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 Al's Past Works

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AuthorMessage
ɑʟʜɑɀʀɘɗ
Peasant
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Posts : 5
Join date : 2010-11-07
Age : 25

20101109
PostAl's Past Works

Beware all ye who enter here . . . >>


Last edited by ɑʟʜɑɀʀɘɗ on Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Aldaríon's steady, unladen, monotonous steps were all that pervaded his senses as he traversed through a rather impressive plain. Stalks of wild grown wheat and rye groped beyond the horizon, seemingly to go on forever. Sightly wild flowers sprouted from the crevices of scattered boulder's that only Father Time knew how they made their appearance here. The bright colors of the blossoms attracted bees from across the glade, determined to syphon off the sweet nectar. A small herd of elk pranced about in the far distance, their bristled coats glistening in the sunlight. All of this was invalid to Aldaríon, for he was in a rather dazed state at the moment. The satin hood was placed well over his eyes, preventing any view of the natural beauty around him. The rest of his cloak was dyed in a somber violet which could be easily passed over with a glance, but if caught by the eye, it would seem incredibly elegant. The trimmings of the cloak were embroided with intricate designs that only addedto the bedazzlement of the royal fabric. The cloak billowed as small tugs of wind teased at the gorgeuous colors. On the rear of the materpiece, was a sewn in emblem that Aldarion had created himself, as well as the rest of the wear. Underneath the hood rest a handsome, but seldom seen face. Thin, delicate eyebrows hovered over two closed eyelids which hid frightening purple eyes, one of which bore the crest of the Daemon. Set firmly between hs eyes was a straight and slender nose, and below that were lips that hadn't given the slightest hint of a smile in several decades.

Mounted on his back as if were some cheap toy, which in all instances it was not, bumped Uramon's staff, Galdor. Little more than a meter and a half tall, the staff shined with an blush burgundy and pitch black ebony. The pommel of the staff, if it could even be called a staff, resembled something of a dragon's claw centralizing on to one point. At the apex of the strange pole was a spear-like construction that pronged out into two points. Aldaríon held much care for this warped trident/spear and staff, for it was his master's. Within the strange construction was an element known as Neutromus, a fairly rare substance indeed. The mysterious sand-like element could convert itself into another one of its kind if that specific type of mana is forced upon it. This made Galdor quite an aide in battle for as it absorbed any type of magic, it amplified it severalfold. Galdor was a weapon that Aldaríon feared using for it was susceptible to breaking the same as any other weapon, and he was not formally taught in the art of spearplay.

Aldarion continued at a steady pace, his footsteps never ceasing their perfect cadence with his heartbeat, though his eyes were closed. Was he...sleep walking? The flow of oxygen entered and exited his nostrils as it would for a sleeping man, slow and steady. No, it was more of a deep-thought kind of state. From his mind's eye, Aldarion could make out everything around him, yet at the same time he ws pondering thechemical structure of the human body. Slowly he recited in his head the elements Uramon had spent days and weeks teaching him. Calcium, Phosphorus, Potassium, Sulfur, Sodium, Chlorine, Magnesium, Iodine, Iron Even the voice inside of his own head sounded melancholic. The Daemon merely contained itself and sat, observing the tumult of knowledge Aldarion contained in that cranium of his. Aldarion then began to recount the percents of how present one element was in the body, correspondingly of course, 1.5482%, 1.0048%, 0.4893%, 0.3254%, 0.30- The Daemon interrupted his train of thought with a voice that may have been female, though the frequency had far too low of an octave. Its thoughts mingled into his blundered mind, We are being tailed

Indeed they were, for the last kilometer or so, in fact. Aldarion had made sure to keep his auxilary tier of senses to detect if they were getting closer, and they were. Judging by the number of footsteps....three. There were three of them. As an extra detail, their stepswere light, which likely indicated that they were mildly armored. Good, he wouldn't have to waste too much of his precious mana to deal with these vagabonds. His staff might be able to deal a killing blow to one of them by striking them across the head, or by impaling them through the breastplate into the heart, but that would leave a gap of opportunity for one of the others to lop off his head with a swift strike. The thieves inched closer, their steps became more staggered. They were becoming excited, eager for the kill, eager to see what this man would have in his coffers to go along with that expensive cloak of his. Aldaríon began to mumble something under his breath as the lead of the three broke into a sprint. He felt a tingle in his palm as pale lavender and emerald flames danced across arm. The fire dripped from his fingers as if it were comprised of liquid, though when it splashed on the ground it merely disappeared, as if it never existed. The liquid fire did not burn Aldaríon, in fact it felt as if he had shoved his hand into a mound of fresh fallen snow.

The first of the thieves made a foolish mistake by sounding a battle cry before he struck. Aldaríon spun in time to see the man in the arc of his swing, ready to bring it down upon him. With the man's build, it appeared as if he could rend Aldaríon in twain with a single swipe, a shame he would die here. He lunged his hand forward into the man's breastplate, the poorly smithed metal parted for his aflame hand as if it wanted to avoid touching the fire. Aldaríon felt his finger tips sink into the man's chest, the skin bubbled and charred, he pushed farther. Muscles could be felt shrinking and condensing as the intense heat that eminated from his hand cooked the bastard inside out. The ribs gave way as they became nothing more than a chalky substance, the marrow disintigrating. Aldaríon groped for that one organ, the key to life, the heart. Another moment of crisping the inside of the man, he found purchase. Aldaríon gripped the beating orb and its rhythm ceased as it turned into nothingness. The mugger let out an immense groan of excruciating pain as Aldaríon worked the procedure within two seconds. The corpse stood straight for a moment longer then it collapsed to the side. A gaping hole in the chest, the metal rent apart by a fearsome force that was his hand. Small wisps of ghostly smoke disapeared into the passing breeze, the smell of cooked meat was prominent.

The spellcaster held up his hand to the other two adversaries, crimson dripped from his hand among the intertwined green and purple. The blood popped and sizzled on his fingertips, then evaporated into nothing. The pale flame creeped down his arm and dripped from his elbow, disappearing as they hit the dirt. Aldaríon took one step towards them with his hand held out. The two of them fled. Snapping his fingers, Aldaríon ceased the flow of mana that seeped into his arm and the fire snuffed. Retreating back into his cloak, he turned back to his previous direction and continued to trek. The Daemon spoke It still eludes me how you've developed these magics while in your childhood. Your magic is astounding, yes, but it defies all laws of the ethereal realm! Aldaríon said nothing to the Daemon.

0.3058%, 0.2458%, 0.2218%. 0.1498%, 0.0982%...


Last edited by ɑʟʜɑɀʀɘɗ on Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:37 pm; edited 1 time in total
Brouhaha grumbled on his bed of dried leaves and pine needles. The pelt of a bear was set on top as a comforter, and the foliage a cushion. His unconscious mumbles woke him from the echoes they created from the cave walls. Pale lids slid open to reveal deep amethyst orbs. Relunctantly withdrawing from the comforting embrace of the bear skin, the Chieftan stood and reached towards the ceiling whilst standing on the balls of his feet. Bones popped in several places and sent a shiver up his spine, along with a troupe of goosebumps. Brouhaha walked to his wash basin, and cleansed his body, which was devoid of any type of clothing. Wiping his face off with a cloth sewn from the sinewy material of a local plant, Brouhaha stared into the cave wall while leaning against the basin. Khaki colors gazed back. The Chieftan yawned and rubbed the bags under his eyes. He traveled to an assortment of garments that he kept ready to wear on a series of shelves carved out of the cave wall. He, at random, selected a set of briches dyed black.

Brouhaha exited his den, and walked into the extensive cave system that was the Sanctuary. Brouhaha's den was only one of the hundreds, maybe thousands of the hollowed out resevoirs in the great cave. One major tunnel extended in each major heading, they being: the North, South, East, and West Districts. All of which originated from a gigantic central room deemed the Chamber. The North District was entirely residential; thousands of Lycans resided within. The East District was strictly military, that was where the Lycan stronghold really lay. The East District consisted of a vast labyrinth of twisting tunnels, most inlaid with traps and devices to hinder the progress of any foreigners. At the very end of the East Disrict rest the Cviria Stronghold, an incredibly large fort that was constructed while the founder of the Sanctuary, Cviria, was still alive. The West District consisted mainly of trading vendors and industrialists who could not afford lease on a stall in the Chamber. Many of the goods were used to cook, barter, construct, and manufacture many other things. However, that was where the poverty lay as well. And lastly, the South District, was where the entrance to the Sanctuary was housed. A large series of gates ran for kilometers to act as a defensive barrier against any invasion.

Brouhaha's exit caused the several royal guards that waited by the doorway on the outside to stiffen. The Chieftan merely smiled and waved a hand, "At ease gentlemen," The guards relaxed and let out a casual grin. Brouhaha walked along and beckoned to his honor guard. "Come come! I am sure you all must be ravished with hunger after waiting for me to finish my slumber. My men deserve nothing less," The mood around the group lightened, and everyone became light in spirits. The guards trotted alongside their Chieftan as they passed through the North Tunnel.

Brouhaha glanced at a small organism with the semblance of a worm that was contained within a small jar that hung upon the cave wall every interval of one hundred yards. The small insect gave off an ghostly glow, suprisingly bright in the depths of the Sanctuary. They were called the Rutirae, or 'Time Larvae'. Their bodies seemed to be in sync with the natural forces outside, specifically the moon. Whenever the sun lowered, and the moon rose, the Rutirae seemed to glow eerily bright. Yet when the moon set, and the sun rose, they returned to a much dimmer glow. The Lycans harvested these larvae at birth from the forest outside of the Sanctuary for many generations, and the Rutirae have served them well.

The worm-like specimen that Brouhaha peered at at the moment, gave off a ghoulish light that painted the wall a pale flourescent blue. The sun was going to set soon. The Chieftan shook his head to himself, suprised at how long he had lazed about. They continued on. After fifteen minutes of trekking, the North District coalesced with the Chamber. People buzzed about. The exotic smells of dishes that could only be found in the Sanctuary created an intoxicating scent that trapped those with empty stomachs, in which case, was Brouhaha and his charges. The Chieftan let his nose guide him through the Chamber. The scent of freshly roasted venicine was betwixt with seasoned boar meat. Oh how his stomach trembeled with sheer anticipation. Bourhaha spun on his heel and faced his men. He looked them over, not one looked him in the eyes, not that they were afraid, but that they were enticed by the plethora of foodstuffs about them.

"You men may take your leave now, go and indulge yourselves in what our civilization has to offer!" he shouted raising his arms to emphasize the size of the Chamber. The honor guard took no time to disembark and crowd a stall that smelled the most promising. Brouhaha continued through the Chamber. The heat that emanated from the vendors' fires began to create beads of sweat on his brow and bare chest. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes to absorb to wonderous smells. As he basqued in his peoples' foods' aroma, Brouhaha heard the pitter patter of feet approaching him from behind. He cracked an eye and turned to see a young boy carrying a platter of jiggling white oblongs. He ran up to the Chieftan and held up the platter while beaming brightly. "Would you like to try one, sir?" the young boy inquired. Brouhaha smiled and took a small chunk of what lay on the platter. "What may this be pray tell?" Brouhaha asked as he firmly squeezed the thing between his fingers.

"Boiled snake's egg, sir" the boy said, his smile unchanged. Brouhaha blinked and braced his taste buds. He raised the egg to his mouth and took a bite. It tasted the same as a boiled chicken egg, though there was something slightly different. A salty taste as his teeth breached the harden yolk. Brouhaha chewed thoughfully, analyzing the flavor. He felt the crunch of small bones in his mouth as he realized what it was. The snake. The small suprise actually tasted quite good, and it was not long before the Brouhaha finished the other half. He smiled to the young boy and plucked two more from the platter. "Thank you, boy. These are delicious," The boy smiled wider, if that were possible, and bowed slightly. He began to run off when Brouhaha caught him by the shoulder, "Ah, wait! I still haven't paid you," The boy turned with a quirked eyebrow. Brouhaha reached into his pocket and pulled out a shimmering piece of silver. The boys eyes went wide as he saw it. "I think this should be enough," Brouhaha laughed as he slid the coin into the boy's shirt pocket.

Brouhaha left the boy in a befuddled manor, and walked along a path that ascended to the upper floors of the Chamber whilst munching on one of the eggs. Couples walked by, their arms entangled and bubbling with laughter. Brouhaha smiled to himself and finished the last egg in a large bite. He eyed one of his honor guard ripping the meat hungrily off of a leg of slow roasted mutton. In the distance Brouhaha's eye caught a shadowy figure lurking in the dark, clad in a black robe embroided with red borders. The Chieftan's mind clicked as he recognized the Minister, and he approached with a head cocked to the side. The Minister wasn't known for wandering around the Sanctuary, he mainly dwelled withing his own den. Brouhaha stood next to the Minister until the old one spoke. "Chieftan," he greeted. "Minister. It is not like you to be out and about, you wouldn't happen to have a sudden change of heart for society would you?" Brouhaha replied. The old Minister cackled, "Fat chance Brouhaha. I waited here to see you,"

"Me?" Brouhaha raised an eyebrow. "Yes," the Minister replied dryly, "As you know, the Elves have amassed an incredibly formidable army," Brouhaha nodded. The old man leaned against his walking stick, "Our army may have the advantage of the Sanctuary, but if they trap us in here, eventually we will starve from attrition. We will not survive," Brouhaha felt his face twitch, "Which is why," the Minister turned his wrinkly face to gaze into Brouhaha's eyes, "I propose a draft," The Chieftan's eyes shot wide, "What?!" Brouhaha roared. The Minister did not flinch. Brouhaha felt eyes burrowing into him from every angle, and turned away from the Minister, "Come to my quarters, later," the old man said, "We must discuss this," Brouhaha stormed off. As much as he detested it, the old man was right. The current military force was not adequate to take on the well trained Elves. They would be crushed within a matter of weeks. But how could he subjugate his people to the horror of the draft? Yound Lycans would be torn from their families to fight in a war that has no foreseeable end, and for what? "Dammit!" Brouhaha thundered as he slammed the side of his fist into the side of a stalagmite.


Last edited by ɑʟʜɑɀʀɘɗ on Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:37 pm; edited 1 time in total
Picture of Lucis

Lucis was on the verge of falling asleep on an extremely uncomfortable log when one of his runners bolted into his camp. The runner carelessly bumped into people disrupting their work, they in return spat curses and insults. Ignoring them, the runner came to a grinding halt in front of Lucis, being careful not to scatter soil towards him. Lucis looked up, barely acknowledging him. "Sir, I have a contract from the Vespitrill" Lucis immeadeatly shot the exhausted runner an annoyed glance.

"You know I refuse to accept work from those mongrels, leave me" Lucis resumed his lounging on his long, his eyelids shut forcefully, trying to ignore the bothersome messenger's prescense. The sweat on the runner's brow dripped profusely, his exhaustion clouding his judgement, he ignored his orders and continued.

"Sir, it's a mission on the invaders" Lucis' ears twitched. The invaders? A chance to strike back at a foe is never an offer to be declined, especially if it involves a foreign force.

"Fine then," Lucis said standing and brushing the grime from his attire, "Come to my command tent. We have a plethora to discuss" Together the runner and the commander filed inside a midnight black tent, two guards with spears and shortswords guarded the entrance.


The inside of Lucis' tent was bleak to say the least. A cot sat in a corner adjacent to the entrance flap, a table with a map sat in the middle with a dim oil lamp sitting on it, a barrel sat next to the table full of older reports, maps, and mediocre contracts. At the foot of the cot stood a frame for holding Lucis' armor, and at the foot of that rested his chest of weapons, gold (or what's left of it), and the more important contracts that The Black Lotus have already fulfilled.

Lucis turned directly to his runner, "Your name is Gabriel correct?" The runner nodded, "Alright Gabriel, let me see what you have, quietly though. No need of letting spirits lift, only to be dropped into an endless chasm." The runner nodded once more and lifted a scroll from his sling bag. Gabriel spread the scroll out on top of an old map Lucis used to ambush a Faelynian convoy, which only turned out to be some cheap cotton and wool, neither of which the men needed.

"So far these humans," he said the word full of spite, "have camped somewhere south of Khalio, in that forest terrain." he pointed to a miniature map scribbled on a corner of the scroll. "As you know sir, we are on the border of the Dweller's territory, if we were to set off this night, we may reach them before the dawn of the next day."
"Gabriel, you are informing me of things I already know" Lucis said impatiently, "What I want to know is why the Vespitrillian government wants these foreigners taken care of, to take care of an opposing power is obvious enough, but what is their motive?"

Gabriel bowed in apology, "Im sorry sir, it's basic procedure. Me stating the obvious may become monotonous, but please-" Lucis cut him off with a raise of his hand, signaling that he not need to explain himself. "Sir," Gabriel bowed once more, "The client did not go into detail, he simply declared that this was a trivial matter for their army-" "What army?" Lucis almost interrupted, but held his tongue and let his runner speak. "-to deal with, and they would rather not waste their time."

"Okay, sounds like enough motive for me. What is exactly they want us to do? A few mercenaries can't be expected to handle an entire army without even assesing the dangers first," Lucis pointed out.

"Ah, but that's exactly it sir. They dont want us to destroy the army, just to simply...," Gabriel searched for the word, "monitor it," Before Lucis could protest, Gabriel held up a finger to indicate that he was not finished, "For if we monitor them, the Vespitrill wish to award us with a steady sum of gold to get us back on our asses, and hopefully, back on out feet."

"Exactly how much are we talking about? How large are the intervals of payment? Details, details Gabriel," Lucis said bored.

"500 pieces a week" Garbriel said bluntly. Lucis nearly fell to the ground. He started bumbling meaningless words, then suddenly stopped. A manic laughter escaped his throat.

"500....." Lucis mumbled laughing. He stood and exited the tent, then sounded a loud whistle that recieved every mercs attention. "Saddle up gentlemen, but pack light, we're going on a scouting mission" Cheers and tired sighs sounded everywhere, the midnight black tents were collapsing within seconds of Lucis' command. The band was around a hundred strong, or weak in this case.

The sun had just touched the horizon, and the day was still young.

Fires from the human encampment were visible much earlier than Lucis had expected. They had some unexpected delays on the way through the forest, one of the horses carrying a wagon full of supplies was caught in one of the old traps layed on the forest floor. It was one of those rigs meant to catch someone's legs and then hang them in the air by their feet until the creator came and cut them down, or they died there.

The horse was snapped up by its left foreleg, the leather straps that held the bit to the wagon were ripped off of the wooden leading poles, splinters flew everywhere wounding several men, one in particular in the groin. When the horse was ripped up, the grotesque sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh overcame that part of the forest with malady. Lucis had to keep his hand over his mouth to keep from heaving up his insides, due to the lack of food in his system.

Within minutes the men regained their composure and cleaned the horse blood off their armor. They were moving quickly, the birds seemed to keep silent and still, as if understanding that if they gave away the band's position, they would lose a chance to ostracize these outsiders. Time was with them, the moon was only just starting to break the halfway point where they came to a suitable ridge that overlooked a sea of tents.

"My god, theres so many" Gabriel said as he observed the tents next to Lucis. Lucis grunted in confirmation, but an annoyed grunt because it was obvious there were so many. An invading force from the outside that no one has even heard about? Of course they woukd take precautions.

"Men," Lucis whispered to his squad behind him, "set up camp, no fires, and no tents. We're sleeping under the stars tonight, that is if we get some sleep" The men silently acknowledged him and set off to work. "And now, we wait"


Last edited by ɑʟʜɑɀʀɘɗ on Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:37 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Re: Al's Past Works
Post on Wed Nov 10, 2010 1:01 am by Macabre Memory
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