Can I help you with any questions, Cyber?
Virgil
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Finallyyyyyyyyyyy...post complete; Shoddily so, but it's a start.
As if in sorrow, tear-drops rained down the azure cheeks of the sun in irregular showers, bursting forth atop earth and flesh and stone with fiery anguish. Amok and wild with desperation, the denizens of the colossus flung themselves further and furthermore into the very heart of Yvindel, bucking and baying as the roaring blaze corralled them in for the slaughter. Like a beast mad with the scent of the hunt did that same enraged, unnatural fire slowly continue its greedy consumption of the city, swallowing beast, man and stone alike in its insatiable hunger...leaving only scorched ash in its wake.
A tribute to its destructive prowess, or perhaps a compliment to the vile creators of such a demonic force; Whatever the case, the outcome of the billowing wall seemed presaged by the violent shade it cast over the lands -- endearingly illuminated as it was by the procession of the sky into Evening's violet splendor.
Keenly aware of this terror, and with his heart threatening to escape its confinement within his chest, the bloodied tramp plodded heavily beneath the specter of their demise. The masses were long behind him now, giving him a while yet to recuperate from his over-exertion. Of course, this was all easier said than done, especially given that he could barely see, his skull was throbbing, his heart was on the verge of collapsing and his stomach seemed to be swaying every way that the wind blew. If he'd had the energy to titter, it'd be appropriate given the sudden focus one gained towards all the nitpicks of a disastrous scenario such as theirs.
A chill ran through his ragged frame, once more alerting Feraen to his senses, to that aged-old instinct: Danger
For a moment, he paused, but nothing came to mind. His arms swung loosely by his side, smashing into his hips with every weary step forward. The wall of the inner-most district appeared to only peak cravenly over the road, shivering in the haze that encompassed the lengthy distance towards it. The sweat that'd stung the beggar's eyes with salt had long since passed, leaving only irritated, reddening skin to bake in the unrelenting heat. The distant roars seemed to resurface arbitrarily, leaving him befuddled as to how close he was to that torturous fate...
Drearily, the swollen lids gave in to their own crushing weight, as did the rest of the figure. He felt an abrasive impact, dust racing past his face and into his lungs...and then sweet, comforting slumber.
Iraasnej observed the brazen posture of the guardsman from where he stood, contemplating the report with collected scrutiny...but he refrained from responding. Instead, he remained yet neutral in the argument, opting to muse over this newfound information. In the meanwhile, the guard resumed: "Even as we speak, our riders are sweeping the eastern thickets for the enemy -- provided they reach them in time, we expect only the outer-district will have been afflicted."
At this, the young queen interrupted, raising a slender hand in preparation for her query: "--And the outer-district and those attached to it?"
Hammond shifted nervously --standing as upright as his figure would allow it-- as he responded in earnest: "While many made it into the second district, those gates and inner walls have been closed and abandoned in preparation for the flame; Those unfortunates who couldn't make it within will perish, but the fires will subside against the heights given time, my lady." With this he bowed, nodding towards the two of them as he made his exit.
Jalani dropped to her knees, her head in her hands, and the entire state of her frame a broken mess. Again, she felt the strength of her mentor's embrace as she pressed her face into his breast, soiling his garments with her sputtering, choking sobs. He rested the staff beside them, holding the girl close as she shivered against his old corpse. No words in the world could've eased her dismal state -- so instead, he let her lie.
"Rest now, Jalani, for I fear the greatest of our sorrows are yet to come."
A tribute to its destructive prowess, or perhaps a compliment to the vile creators of such a demonic force; Whatever the case, the outcome of the billowing wall seemed presaged by the violent shade it cast over the lands -- endearingly illuminated as it was by the procession of the sky into Evening's violet splendor.
Keenly aware of this terror, and with his heart threatening to escape its confinement within his chest, the bloodied tramp plodded heavily beneath the specter of their demise. The masses were long behind him now, giving him a while yet to recuperate from his over-exertion. Of course, this was all easier said than done, especially given that he could barely see, his skull was throbbing, his heart was on the verge of collapsing and his stomach seemed to be swaying every way that the wind blew. If he'd had the energy to titter, it'd be appropriate given the sudden focus one gained towards all the nitpicks of a disastrous scenario such as theirs.
A chill ran through his ragged frame, once more alerting Feraen to his senses, to that aged-old instinct: Danger
For a moment, he paused, but nothing came to mind. His arms swung loosely by his side, smashing into his hips with every weary step forward. The wall of the inner-most district appeared to only peak cravenly over the road, shivering in the haze that encompassed the lengthy distance towards it. The sweat that'd stung the beggar's eyes with salt had long since passed, leaving only irritated, reddening skin to bake in the unrelenting heat. The distant roars seemed to resurface arbitrarily, leaving him befuddled as to how close he was to that torturous fate...
Drearily, the swollen lids gave in to their own crushing weight, as did the rest of the figure. He felt an abrasive impact, dust racing past his face and into his lungs...and then sweet, comforting slumber.
Iraasnej observed the brazen posture of the guardsman from where he stood, contemplating the report with collected scrutiny...but he refrained from responding. Instead, he remained yet neutral in the argument, opting to muse over this newfound information. In the meanwhile, the guard resumed: "Even as we speak, our riders are sweeping the eastern thickets for the enemy -- provided they reach them in time, we expect only the outer-district will have been afflicted."
At this, the young queen interrupted, raising a slender hand in preparation for her query: "--And the outer-district and those attached to it?"
Hammond shifted nervously --standing as upright as his figure would allow it-- as he responded in earnest: "While many made it into the second district, those gates and inner walls have been closed and abandoned in preparation for the flame; Those unfortunates who couldn't make it within will perish, but the fires will subside against the heights given time, my lady." With this he bowed, nodding towards the two of them as he made his exit.
Jalani dropped to her knees, her head in her hands, and the entire state of her frame a broken mess. Again, she felt the strength of her mentor's embrace as she pressed her face into his breast, soiling his garments with her sputtering, choking sobs. He rested the staff beside them, holding the girl close as she shivered against his old corpse. No words in the world could've eased her dismal state -- so instead, he let her lie.
"Rest now, Jalani, for I fear the greatest of our sorrows are yet to come."
Taking a quick break -- my computer's acting funny and I'd prefer *not* to lag through every song in my playlist.
Cut to commercial-break!
Edit: And I'm back.
Cut to commercial-break!
Edit: And I'm back.
~~Continuing Now~~
A hearty "Welcome Back" to myself! Let's get things rolling, shall we?
"But we MUST leave!"
The elderly scholar sighed at this outburst, and though his body stood erect as the carved statues that adorned the city, his mind weighed heavily upon the sturdy orkin-wood in his left. "Jalani, it is understandable that you would think to run, but I tell you now, the foe that besieges us knows the forests better than Yvindel's finest scouts; should you leave, they can and will hunt you down -- provided the Rrreshkohfmehmtahv --in addition to the various other beasts of prey-- do not find you first." Iraasnej looked on wearily at the girl from beneath his heavy brow, seeing her fear but being unable to empathize with it. He strode towards the where the princess now sat, a pallor tone having taken hold of her horrified expression of doubt as she pressed her palms together in angst knowledge as to what lay in store for the city.
If they stayed, they'd burn.
If they left, they'd be slaughtered.
Indeed, the cruel irony behind their situation lay in the harsh reality of their own attackers -- the oppressed Deepmire was the only 'civilized' residence for almost a hundred kilometers, as it had always been. Even if they were to flee, where fore could they find shelter?
She felt the weight of her tutor sink the finely crafted bed as he set himself down beside her. She felt his hand nestle itself upon her shoulder, trying to provide some semblance of comfort.
But she could feel no fear in him -- and turning her gaze from the floor towards his weathered face, it almost seemed as if there wasn't a siege at all. No monstrous walls of flame coming to devour generations of people -- not all good, admittedly...but not all bad either; No panic-stricken crowds thronging through each of the district gates; Not even the known monsters lurking in the forests' gloom felt anywhere near reality when she looked at the old man.
"Listen, Jalani, you know well of the promise I made upon your mother's passing.", he began, his Rookwood eyes doing as they might to try and persuade their audience into a relaxed focus. Her own eyes --black as those of many of the women in her ancestral line-- blinked in understanding, and bade he continue. "This pact I swore oath to -- that within my power, so long as I lived in consciousness, I would do all that can be done to protect you; My advice may appear suicidal, but it is what I have found to be in your best interests -- in this way shall I ever serve, as I have all of these past fourteen years and to this very day."
"...And your own interests? What forces may protect you from all the ill-fortune that seeks me?"
He smiled in response to this, his gaze turning towards the noon-light that streamed in from their window opposite. "By the grace of the gods and the skill of my wit, I will live for those close to me -- even if they reside in peril all their days."
With this, the Headmaster rose, supporting himself a bit by the strength of his walking-staff. "Your time does not end today Lady Jalani, but there will be harsh times ahead of you."
"Ahead of us."
"Indeed, my lady."
The elderly scholar sighed at this outburst, and though his body stood erect as the carved statues that adorned the city, his mind weighed heavily upon the sturdy orkin-wood in his left. "Jalani, it is understandable that you would think to run, but I tell you now, the foe that besieges us knows the forests better than Yvindel's finest scouts; should you leave, they can and will hunt you down -- provided the Rrreshkohfmehmtahv --in addition to the various other beasts of prey-- do not find you first." Iraasnej looked on wearily at the girl from beneath his heavy brow, seeing her fear but being unable to empathize with it. He strode towards the where the princess now sat, a pallor tone having taken hold of her horrified expression of doubt as she pressed her palms together in angst knowledge as to what lay in store for the city.
If they stayed, they'd burn.
If they left, they'd be slaughtered.
Indeed, the cruel irony behind their situation lay in the harsh reality of their own attackers -- the oppressed Deepmire was the only 'civilized' residence for almost a hundred kilometers, as it had always been. Even if they were to flee, where fore could they find shelter?
She felt the weight of her tutor sink the finely crafted bed as he set himself down beside her. She felt his hand nestle itself upon her shoulder, trying to provide some semblance of comfort.
But she could feel no fear in him -- and turning her gaze from the floor towards his weathered face, it almost seemed as if there wasn't a siege at all. No monstrous walls of flame coming to devour generations of people -- not all good, admittedly...but not all bad either; No panic-stricken crowds thronging through each of the district gates; Not even the known monsters lurking in the forests' gloom felt anywhere near reality when she looked at the old man.
"Listen, Jalani, you know well of the promise I made upon your mother's passing.", he began, his Rookwood eyes doing as they might to try and persuade their audience into a relaxed focus. Her own eyes --black as those of many of the women in her ancestral line-- blinked in understanding, and bade he continue. "This pact I swore oath to -- that within my power, so long as I lived in consciousness, I would do all that can be done to protect you; My advice may appear suicidal, but it is what I have found to be in your best interests -- in this way shall I ever serve, as I have all of these past fourteen years and to this very day."
"...And your own interests? What forces may protect you from all the ill-fortune that seeks me?"
He smiled in response to this, his gaze turning towards the noon-light that streamed in from their window opposite. "By the grace of the gods and the skill of my wit, I will live for those close to me -- even if they reside in peril all their days."
With this, the Headmaster rose, supporting himself a bit by the strength of his walking-staff. "Your time does not end today Lady Jalani, but there will be harsh times ahead of you."
"Ahead of us."
"Indeed, my lady."
~~Continuing Now~~
:
NEMO ALTARE
...Well, this certainly wasn't what he'd expected. Oh, for certain, the wraith had predicted the wild glee of the dozens of Garrison-Wanna-Be's, as well as the obnoxious clouds of lung-choking gas they'd left behind in their frenzied wake; the way the mob had fluttered off like a startled pack of geese was of little surprise in comparison to the...eh-hem...*error* made in the measurements of his gear...
"Parfait...cette est tres marrant merde.", "Nobody" rumbled within the enraged prison of his mind. He sat crouched upon the warmed stones of the designated testing grounds, quietly hanging back from the action, though also *as much* attention as he could avoid without further embarrassment. For some reason, this was the *one* thing he hadn't even thought upon going wrong -- should he have even expected such an unfortunate outcome, to have straps two sizes too small for one's self? The tan-skinned boy growled, thumbing his digit over the pathetically useless equipment, before his glance --though still blank to outsiders, save a peculiar knitting of the brows towards one another-- shifted upwards into a long gaze about the huddled, deserted streets.
What was this feeling that picked apart his expectations -- his glorified sense of achievement and reality. 'Shame', or perhaps an odd sense of 'Karma'...? Whatever it might have been, it was none too welcome with its unnerving presence, and the youth quickly attempted to subdue the angst that threatened to overflow its intended brim, where upon it would presumably melt the outer shell that comprised the entirety of --and what little there even was to speak of it-- his sense of *Identity*.
...Taking a moment to alleviate this worrisome stress with a few expired breaths, the soldier-to-be rose to his full height, straightening the arch of his back and --to the best of his ability-- taking measured swallows of his pride. He'd just...have to ask for a new set, that was all --it wasn't as if anyone el--
The lean silhouette stopped, goggles fixated in internal terror over the distant sight--
...Apparently he wasn't the *only* one with a 'mis-match'. That was alright...that was...just fine...he'd wait until they'd all left -- then he'd get his gear and move out with the rest of the group.
Confirming this pride-fueled 'Plan-B', the boy slowly returned to his previous position down on the chiselled stones. The gleam of the sun at this hour helped to accentuate the lengthy shadow he normally kept about himself -- all the more ironic given how it would more than likely have dwindled by the time the 'others' had left *recognition-range* from the various instructors.
"...cette est parfait..."
...Well, this certainly wasn't what he'd expected. Oh, for certain, the wraith had predicted the wild glee of the dozens of Garrison-Wanna-Be's, as well as the obnoxious clouds of lung-choking gas they'd left behind in their frenzied wake; the way the mob had fluttered off like a startled pack of geese was of little surprise in comparison to the...eh-hem...*error* made in the measurements of his gear...
"Parfait...cette est tres marrant merde.", "Nobody" rumbled within the enraged prison of his mind. He sat crouched upon the warmed stones of the designated testing grounds, quietly hanging back from the action, though also *as much* attention as he could avoid without further embarrassment. For some reason, this was the *one* thing he hadn't even thought upon going wrong -- should he have even expected such an unfortunate outcome, to have straps two sizes too small for one's self? The tan-skinned boy growled, thumbing his digit over the pathetically useless equipment, before his glance --though still blank to outsiders, save a peculiar knitting of the brows towards one another-- shifted upwards into a long gaze about the huddled, deserted streets.
What was this feeling that picked apart his expectations -- his glorified sense of achievement and reality. 'Shame', or perhaps an odd sense of 'Karma'...? Whatever it might have been, it was none too welcome with its unnerving presence, and the youth quickly attempted to subdue the angst that threatened to overflow its intended brim, where upon it would presumably melt the outer shell that comprised the entirety of --and what little there even was to speak of it-- his sense of *Identity*.
...Taking a moment to alleviate this worrisome stress with a few expired breaths, the soldier-to-be rose to his full height, straightening the arch of his back and --to the best of his ability-- taking measured swallows of his pride. He'd just...have to ask for a new set, that was all --it wasn't as if anyone el--
The lean silhouette stopped, goggles fixated in internal terror over the distant sight--
...Apparently he wasn't the *only* one with a 'mis-match'. That was alright...that was...just fine...he'd wait until they'd all left -- then he'd get his gear and move out with the rest of the group.
Confirming this pride-fueled 'Plan-B', the boy slowly returned to his previous position down on the chiselled stones. The gleam of the sun at this hour helped to accentuate the lengthy shadow he normally kept about himself -- all the more ironic given how it would more than likely have dwindled by the time the 'others' had left *recognition-range* from the various instructors.
"...cette est parfait..."
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