Status

Recent Statuses

5 yrs ago
What a sick, masochistic lion.
6 likes
5 yrs ago
Seventeen.
5 likes
5 yrs ago
This is the skin of a killer, Bella.
7 likes
5 yrs ago
I can stop changing my avatar whenever I want, it's not an addiction!
7 likes
5 yrs ago
Consider this a placeholder until I come up with a punchy, pithy status.
4 likes

Most Recent Posts

In Strings 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


In Strings 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Hey Im Jordan@McHaggis
Finished sheets, fresh from the oven.


In Strings 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ya'll mind if...





WIP





With a snap of his fingers, Zevemar dismissed Quilla. It wasn’t that his dislike his familiar (not totally, anyway) but the bird never failed to make a difficult situation more difficult, hardly something he needed right now. He brushed one hand down his chest, straightening his rumpled robes, and glanced at Io to see whether she was badly hurt. She seemed only to have some light wounds, received from Hercules, but was still on her feet.

As for his father, Zevemar wasn’t sure how to tell him that he had actually been the one to start the fight. For a handful of frantic seconds he deliberated and then came to a conclusion; he simply wouldn’t.

“Uh, this is Horus, we were just talking to him when they… when it started. He was kind enough to stand beside us and even out the numbers a little.”

“What I think Zev means is that when those brutes–” Io waved her arm in a grand, empathic gesture, packing more emotion into the word than some poets put into entire epics, “–attacked us, unprovoked, he came to our aid.” She glanced over at Horus, feud momentarily forgotten (and mostly forgiven), before returning her attention to Andrimar. “Did I mention that they struck first? Because they did.”

Zevemar looked once at Io, once at his father, twice at Io and back to his father.

"Uh... Yes. What she said."





Seeing that Nyke's focus was fully on the imposing figure of Horus, Zevemar dropped his staff to one side and knelt beside Hercules. For all that he disliked the other man, he didn't want to leave him as a smoking corpse in a back-alley, especially not after a loud brawl and with the telltale traces of magic on him. A small voice in the back of Zevemar's head (one that sounded remarkably like Quilla) suggested that dead men tell no tales while living ones do little else but the Half-Orc dismissed it.

With one green hand, he tested Hercules' breath and pulse and with the other began chest compressions. His strength was enough that it took only a little application of force before Zevemar's former bully went from stillness to slow, halting breaths. He was stable, for now, and was no more likely to pass beyond than Achillis, still asleep in his own bile.

Looking up at Nyke, Zevemar gave the other man a look somewhere between a scowl and a sigh of relief. "He's fine, not in any more danger. But really, you're outnumbered so it might be time to just, you know, go our separate ways?"





Seeing Io's shield shatter and Hercules' club crack off her chin, Zev snatched a small grey twig from his component pouch and crushed in his right hand, making a swirling motion with his left and muttering an incantation under his breath. From the open palm of his extended right hand, a brilliant bolt of pure white energy shot across the alleyway and took Hercules in the chest, lifting him off of his feet and flipping over to land heavily on his back. For a half second, the searing line of lightning stayed attached to the fallen Hercules but like a man restraining a rabid dog, Zevemar whipped his hand back and the energy dissipated with a crackling discharge.

Having some experience both with the danger of reckless casting and healing (as much as two terms working part time at the medica wing of The Spire could teach you), Zevemar was pretty sure that Hercules was in a much worst state than how he'd left Achillis, who'd probably wake up in a few hours feeling awful but was in no real danger. The redhead, however, looked to be hovering in that space between definitely alive and definitely not.

"Uh... Nyke, was it? Hercules isn't in a good way, I didn't think I hit him that hard but if one of us doesn't see to him, he might get worse quickly." And glancing at the Elf and Half-Elf to his right, Zev realised another thing. "It, uhm, it also looks like you're outnumbered. So maybe time to give it up?"





It doesn't take long for regret to set in after doing something stupid, the length of time before regret generally being inversely proportionate to the impulsiveness of the action. In Zev's case, it took about half a second from the fight starting to him wishing he'd just kept his head down. Now there were swirling spiritual energies all around, Io's green flames flickering and even Hercules seemed to have conjured some sort of magical ability. It was all getting a little bit out of hand.

But when you can't unspill milk or unthrow a punch, the only way out is through. With that in mind, Zevemar's eyes found the reeling Achillis, who had just been struck twice by Hours and then singed by Io. The War Mages at The Spire had always taught the best enemies is the one that never gets to attack and Achillis' looked like a man who only needed a little push to be removed from play. It was sheer conicidence that he was the only person here that Zev harboured great resentment towards but hadn't yet attacked.

With a thought, the wizard channelled that resentment, all that stored up hatred and anger, into his staff and thrust it at Achillis. The air rippled as an unseen force flew between them, striking squarely into the human's chest. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Achillis' head jerked forward and he retched once, twice, three times and fell to his knees. For a moment, it looked like he might rise but with once last shudder, he collapsed into his own fluids on the dusty road.

Despite himself, Zevemar smirked in satisfaction.





For a second, Zevemar froze completely. Hercules and Achillis... it had been a long time since last he'd seen them and they weren't much changed. Oh, they were far taller, had rougher hands and their scars and tattoos spoke of them having experienced as much here in Alanla as Zev had at The Spire. But their voices, taunting smiles and casual malice were as familiar as the ache of the opening of an old wound, all the nastier for having been closed for so long.

As that second passed though, new life flooded into Zevemar's limbs and his mind raced. They might have learned little in the intervening years but the Half-Orc had studied from dawn till dusk almost every day. He had defeated all comers during the annual acolyte quarterstaff tournament and had earned the grudging respect of even the most jaded of tutors with his encyclopedic knowledge of magical lore. He was, as Io had just said, a promising young wizard, not the shy green child that these three remembered. There was no need for this encounter to follow the usual script, especially not with the support of the legendarily protective Iolanthe.

With his left hand, Zevemar closed his eyes and quietly made the sign of one of his favourite spells behind his back. It was a cantrip, one that just required a grasping motion with one hand to feel the position of the threads of fate. Once you know the shape of the future, you could plan exactly how to punch it in the face, after all. Rather than a rough approximation of what was coming though, he saw a clear picture of Hercules reeling backwards and himself holding his staff in a two handed grip. Opening his eyes, Zevemar locked gazes with Hercules and smiled.

"Glad we found you Hercules, I wanted to talk to you about paying off a debt. With interest."

And with one fluid motion, the wizard stepped back, shifted his weight onto the back foot, took a firm, well spaced grip on his staff and then drove it into the other youth's nose like a spear. There was a satisfying crunch and yelp from Hercules as he stumbled backwards and Zev adopted the position he'd seen himself in during his vision. As he did, he was hit with a sudden doubt.

"Uh... the debt was all the bullying and the repayment was me hitting you, I'm not sure I made that totally clear..."





Having seen Io flirt countless times, Zevemar considered himself something of an expert at spotting the techniques; there was the flattery, the tantalisingly ambiguous suggestions, the promising wink… he’d seen them all. But what Zev’s ‘expertise’ had in no way prepared him for was having said techniques used on him, so while he knew exactly what the other Half-Elf was doing, he nevertheless blushed deeply, though in his case he went a darker shade of green rather than red.

Even so, Zev tried his best to keep up an icy facade.

“Uh… HORUS, that’s an unusual name, I’ve not…” He quickly stuttered to a halt and looked desperately to Io to bail him out.

Iolanthe arched an eyebrow at Zev that said, wordlessly, ‘Are you serious?’ The half-orc had been doing fine––better than fine with those lightning-fast retorts––until the charm was turned on. Though she thought him immune to come-hither eyes, apparently that was not the case.

In spite of a sudden desperate wish to be anywhere else, there was no ignoring the pleading glance sent her way. Never let it be said she wasn’t merciful and benevolent. Io blinked owlishly at the elf flirting with her best friend, all batted eyelashes and salacious winks, and feigned innocence. “Is there something in your eye? A lash, or something. It happens to me all the time.”





Zev straightened up to face the man, raising himself to his full six and a half feet and squaring his broad shoulders. The other's clothes, as decorated and exotic as they were, made him feel a little embarrassed about his own simple grey travelling garb and Zevemar didn't deal particularly well with strangers even in ideal circumstances. As it was, the oddly familiar divination magic hanging around this Half-Elf's shoulders, combined with his nonhuman-but-tolerated presence in Alanla had struck a nerve with the wizard and he was feeling less than willing to be snarked.

However, Andrimar hadn't raised his son to be rude to strangers and Zevemar had befriended Io rather than learn the skill himself so he had only one recourse when faced with someone who he hadn't warmed to; icy politeness.

"It seems that you can just wait for the water to come to you though. My name is Zevemar, Acolyte of The Spire, this is my friend and colleague, Iolanthe." His tone was clipped and formal, his hand indicating Io to his left as he mentioned her.
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet