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Post by Faljere D'ael Elderbaden on Oct 12, 2013 23:59:43 GMT -6
Autumn had fallen quickly over the land, indicated by the chill of the ghostly wind, the red and orange flame-like leaves upon the trees, and the white, dead, mist hovering just above the shores. The fog produced by the pre-winter temperatures made the large wooden ship coming into the harbour-carrying a precious cargo-slightly soggy and very well hidden.
On the deck, a man with a big grey coat and a floppy feathered hat walked along, looking his crewmates in the eyes. "Alright, lads! We're pulling into the harbour soon. Ready all we've got: we want to make sure the Monk's return is a satisfying one." He commanded to them, a murmurous response following.
An anchor was dropped over the side of the boat as they reached more shallow waters, and the men on the ship's deck readied a long wooden plank for the side of the ship. The wooden plank after being dropped over the side hit the ground at an angle with a soft thump, making a slight bridge for their passenger.
A man-tall, blonde, and clad in Celtic greens and greys and wearing a mask over his lower face-was removed from the cabin gently. "Easy, Monk. You've been in a lot of combat in the past few months. You'll need to take it easy." Said the man in the coat. The Monk brushed his hair behind his elongated, leaf-shaped ears and looked down at the man. "Where is my weapon?" He asked.
The man grabbed from a barrel on the side a Naginata, to which the Monk shook his head. "Not that one. The blade." He indicated. The man nodded and grabbed from the barrel a long, two handed curved greatsword, which was then handed to the Monk.
The man watched as the the elven Monk walked down the ramp inquisitively. "What was your name again?" He asked. Without turning back as he walked into the mist, the elf spoke in a low and soft voice that could oddly be heard from quite a distance.
"Faljere, Captain. Faljere Elderbaden."
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Idina Doc
Wildgardian
Could we start again, please?
Posts: 258 
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Post by Idina Doc on Oct 17, 2013 23:13:32 GMT -6
To be perfectly honest, Idina did not fully know where she was. All she knew was she was quite a ways from the city or the Fort. Though she'd only lived within Wildgard for a relatively short time, she had begun to feel as though this new place could really be a home for her. Her first few months here, she'd kept to Fort MacNiel - the whole reason she'd come at all. After a time she'd gone into the city of Wildgard itself, but hadn't extended her reach farther than that.
Now, however, she was here. Wherever "here" was; she couldn't see through the fog that weighed her cloak down with airborne water. There were still trees to all sides, that she knew. Idina kept close to their trunks as she meandered through the woods, gravitating to any new trunk that revealed itself through the mist, which seemed to be getting thicker... The blonde healer could only guess she was by an ocean now.
After a few more minutes, roars sounded from a little ways off. The waves, from the sound of it, were gentle enough. She stood a minute and listened to the unfamiliar sound. Having been landlocked for most of her life, the sounds of the ocean intrigued her. Though her curiosity was piqued, she dared not move closer to the sound of waves, for she didn't know where the land would end and where the water would being, or if she'd have a fall between the two...
Voices caught her ear now. Idina's head whipped around to try and locate its source, which knocked her hood off. Replacing it, she ducked behind a tree so as better to conceal herself - although the voices couldn't be close, she figured, since she couldn't make out any specific words. One hand hovered over her capture device, flitting over the space between it and her dagger's sheath; the other kept her hood on her head and partially covered her face with it.
A minute or two passed and the voices seemed no closer. The blonde had half a mind to turn and leave, but just as she thought that, a few recognizable words sounded through the fog: "Faljere Elderbaden."
As though it were a spell, the name seemed to freeze Idina where she stood. Since her return to Wildgard a few months ago, she hadn't seen or heard of the monk who had greeted her early in her arrival to these lands; the caring wood elf who seemed most joyous in the library he had owned and cared for. She had met another elf more recently who knew of his name as well; it seemed she was searching for him, in fact.
A figure emerged from the fog: dark at first, then his colours appeared. Shaggy, shoddily-cut blonde hair; clothed in gray and green. Something covered his mouth and nose. He was very tall - although many were, compared to her - and seemed determined but distant. A stranger. The moment she caught sight of the weapon he had with him, Idina felt her face lose a bit of its colour, and she ducked fully behind the tree, following the newcomer's movements by the sound of cracking autumn leaves beneath his feet. Where had he come from, and why was he here? The questions burned in her throat, but she would not make her presence known to him. His essence was palpable, and it in itself made her feel almost seasick. She knew this was not someone to cross without reason, and she had none.
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Post by Faljere D'ael Elderbaden on Oct 17, 2013 23:53:15 GMT -6
Faljere inhaled, breathing in the murk dwelling along the floor of the woods as he treaded forwards, his cloak dragging along the soft, damp ground, picking up muddy leaves in its wake. His bladed was fastened to his back with a few black leather belts and a deer hide, rubbing up silently against his spine. With every step, his foot sank into the moist undergrowth, collecting water in its welts, before being shaken off by the next step that he took.
Behind him, he heard the rusted iron anchor splash up from the ocean floor and get hung up on the side of the vessel as the Captain of the trading ship ordered his men around. They had been so generous as to take him back to the Eastern Continent, as they were heading there themselves from the shores of England. Kind enough after a hefty price was offered, at least. The monk ignored what was going on behind him, not bothering to look back. He had done his days of looking back, and they'd done him no good, apart from realising the one truth of the world that no one else seemed to understand: Death was a gift.
He'd been a convict and escaped, hunted down for nearly a thousand years by an assassin, but through all that time he'd never once considered death was the only escape from the chaos of life. He'd considered the same thesis when he'd looked back on his homeland and decided to return to help fight. He'd lost his friends, and he felt glad for them, for their burdens had been lifted, whilst he had to live with not only his own, but theirs as well. Death was indeed the world's greatest yet most unappreciated gift.
But he'd decided to look back one last time, were it not also to look forward into the dark tunnel with his reward in life waiting at the very end, patient for his time to exit the tunnel to come. Coming back was not necessarily his first thought, but he strangely felt himself still attracted to returning. Of course, nothing would be the same now that he was so much more invigorated and enlightened than his former comrades. Gavin MacNiel, who saw death as nothing more than a sob story. Idina Doc, whom from death had run her whole life, not unlike everyone else living in the world. Thea, who thought controlling life was a blessing, knowing not the curse it truly was. Lady Kirsten, unaware that her son's passing was truly a wonder to behold, to blinded by her own selfish emotions. And Ieda...the monk who had taken in Faljere after his imprisonment, who believed that every life was sacred and should not be wasted. Little did she know that death was not at all a waste.
From behind him, the fog twirled in a miserably sluggish dance, followed by the sounds of crunchy fall leaves cracking beneath the foot of another. Drawing his blade, Faljere spun around quickly and readied himself to kill, his piercing sword slashing straight through the thick mist obscuring his vision. The swing was certainly enough to allow him a view of who was behind him so that he could wish them a good journey before giving them his gift, but the sight presented to him was enough to make him hesitate for even a split second.
It was Idina Doc.
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Idina Doc
Wildgardian
Could we start again, please?
Posts: 258
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Post by Idina Doc on Oct 18, 2013 22:14:36 GMT -6
As unsettling as the stranger's presence was, it almost felt worse to Idina when she couldn't feel it anymore. She guessed he was heading for Wildgard, judging by his direction. This worried her: given his weapon, he'd be asking for trouble, and given his essence, he could cause a lot of just that. With a slow, deep breath, she lifted herself onto her toes and took a few steps out from behind the tree where she'd stood. Leaves were strewn all over the ground, carpeting it with Autumn, and though the little blonde tried to avoid them, she wasn't overly concerned, as the fog was thick enough not only to hide her, but to dampen the leaves as well. Even so, she kept careful watch of her steps and her surroundings.
Her watch wasn't careful enough apparently, however, for it wasn't long before a blade sliced through the mist and came to an abrupt halt right in front of her.
Everything within her screamed to run. To get away from this man, perhaps to follow him from a safer distance. But she worried he'd give chase, and he would have no trouble catching up to her again. Running would only prolong whatever he intended to do, Idina was sure of it. In any case, she was frozen on the spot a second time, although now the culprit was fear instead of curiosity.
Something flickered in the stranger's eyes, she noticed: hesitation. It wasn't there long, but there it was. Inhaling deeply once again, she kept her eyes on his face. "I mean no harm," she declared, her voice steadier than it might've been thanks to full lungs. "Why are you here?"
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Post by Faljere D'ael Elderbaden on Oct 18, 2013 22:52:05 GMT -6
Faljere's hesitation cost him his willingness to take a life for a split second, but that was quickly shaken off. Still, he wondered why the sight of an old companion would have stayed his hand when he knew what had to be done in order for peace to come to the world at long last. Only through death-an inevitable fate-could one truly attain the eternal peace one desired so much, and yet everyone ran from this ever-stalking entity in childlike fear as if it were an enemy bent on making their life a never-ending bloody hell for them. Of course Faljere was concerned for himself about why he would not allow his strike to continue against Idina.
The monk, not lowering his blade in the slightest, gave a heartless glare towards the girl. "To attain peace." Was his only answer; although brief, he expected it explained everything she needed to know. Still seeing the confusion on her face, the monk considered rewording his answer, while maintaining the level of the blade against her throat. "When the Circle finally comes to a close, serenity will be attained."
He finally lowered his blade and sheathed it, uninterested by this curious infant as he turned around to continue his trek towards the village.
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Idina Doc
Wildgardian
Could we start again, please?
Posts: 258
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Post by Idina Doc on Oct 19, 2013 21:37:59 GMT -6
Even with the blade gone, Idina swore she could still feel it's point hovering over her vocal chords, threatening to push in at any moment. That wouldn't have been a half-bad way to go, she figured for a moment: if a hand of habit held the weapon, it would be quick, easy, and essentially painless. Better than a panicked, agonizing, firey demise... She cursed the leaves every autumn, for theirs colours were too similar to a trivial thing that meant so much...
Shaking her head, the blonde forced those thoughts out of her mind. She hadn't been thinking for long, but it still took a few moments to find the stranger's path again. Her hands curled into fists. His answer wasn't satisfactory, not to her. How did he intend to bring peace with such a weapon under his command? Two possibilities sprung to Idina's mind, each equally horrible to her: tyranny or slaughter. The look in his eye that he'd given her told her he could do either. No, neither would do. Neither would happen as long as she had anything to say on the matter!
That did it: she was determined to find him and pick his thoughts apart, even stop him if she had to. Holding hee tongue, she took swift, light steps back into the trees, keeping distance of at least twice the length of his blade in all directions. There was a long way to go between here and Wildgard, she knew, and she would track him for as long as it took to figure him out.
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Post by Ibelin Dumont Baltonien on Dec 23, 2013 12:26:15 GMT -6
What's goin' on? Is 'e gone?
Those were the thoughts that crossed through the warrior Ibilin Dumont Baltonien's mind as he sat impatiently in a wooden barrel that was only slightly roomie aboard--wait, what ship was he on again? The Prometheun had no idea what he'd actually done, only that his people had sent a request for the Knights of the Order of the Circle to send one of their best warriors to track down a mysterious, green-and-grey-clad Wood Elf that had passed through Europe, and although Ibilin wasn't a knight just yet, he was certainly qualified to find this potentially dangerous creature and bring him to justice.
His search had led him to a boat with simple merchants, but since he didn't want anyone to draw attention to himself and warn his target of his position, he'd hidden aboard the ship, where he hid in a barrel for perhaps too long for his own good.
Suddenly, the ship jolted, and Ibilin's barrel nearly tipped over. "What the bloody smeg?" He grunted and looked out the window to see that off in the distance, the Wood Elf he was tracking was already on the shore, walking through thick mist, and the boat was now a distance from the shore. "Wait...what?!" He yelled in anger, suddenly covering his mouth to silence himself. "C'mon, Chipper! I still hafta find 'ja!"
In desperation, he quickly stood up from inside his barrel, accidently slamming his head against the wooden ceiling. Grunting in pain, Ibilin cradled his pathetic wound with his left hand, using his right to try and crawl out of the barrel. Suddenly, the barrel leaned forward, causing Ibilin to reach forwards to try and stop it from falling; he was unsuccessful, and the barrel toppled over, letting him simply slip out like a dead frog onto the wooden floor. Disgruntled and aggravated, Ibilin stood up, minding his head's distance from the ceiling, and picked up from behind a few crates his backpack containing his armours, swords, and tabard, before slinging the straps onto his back.
He quickly rushed out of the cargo room, his booted feet only lightly thudding against the hollow wooden floor, and into the main room of the lower deck. In the middle of the room was a table where usually sat two men playing some sort of game that Ibilin didn't know involving the trading of little metal token-like coins, which Ibilin assumed were valuable in some way. On the table, the coins were left in small heaps, each octagonal token holding a different mythical being carved into it; beside them, two chalices of red wine sat, untouched. To the far left of the table was a staircase leading upwards to the upper decks. Ibilin continued running, this time swinging around the table while grabbing one of the chalices and a handful of tokens before shoving the coins into his pocket and chugging down the spiced wine as he went around the edge of the table. When he had finished, he lightly placed the chalice back on the table and ran towards the stairs, quickly climbing them to the upper deck.
Finally, after much running and climbing, the warrior made it to the top deck and ran towards the port side, only to see that land was already quite a distance away, the fog barely covering the tops of the trees. "No!" He cried out, forgetting for just a split second that he was a stowaway. However, that fact came back to him soon and he turned around to see the faces of the crewmen staring at him in confusion and shock. Ibilin bashfully turned around, but soon his bashfulness was replaced by cockiness. "Hey, Chippers!" He said with a grin. "See dat guy over dere? Yeah, he's kinda a dangerous criminal, so d'ya mind lettin' me off on the shore? I fink it'd be good for me to catch him fore he can'ert anyone, alright?" Ibilin demanded in a slightly cheery voice. From the crowd of crewmen and mercenaries hired to guard the ship most likely from pirates stepped the one who seemed to be the captain. "What in the name of Baal's name are you doing on my ship, stowaway? And you demand me, the captain of this vessel, to bring you to the shore? I could easily have you killed right now, for such a crime! Or worse, arrested once we return to the port in lifer pol by the King's men." Ibilin snickered at the man's lack of priorities before stepping forward to confront him. "Oh yeah, you could do dat, right? Or, you can let me go so I dun'afta kill any'ya crewmates, savvy?" The captain glared at him in intense hatred upon hearing those words. "Why you retched pirate scum! I should throw you off this ship! But no, we'll return to Briton, and your punishment will be met there." He gestured with his hand for the mercenaries behind to capture him.
Ibilin watched as the tough-looking men advanced on him, their axes, maces, and blades ready for hurting the soldier. With a slight grin, Ibilin placed his left hand behind his back, only to pull out from his pack one of his cross-hilt shortswords and throw it over his head and towards one of the wooden posts where a length of rope was attached to the rest of the ship's functions. The blade easily sliced through the rope and embedded itself in the wooden post, and suddenly the ship jolted, as did the men advancing on him. Ibilin sneered and did the same with his other shortsword, albeit to another rope. The ship jolted again, and began slightly tilting on the port side. Ibilin took the chance and ran towards the post where the loose rope was, fending himself from all other guardsmen with the rapier he removed from his pack, before finally leaping onto the rope and swinging around it. The warrior swung a few times, grabbing the embedded swords as he did so, before aligning his feet with the wheel, and kicked it. The ship jolted one last time, but instead of tilting, it began to turn back to the shore. Ibilin dropped onto the floor and sighed proudly before realizing that the ship wasn't going to stop until it hit the shore, where it would most likely be destroyed. He looked around at the panic of the crewmen, regretting his actions only slightly, before shrugging and jumping overboard into the watery shore. Although his armour was heavy upon his back, the water was only chest high, allowing for him to wade to the grass and rocks as the boat beside him continued on its collision course.
Ibilin finally pulled himself onto the grass as the boat crashed into the rocks, and he looked over to see men screaming at him in fury. The warrior knew what to do as he stood himself up, wiped the grass off his trousers and tunic, and ran into the forest with a demented smile on his face. "Catch me iff'ya can, Chippers!" He cried out cheekily to the people behind him. Now he only had one priority again, and that was finding and ending this madman in the green and grey Celtic clothes.
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