined around his neck and hanging where his sternum is on his chest.

As his arms dropped and he held the longsword in one hand, easing it onto the ground and cutting the base of the bridges skin with its tip, Senghor inclined his head acutely to the side and watched what was going on, his attire constricting his slowly heaving chest.

'Interesting... Mother did once tell me of such occurrences, Ghosts...' he thought as he stepped back and let the events take to their course as they were meant too.

[Vladimir Balsam]

Vladimir was walking around Nyka, enjoying the weather that wasn't too bad today. He had heard about a bridge that was abandoned and decided to go and check it out. He looked around and asked some people on which way the bridge was.

"Over that hill and a little to the south." a stranger had answered him.
Vladimir nodded his head and continued on the way that the stranger had direted him. Vladimir came up to the bridge and he could not believe what he was seeing. He was looking at a man but then the man was gone and then the man was back again. He was walking across the bridge and he looked like he was holding on to someone but there was nobody there beside him.

What was going on here? Vladimir thought to himself. Surely this was strange. Why was this bridge abandoned? He wondered. This was surely something strange indeed. He couldn't picture why this man was walking like this across the bridge. Vladimir decided to look around himself to see if anyone else was seeing what he was seeing, or maybe he was just seeing things.

[Omaru]

Omaru stopped just a few steps onto the bridge. Fear over came him for a moment. He had caught sight, just to the left of him, the figure of a rather large man drawing his sword, staring angrily at him and his companion. He doesn't look like a monk..Why is he so aggressive? When the man relaxed, Omaru let out a breath of air that he didn't realize he was holding. What was that about? he thought.

The spirit beside him noticed Omarus reaction to the man, but in her state of mind, didn't quite comprehend the situation.

"Is he a friend of yours, Omaru?" No, he thought. And he was about to tell her that too. He was going to say that that man was dangerous. That they should avoid him. But he was too late. The old woman vanished from his side in an instant in a way only a ghost could do. Blinking.

Omaru panicked for a moment. Where did she go?! His eyes darted from side to side. He noticed for a moment, a man who looked like a ghost himself at the end of the bridge where he once stood. The man was white as snow, with hair the color of the void itself. But his attention quickly turned back to the ghost woman who had reappeared mere inches from the man with the sword.

"Well hello young man." she called in a friendly manner. Then she turned back to Omaru and smiled. "Well he looks just like my grandson, Omaru. Very handsome, very strong."

Omaru was a little in shock of the situation. And quite frankly, he had no idea what to do. And so he stood there, the one hazel eye uncovered by his snowy hair, wide and unblinking. Well Omaru, you've done it again. Gotten yourself in an unpredictable predicament. For what seemed like bells, though it was only a few seconds, Omaru could do nothing.

Well this should be fun..

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the apparition stood mere inches from Senghor, his foot moved back and he leaned backwards slightly, his grasp the grip of his sword loosening slightly, his blood ran cold as his iris shrunk and quivered as minuscule dots upon the white canvas of his eyes, his mouth lost moisture and turned into a dry desert of, fear?

A lump formed in his throat as he stammered, his mouth knocking at his brain to regain his senses, "W, w, wha?"..." the male asked stupidly as he felt all his muscles numb.

'Get back on your ass!!' his subconscious kicked his conscious in the 'face' causing Senghor to jerk back out from his stupor. He tightened his grip on his blade and heard as the woman greeted him.

His eyes retained their mystic golden brown embers as he felt himself become, 'fine' once again. His chest rose and fell as he breathed slowly to ease his accelerating heartbeat, he turned to the woman, 'Respect any woman, no matter how she may be...' he recited his mothers words in his head and inclined his head acutely and looked her over.

"Ah.. Uhm..." he tried to form the words in his head, yet failed the first time. He felt obliged to answer her greeting, yet how?, to him he was basically talking to air that manifested life and form but he felt no need to be rude. Senghor Vilhjalmr mustered up all his strength and willpower and spoke to her, calmly and collected as he could.

His voiced flowed with a mature finery of wine and coating of honey with thickness in form, "Greet... Greetings, madame" he said as he bowed his head respectfully, 'Bowing heads?, seriously' he asked himself mentally and told himself to shut up.

As he spun his shoulder slightly and assessed the situation, he saw no need for hostility, yet. He loosened his fingers over the grip of his weapon and held it firmly in relaxation, a coerced sigh seemed to leave his lips as he tried to calm himself, anxiety was a tedious thing indeed...

[Vladimir Balsam]

((sorry guys for the late response, I had some RL things going on but I should be good now ))

Vladimir looked around. Was he really seeing this … the ghost that was walking across the bridge was now talking to a man that was on the other side of the bridge. What was going on here? Was the ghost dangerous? Vladimir decided that he was going to inch a little closer to see what was going on and what was being said. Vladimir got as close as he could without being completely in the open. He listened into what was being said.

"Well hello young man." she called in a friendly manner. Then she turned back to Omaru and smiled. "Well he looks just like my grandson, Omaru. Very handsome, very strong."

Vladimir decided to slowly pull out his bow and arrow in case this man would need his help as back up, but he wasn’t sure that his bow and arrow would even hurt the ghost … could you hurt a ghost? Vladimir thought to himself. He was very interested in what was going on. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to approach the man and the ghost though. The man seemed to be very nervous and he didn’t want to spook him and end up getting hurt himself. Vladimir looked around and thought, what is the worse that could happen and no one else seemed to be paying attention to what was going on. Maybe not everyone could see the ghost. Maybe this man was crazy and Vladimir was just seeing things. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him. Vladimir could not totally be sure. So Vladimir slowly started walking towards the man.

“Hey you, do you know why this ghost is talking to you? Do you know who it is?” Vladimir said as he stopped walking not too far from the man, so he wouldn’t get hurt and maybe not to scare him much, and to stay away from him with that weapon that was close to his grasp. Vladimir decided to stay where he was and await a response from either the man or the ghost.

[Omaru]

"And so respectful too. My I'm sure you're going to make some young girl a very happy lady some day." The old ghost replied cheerfully. Then she turned back towards Omaru, who was still standing dumbfounded. "Come over here Omaru. Don't be shy."

Wrapped in his cloak, Omaru approached slowly, his hands on his daggers behind his back. Omaru didn't trust this man, and as long as he had his sword out he wasn't going to take any chances.

"I'm terribly sorry ma'am. But isn't your husband waiting for you on the other side?" It could be heard in his voice that he was nervous and wanted to go. But Omaru cared too much about the dead to just leave here there in the middle of the bridge.

"Oh you say this man is here to help us get to the other side? Oh how nice of you young man." Omarus spirits fell even further. How could she misunderstand me so badly? And it was at that moment that the hairs on Omarus neck stood up. As an armed Symenestra approached. Omaru didn't hear what the man said. He was far too busy thinking of how to get out of this situation.

And then he heard it.

"Oh my! Another young man to help us. You're so thoughtful Omaru."
Omaru sighed. Damn this old woman!

[Vladimir Balsam]

vladimir slowly walked up to everyone that was at the bridge. Still walking fairly slow and keeping his eye on everyone. The ghost seemed very happy about everyone being around. Helping her with what? Why did she say we were all there to help her?

"Excuse me, ma'am, ghost lady, what is it exactly that you need help with? Vladimir asked with a confused look on his face. Did she need us to kill someone? Was she having trouble with other ghosts? How exactly do you help a ghost?

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Senghor's deadened gaze turned towards the newcomer on the bridge, it swiftly turned back to the old ghost as he murmured something incoherently, 'What's this lady on about?...' he asked himself as his fingers ran along the hilt of his blade with a vivid caress.

His golden brown eyes seemed to trail over each individual there, the coat wearing monk?, the archer and himself. Inwardly a smirk curved along his subconscious' lips as it thought of how a fight between them would commence, how it'd be so bloody and dark yet what little sanity he retained seemed to linger about and bring him back to the happenings of the bridge.

A memory sparked back into his head as he remembered the dead woman speak of him helping them getting over to the other side, a sigh left his lips as he thought, 'I wonder if their on the other side...'. As he inclined his head towards the draped figure, his mature voice seemed to glide off his tongue lustful, honey was coated in each word he chose to say as he slung his sword over his shoulder yet retained a sense of defense, trust amongst three somewhat deadly individuals wasn't obtained easily.

"You, monk... What's she talking about?" he asked lowly yet enough to be heard, he turned his head towards the other individual on the bridge and looked at him with a steely gaze, familiarity was something he wasn't accustomed too yet it'd seemed the archer looked familiar, very.

How does one assist a ghost, the dead should remain whence they came from, it didn't matter how lonely or tormented they were, to Senghor if you're dead you're dead hence one should remain such. A gentle breeze seemed to touch his desert skin with a cool caress, he raised his head at gazed at the sky with a sensual sigh, it'd seemed that Nyka was getting stranger at each waking moment for Senghor Vilhjalmr, the holy city wasn't as holy as it let on.

His palm firmly held onto to the grip of his blade with a similar caress, as naked skin was heated in the love making, two body thrashing to a sweat ridden dance as they swayed back and forth in pleasure and to others pain, a painted picture upon a dimly touched canvas.

Senghor brought down his sword and embedded it into the bridges body, digging into it only at the tip to allow a swiftness in attack if any hostilities were brought, tis was a strange night, with old ghosts and archers.

"What's next?" asked the son of Vilhjalmr as he looked around with a waning glare...

[Vladimir Balsam]

I am sorry guys, we can continue this or if you want to start a new one with me that is cool. I was haivng RL issues and moved and didn't have internet but I should be back full time now.

Thanks, and Sorry
Vladimir