Briza

Digimon - The Parallel Visage

ʀ ʏ ᴀ ɴ ᴍ ᴀ ʏ ᴇ ᴢ :

ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ɪ ɢ ɪ ᴛ ᴀ ʟ ᴡ ᴏ ʀ ʟ ᴅ

---

A slight tickle of air brushed against the tip of Ryan’s nose, which caused her to twitch and crinkle it in response. The sensation was akin enough to the gentle touches of an insect’s legs placing lucid kisses against her skin and thus, awakened her from her unconscious state. She blinked with droopy lids sorely drifting over her eyes several times while passive blurs of objects began focusing into her groggy vision. As her mind cleared and started piecing together the skewed scenery around her, it was obvious she was definitely not at home, snuggled underneath the warm protection of bed sheets and a comforter. However, no matter how much she wished to jump into action, the heavy tingling in her legs and soft pattering of her recovering heart reminded her senses of some dream-like familiarity that didn’t warrant any pivoting emotional or physical change. The lack of adrenaline tempting her emotions could also have been attributed to the delusional fog still clouding her motor skills. Whatever the cause may be, Ryan continued lying on her stomach, arms barely spread out and bent, in the midst of the moment allowing her mind to fully process her situation.

Her eyes closed as if she was about to allow herself to slip back in the sleep realm. The weight of her unconscious began slowly taking over her mind, muttering playful thoughts of the emerging sleep-cycle until her hearing began to hone in on the silence of her surroundings in failure. Her nose crinkled as her eyelids squeezed over her eyes in a dazed attempt to drown out the verbal disturbances being made by slightly discorded and chattering voices. However, as her head shifted against the now noticeably hard ground, she began to comprehend that the voices sounds weird and strange — alarmingly so. Her fists clenched at nonexistent bedding, only to scrape her knuckles against the hard ground, “Huh—?” A breath pressed cowardly from her mouth as her eyes shot open. She could feel her heart thumping rapidly in her chest as she struggled to remain calm with tense muscles, trying to gather her senses together the best she could.

Small, restricted breaths pressed from her nervous lips as thoughts tried to rewind her memory of how she ended up here, but all her mind’s wandering was drawing blanks as if a huge hole in her memory was missing. Her eyes closed and opened as she tried to awaken herself. I’m in a dream; I’m in a dream; Ryan, girl, you’re in a dream… Ryan’s breaths drew heavier in apprehension that this vision of a world in front and around her was going nowhere. It’s just a dream. Just a dream. I-it’s just a lucid dream. A failed attempt to swallow a lump in her throat caused the girl to conceive how thirsty she was. She couldn’t recall ever being so thirsty in a dream. Her eyes shut tightly one more time for courage and reassurance before her arms and abdomen flexed to push herself from the ground and into a sitting position. Olive green eyes gazed down at her boots and then turned their attention towards her hands and arms and the rest of her wardrobe. She was fully clothed, and she didn’t appear to be hurt or harmed in any way, shape, or form aside from that-that mental lapse of how she ended up here. A small moment was taken as her head slowly shifted towards the interrupting sound of a male voice, “… The hell was in that water?” She quickly diverted her attention back to herself, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

There were too many emotions flustering in her, now. He seemed so real, and-and-and—her head automatically turned to the chattering of the nonhuman sounding voices. Her breaths became a bit more rapid as she tried to wrap her head around the images of the weird animals. She couldn’t understand her fear. This wasn’t like her, no, no. She was a big girl or, damn… whatever, and she could handle herself. But, what the hell was going on? Nothing made sense! It was as if she was dreaming, but that hypothesis just wouldn’t fit accurately into the puzzle. No, no, it had to be a lucid dream. It just had to be! God, what had she eaten last night before be—her last memory was of walking to the mall. Yeah, and she was wearing this exact outfit. The jacket, her p-purse, everything. Yeah, and she had taken the back street in her neighborhood because it’s usually calmer and more serene, but what-what happened? Her eyes narrowed as she pieced together fragmented memories. She faintly remembered randomly and out of nowhere a bright light just-just bloody fucking hitting her. Was I hit by a car? It was the only explanation. Am I dead? Oh, God Ryan! Maybe you’re just unconscious, in a coma, something. Her mind was falling into fearful shambles, again. She had to wake up.

With all her mental power she tried to calm her breathing into something normal and steady while she tried to decide what to do. This wasn’t a time to panic, and losing control of herself would only make things worse. Her teeth bit her bottom lip, forcing the inhales and exhales to go through her nose. After several seconds of forceful subsiding, Ryan realized she was rubbing her lips together anxiously and instantly ceased the motion; and a small manic smile crept on her lips while her mind began embracing the insanity of the situation. She was in a strange forest in the middle of nowhere with a random boy, tiny talking monsters, and God, she didn’t even know how she got there. She hated not understanding. It wasn’t fair, and it was frustrating.

Taking in several small breaths to reconstruct herself, she began brainstorming her next move. Ignore the ‘talking things’ and address the bo—, her eyes shot open when it came to her attention that there were two other humans besides the boy, but the other two were past out or worse—, “Oh my God,” she whispered. Her body quickly scrunched together, pushing herself backwards in the dirt of the forest floor and away from the two limp humans. Maybe they were just like her. They aren’t dead. They aren’t dead. Her eyes desperately looked around her until they finally fell back onto the strange, talking monsters. She wanted to be frightened of them, but they seemed too cute. Cute or not though, they-they were monsters. Drawing in a large breath she allowed her body to relax and recompose herself, again. Maybe this is some kind of afterlife or… She didn’t want to think about it. So, she let the stiff attitude she generally wore muster up enough firmness to show itself as she finally spoke formally, “What is going on? Am I dreaming?” Her lips pursed together into a subtle frown. She addressed the situation more than any specific creature, hoping to get some sort of an explanation. It was uncomfortable and awkward and abnormally frightening, but her face showed more signs of hostility and annoyance from being confused, “Or a-are we all dead?” her eyebrows tightened as she braced herself for the answer, miffed that she had stuttered aloud.

Digimon - The Parallel Visage

@RBYDark, I added Terriermon to Ryan's character sheet.

Echo

Doctor Quinn Howell

---

Time felt wasted as his mind was lost in a methodical order of how such events should play out for himself in the next several minutes. A silly thing to have imagined—remembering his own death only to reawaken under the creative experiment (seemingly) conducted under the supervision of Dr. Kelodie—and then to believe he had such a choice of how to spend the next few pennies of his existence, tinkering in an academic study he had merely made-up himself. His mind was far from understanding the entire situation, as his brain weaved together loose ends and thin strands of information the best it may. A small curl of his toes, alleviating the coolness of the hard flooring as his mind registered unevenly at the noises protruding loudly from beyond the door that had just been opened, “By golly,” he whispered lowly as his fingers caressed his forehead gently, thumb pressing lightly into his cheek.

Perhaps it was his education getting in the way of his ability to fully grasp the situation with such ease and flexibility as the minds of the other two awakened souls, and for a lack of a better proposition to impose upon himself, he decided to follow the flow of social endeavors, with one foot placed in front of the other, until he, too, was wearing a pair of slippers and peering at the tremendously odd creatures lacing the outside world. Dr. Howell wanted the strange things to be what bothered him the most—extraordinary in their appearance, physique—the laws of which they moved seemed almost irrational, but if math served him some sort of rights, their abilities were presently logical, and yet, stretching his mind further in this dimension of thought was proving a repeat exercise and stress on the inner workings of the organ. However, with his eyes narrowing and gathering the brokenness of the world, it was the environmental change of what he once knew that bothered him the most.

Desperation had clouded the world in bouts of trash and in what only seemed fair to label as fear of these creatures rummaging and pillaging the kingdom. This was not the world he once knew. For all the jaded feelings he had compressed and visited in his memory of the day he had (first) died, the treacherous ruins that lay waste in the kingdom, now, was conjuring up a flustered emotion, hot to his cheeks. The embodiment of a man who knew of patients he could never save being granted the choice to do something about this was all too meaningful to him. His sole purpose in life had been dedicated towards helping people, saving people.

His body winced at the sound of the young girl screeching in innocent terror as one of the creatures carried her away. Reckless behavior would not save her; muscles stopping himself from reacting too severely. He turned his face away and drew his attention to the bag that had been tossed on the floor. His body motioned towards the bag with a large hand extending to grab hold of one of the gemstones. His fingers pulled a single gem from the bag and brought it close to his face for examination. The colors reflected inwardly of the dim light echoing through the monastic layer. His dark eyes squinted, again, studying the dimensions and natural cut of the stone. Much had happened in those five years, and Dr. Kelodie’s optimism—Dr. Howell summarized—must have been attributed towards the success of the experiments bringing forth the dead to life and of the ability of the resurrected to capture these things that were currently destroying the world.

“How many others of us are there, might I inquire?” Dr. Howell drew his hand away from his face and clenched the gemstone with his fist. His eyes shifted to look at Dr. Kelodie. Capturing mystical-type monsters had never been on his mind as a simple doctor. Once upon a time as a child he might have lured himself into a playful toy of his imagination, but to see a reality in which something so crazy did exist was a bit too far from his once one-tracked mind, “And how—how in such an earthly name did all of this come about? I cannot think the Kingdom has succumb to such turmoil in only half a decade’s time,” his eyebrows creased together expressing the frustration that was slightly lacking in his voice, “Should we be able to locate our friends and family prior to our deaths, now?” His intentions to explain to his dearest ones what had happened to him, the Duke, the corruption—it was all rather silly and unnecessary and probably just a reminiscing story of what the Kingdom used to be in better times than now, “No…” he trailed off, now openly speaking with himself, conflicted with matters.

His hand raised again and opened to reveal the gem. His eyes left Dr. Kelodie and focused on the stone resting silently against his rough skin. The lines on his palm distorted under the gem’s coloring. Priorities were priorities. And, if there was any cowardice in him, it was towards the idea these strange creatures—or monsters—may have already ridden the world of the ones he loved and knew. His eyebrows loosened, but his frown remained. He needn’t think like that, now, but the thought seemed all too probable.

Digimon - The Parallel Visage

@RBYDark, I'll place my vote with 'No,' but I'm not really too opinionated on the subject.

Digimon - The Parallel Visage

Human Character: Ryan Mayez

^{N A M E :}

Arianna “Ryan” Mayez

^{A G E :}

15

^{G E N D E R :}

Female

^{P E R S O N A L I T Y :}

As a go-getter, Ryan is an externally tough girl who tries to flaunt her age by acting older than she actually is. She is not one to ignore the use of occasional sassy or sarcastic comments as she sees them fit for her own method of controlling a situation, and as a bit of a competitive shrewd, Ryan’s not always the easiest person to have as company. She is, however, a persistent person. A lot of her quirks can be summed up in her having an obvious insecurity towards her femininity — blatantly spoken via her verbal introduction as “Ryan” versus using her actual name “Arianna,” which she is rather embarrassed of people knowing. And, the fact of the matter is Ryan indeed has the ability to be an empathetic person once someone gets passed the rough hostility she likes to uphold for her own sense of control, but her incorrect belief in how adults should act renders her mostly rash and arrogant as opposed to responsible and mature.

^{B A C K G R O U N D :}

Ryan is the second oldest daughter amongst the five daughter ringed circus created and raised by Dan and Patricia Mayez. In a house full of females, Ryan had to learn to stand out in the crowd or at least be tough to not care when she wasn't getting any attention. A quick move to guarantee her father’s admiration and joy was to uphold the tomboy attitude in a predominately pink and plastic doll world, and since the atmosphere between Ryan and her sisters has been quite the competitive one, to this day, Ryan still has her eyes set on proving she is better and more dependable than her older sister, who Ryan sees as more of a homebody that would prefer passively reading her books over actually going outside and enjoying the world first handedly. For this, Ryan is rarely afraid to get her knees muddy and her hands dirty, unless it means killing a cockroach, of course.

^{S O V E R E I G N P A R T N E R :}

Zhuqiaomon

^{E Q U I P M E N T :}

^BACKPACK:

Small purse essentials (chap stick, compact mirror, tissues, hand sanitizer, hair ties, nail clipper with small knife, et cetera)

^CLOTHES:

Jacket, shirt, pants, ankle-high socks, belt

^BOOTS:

Light-weight all terrain

^DIGIVICE:

Digivice

Sovereign Digimon: Zhuqiaomon

^{S O V E R E I G N :}

Zhuqiaomon

^{M A L E :}

Male

^{D I G I V O L U T I O N L I N E :}

Pinamon → Piyomon → Birdramon → Hououmon → Zhuqiaomon

^{P E R S O N A L I T Y :}

Quick to temper like the element he represents, Zhuqiamon tends to adhere to a more quiet nature as he knows the cynderous power that can singe something that gets too close to him. However, he is not always quick to blow out his flames of emotions when fanned the right way. Despite his temperament, Zhuqiaomon delights in the idea of having other creatures as friends even if he is the master at burning bridges. During battle, he theoretically has the ability to be very destructive, but keeping his focus and objective by not letting the petty things get in his way seems to be his biggest dilemma, while continuously holding onto hope despite any burning frustrations is his biggest strength.

^{A T T A C K S :}

Pinamon

^{TINGLING SPARK:} Shocks whoever touches the Fuwa Feathers on his tails

Piyomon

^{SPIRAL TWISTER:} Shoots ethereal flames
^{PHANTOM FIRE:} Fires a phantom blue fireball
^{PECKING ATTACK:} Pecks foe with beak
^{TALON TWIST:} Cartwheels into the foe or summons a small tornado

Birdramon

^{METEOR WING:} Flaps its wings and rains down fireballs from the air
^BIR-FLAME: Breathes a stream of fire from its mouth
^{PHOENIX TAZE:} Shoots up into the air while flaming
^{MACH GLIDE:} Dives from the sky and rams into the enemy.

Hououmon

^{STARLIGHT EXPLOSION:} A golden purification powder pours from its wings
^{CRIMSON FLARE:} Flames are emitted from its mouth
^{FLAMING WING:} Tackles the enemy from the sky with burning wings.
^{LIFE FORCE:} Generates a wonderful energy that sucks up a foe's physical strength

Zhuqiaomon

^{CRIMSON BLAZE:} Shoots a blast of fire from its mouth
^{PURGATORY CLAWS:} Creates a powerful gush of destructive wind
^EMBER: Shoots fire balls

Feral Digimon: Terriermon

^{S P E C I E S :}

Terriermon

^{G E N D E R :}

Male

^{D I G I V O L U T I O N L I N E :}

Gummymon → Terriermon → Galgomon (Gargomon) → Rapidmon (Perfect)

^{P E R S O N A L I T Y :}

Terriermon is playful and optimistic. He does not particularly have a good understanding towards negative or downtrodden behavior. In such a case, he generally leans towards being more sympathetic than empathetic despite his deep feelings for the person in woe. He believes in being uplifting and cheerful despite all odds, which can sometimes come off as careless during heated or direly dangerous moments. He means well and has a big digiheart, but his helicopter-type affection can be rather enabling to whomever he is trying to help.

^{A T T A C K S :}

Gummymon

^{DOUBLE BUBBLE:} Spits out a lot of adhesive bubbles

Terriermon

^{BLAZING FIRE:} Shoots a tiny blast of energy of his mouth
^{PETIT TWISTER:} Fires a little turbulence like a tornado
^{DOUBLE TYPHOON:} Attacks to create a giant tornado

Galgomon

^{GATLING ARM:} Fires bullets or lasers from both of his arms
^{DUM DUM UPPER:} A powerful uppercut attack

Rapidmon (Perfect)

^{GOLDEN TRIANGLE:} Creates a green triangular barrier that deflects attacks
^{RAPID FIRE:} Fires energy blasts out of the cannons on his arms
^{HOMING MISSILE:} Shoots homing missiles from his back

Digimon - The Parallel Visage

Human Character: Ryan Mayez

^{N A M E :}

Arianna “Ryan” Mayez

^{A G E :}

15

^{G E N D E R :}

Female

^{P E R S O N A L I T Y :}

As a go-getter, Ryan is an externally tough girl who tries to flaunt her age by acting older than she actually is. She is not one to ignore the use of occasional sassy or sarcastic comments as she sees them fit for her own method of controlling a situation, and as a bit of a competitive shrewd, Ryan’s not always the easiest person to have as company. She is, however, a persistent person. A lot of her quirks can be summed up in her having an obvious insecurity towards her femininity — blatantly spoken via her verbal introduction as “Ryan” versus using her actual name “Arianna,” which she is rather embarrassed of people knowing. And, the fact of the matter is Ryan indeed has the ability to be an empathetic person once someone gets passed the rough hostility she likes to uphold for her own sense of control, but her incorrect belief in how adults should act renders her mostly rash and arrogant as opposed to responsible and mature.

^{B A C K G R O U N D :}

Ryan is the second oldest daughter amongst the five daughter ringed circus created and raised by Dan and Patricia Mayez. In a house full of females, Ryan had to learn to stand out in the crowd or at least be tough to not care when she wasn't getting any attention. A quick move to guarantee her father’s admiration and joy was to uphold the tomboy attitude in a predominately pink and plastic doll world, and since the atmosphere between Ryan and her sisters has been quite the competitive one, to this day, Ryan still has her eyes set on proving she is better and more dependable than her older sister, who Ryan sees as more of a homebody that would prefer passively reading her books over actually going outside and enjoying the world first handedly. For this, Ryan is rarely afraid to get her knees muddy and her hands dirty, unless it means killing a cockroach, of course.

^{S O V E R E I G N P A R T N E R :}

Zhuqiaomon

^{E Q U I P M E N T :}

^BACKPACK:

Small purse essentials (chap stick, compact mirror, tissues, hand sanitizer, hair ties, nail clipper with small knife, et cetera)

^CLOTHES:

Jacket, shirt, pants, ankle-high socks, belt

^BOOTS:

Light-weight all terrain

^DIGIVICE:

Digivice

Sovereign Digimon: Zhuqiaomon

^{S O V E R E I G N :}

Zhuqiaomon

^{M A L E :}

Male

^{D I G I V O L U T I O N L I N E :}

Pinamon → Piyomon → Birdramon → Hououmon → Zhuqiaomon

^{P E R S O N A L I T Y :}

Quick to temper like the element he represents, Zhuqiamon tends to adhere to a more quiet nature as he knows the cynderous power that can singe something that gets too close to him. However, he is not always quick to blow out his flames of emotions when fanned the right way. Despite his temperament, Zhuqiaomon delights in the idea of having other creatures as friends even if he is the master at burning bridges. During battle, he theoretically has the ability to be very destructive, but keeping his focus and objective by not letting the petty things get in his way seems to be his biggest dilemma, while continuously holding onto hope despite any burning frustrations is his biggest strength.

^{A T T A C K S :}

Pinamon

^{TINGLING SPARK:} Shocks whoever touches the Fuwa Feathers on his tails

Piyomon

^{SPIRAL TWISTER:} Shoots ethereal flames
^{PHANTOM FIRE:} Fires a phantom blue fireball
^{PECKING ATTACK:} Pecks foe with beak
^{TALON TWIST:} Cartwheels into the foe or summons a small tornado

Birdramon

^{METEOR WING:} Flaps its wings and rains down fireballs from the air
^BIR-FLAME: Breathes a stream of fire from its mouth
^{PHOENIX TAZE:} Shoots up into the air while flaming
^{MACH GLIDE:} Dives from the sky and rams into the enemy.

Hououmon

^{STARLIGHT EXPLOSION:} A golden purification powder pours from its wings
^{CRIMSON FLARE:} Flames are emitted from its mouth
^{FLAMING WING:} Tackles the enemy from the sky with burning wings.
^{LIFE FORCE:} Generates a wonderful energy that sucks up a foe's physical strength

Zhuqiaomon

^{CRIMSON BLAZE:} Shoots a blast of fire from its mouth
^{PURGATORY CLAWS:} Creates a powerful gush of destructive wind
^EMBER: Shoots fire balls

THE UNDYING CRUSADE

Nikolai von Krähenvald & Ser Theowald von Leinbicker

M A R C H I N G O R D E R S - R O A D T O N U B I N A - 1 5 T H D A Y , 8 T H H O U R

---

Theowald heard a prayer not uncommon among his kind as he and Alexus were taking down pikes with now dead undying hanging from them. It was a grizzly, dirty work, but it had to be done. Every so often, one of the would-be corpses would twitch and reanimate, some small spark of undead malice remaining. At that point, they put to the sword and quick. Looking around for the source, he spotted a young man. Noble from the look of his equipment and posture.

“Greetings friend! Belia protects you!” He hailed the the man as he walked over.

The sound of Theowald’s deep but friendly voice broke the astute concentration Nikolai was pondering in his eager, steady mind.  His posture shifted slightly, metal shoulders turning acceptingly towards the man who was now approaching him. The side of his lip played a tribute to the man’s mention of Belia; innocence and trust abiding in the man’s words of acknowledgement towards Belia’s mercies, “Ah, good den, my lord!” His voice stood strong in parallel to his own physique as his dark eyes studied the light weight of the man’s pleasantry and attire for war.  His lack of mail and metalworks was shocking, especially for such treacherous hostility that was soon to be endured or forsaken, “I assume and pray Belia guides and protects you, as well!” His voice continued in steadiness, much like the slow tramples of mud and filth beneath the 30,000 creatures marching in grim rythm.  

“It is nice to see another Belia faithfull. My name is Theowald,” he took the man’s hand in his, shaking it. He noticed the man’s size belied his strength. That was a good thing, because they would need all the physical strength they could get their hands on.

Nikolai extended his arm and allowed his hand to grasp and shake the other man’s hand.  Both of their eyes locked, acknowledgement of the other’s strength and girth of power to be portrayed within each other’s physique, “And, I am Nikolai von Krähenvald.   It is an honor, Theowald, to fight along the side of another one of Belia’s believers,”  their hands released, and Nikolai’s hand fell to his side again to continue the marching sway of the Duchess’ soldiers.  

This man, Theowald, was the first person with whom he had made such direct interaction.  From the looks of it, Theowald held some noble statute in his bones--firmly pressed and woven into the core of his being like a burning spirit, still young in its own right despite some wisdom held under his breath as he had spoken.  Belia had brought them together, and Nikolai knew that unity in the Duchess’ forces was of high importance.  A pile of rocks and stones thrown together could all too easily let the waters through, but if it were tightly knit together and molded as a sturdy mountain, the enemy would have a hard time breaking through them.  He assumed many others had made their first or second and so forth direct introductions, already.  It appeared, his time had come to make his first acquaintance.

Theowald, Nikolai repeated in his mind for emphasis on remembrance.  Forgetting the name appeared all too dishonorable in taste on the tip of his tongue.  

“The honor is all mine, young lord.” Theowald grinned at him. “I hope to see that morningstar of yours crush many an Undying skull.” He said with some admiration as he kept pace alongside the younger man before he heard someone call out his name, “Ah. Seems I am being called back to my order,” He said with a gruff nod,  “See you on the battlefield, Nikolai von Krähenvald!” He jogged off to leave the young man to his own devices.

A small nod of agreement moved Nikolai’s head as his eyes carried their concentration on his new acquaintance’s position moving further ahead of him. His pace continued in routine carefulness but not so much in timid nature. The last remarks of Theowald had him thirsty for battle. He needed patience if he was to persevere through this battle, and it was true that he had only been with the Duchess for a small amount of time despite the yearning inside of him.

Nikolai von Krähenvald

M A R C H I N G O R D E R S ; R O A D T O N U B I N A - 1 9 T H D A Y , D U S K

---

Nights seemed strangely dreamlike to Nikolai, even with the rustles and hustles of the grunting camp mates turning in odd hours and gossiping like stoic giants trying to puff their chests or ease each other’s minds for ready and rapid drawing of weaponry at any given moment. It didn’t bother Nikolai too severely. The small make-shift loft he had been sharing with his mother and sisters for the past decade seemed all too distant, now, and he preferred the present over the past. The tent held such privacy, and the campfire talk—warmish meals shared with fellow brethren in the wake of a war march, awakened a part of him he had been suppressing in the peaceful farm fields of Operath. He would take the sound of rain clawing its way from the dreary and dark clouds outside the road of Nubina than over the small make shift wooden loft cramped with four humans trying to feign comfort. If there was any regret in making his decision, coming in nervousness and prayer to Belia, it had passed. It was never a surprise to him when Belia answered his prayers, for this, he was not going to hesitate thanking her once more.

And as news had progressed, the message of lost scouts smitten—destroyed—dead by the vise of the Undead had come slithering through the army. Whispers and loud talk of each had evolved into what could have happened. Everyone agreed if he were to see one or more of the scouts, again, death would be the only discovery. Many creatures were tense in this situation, Nikolai was not spared from this, but he knew Belia was looking after him. So, with an eased and steady mind, his once eyes rested in perception were shifting in relation to his surroundings—the dreary, massive trees stocked with stories long forgotten by words but not by demeanor. The gloom was setting heavy in a foggy emotion, and the voices of the soldiers began evaporating or disappearing into the vastness of the damp and stark forest of deathly history. Nikolai thought not much of it, unlike a dog might during the calm before a storm, when suddenly, the twisted sound of cracking bark and strange moans gathered like a title wave ambushing the men and women around him. They were innocent prey so unaware and startled.

The unfortunate scenario unfolding before Nikolai was watching the devastation of crusaders on the outskirts of their formation pillaged mercilessly like twigs snapped in half with body fluids emerging from them, splattered victoriously by the enemy. The stench of death of which he had grown accustomed immediately intertwined with the newly naked and exposed insides of just met comrades, unclean, now, and spoiled with nauseating smells that may have caused Nikolai to retreat or vomit had the scenario not been between life and death. Nothing short of quickly acknowledging that Belia had granted him a fair position in this first play—his arm tightened, bringing his kite shield upwards to shield his body as his other limb plowed an Undead’s body. The first death, a quick release of energy not ready of which to be made aware but of certainly a fueling fire that braided and gnarled his body this way and that as Kursiv dug his spiked head through another version of the enemy.

His leather boots digging deeply into the mud and skeletal remains was a hinder at first, but as the fighting continued, a good display of adaptation took place if he could manage to keep light on his toes and move quickly about the deep woods. Any ounce filled with a sinking hopelessness, as he heard sewered screams from someone submitting lethally to the enemy was conquered from his narrowed vision of Belia and the honor she would ultimately grant him. Feeling a dent push into his shield as his morning star was knocked into a crushed skull, Nikolai’s head fell backwards, pressing hardly against the muscular bark of a tree. Thank Belia for his helmet; the cushioned blow wasn’t as comforting as he had expected, but he’d experienced worse hits—in situations less dire than now.

At least, he thought he had. Upon opening his eyes to discombobulate his orientation, he was surrounded by them. Any help was either too far away or too busy fending for himself, but a blood lust soak of courage was pumping adamantly in his chest; thunderous pleasure for what could happen if he succeeded. Tightening his own body, he leaned forward with a cold whispered prayer to Belia to grant him further strength as his morning star began glowing with arcane magic and mana drawing around it. Lithe movements of power drew from with inside of his towering frame, and a loud war cry shouted from his mouth not forgetting anything less of Belia. Do or die. Flight or fight. It was all or nothing, now, as a bright weave of magic protruded from Kursiv and jetted variously at the unholiness begging for his mortality and end-stage.

Echo

I will try to get a post written and whatnot in the next several days.

The Wild Hunt MC [1960's Werewolf Bikers]

Locked and loaded.

End of the World of Darkness

Peter

_{H E A D W A T E R S , M O T E L - L O B B Y}

As Annie and Peter entered the building, the cool air from the lobby of the Missouri motel tickled his skin. It reminded him of something from long ago, but this teasing remembrance would not let him follow that strange rabbit of a memory for very long. The trail it scampered down was much too confusing and lavishly impossible to track. He just had no hope for catching it and was forced yet again to merely accept that it was there for some reason unbeknownst to him. Perhaps, he would never know what had caused it, which was depressing to realize he may never know, and for as long as he had been a vampire, it appeared most of his immortal existence had been some kind of fragment of elusively remembered information pieced together in some morbid time warp and projected into his disturbed mental workings as a perpetual method of torture. Oh, how hilarious it was that at some point of his existence that happened closer to after his Embrace, he thought he would eventually get used to the sorrowful and maddening feeling of loss of memory and grow calloused towards this repetitious thing that hurt and twisted his nous so much. Such a thought was just a naive Malkavian’s fairytale, for the feeling only grew worse and worse each time it occurred.

What Hell of a time being a vampire was, but Peter as still alive, right?

The door shut behind them. The atmosphere set itself in whatever erie tone it was supposed to present itself, and for an immortal thing that had trouble focusing on something for extended periods of time, the ironic scene of a Risen watching a television that was displaying a bloody shitfest of gory entertainment caught Peter’s attention immediately like a slapstick comedy. A small bubble of laughter caught itself from bursting in a tight lipped smile by the feel of his shirt being tugged by a trembling child’s fist. His hand slowly drifted to grasp that of the young girl’s fist with cautious intentions and stroked her soft skin with the coolness of his thumb as a means to calm the poor thing. Oh, how little Annie and her darling little family had saved him so many of times.

His eyes shifted back-and-forth between the television screen and the Risen. His mouth opened to say something but paused as he filtered his thoughts into proper words, “I do indeed have one of those names,” his eyes finally settled on the Risen as the small ends of his lips flickered and tried to contain his emotions suddenly and curiously like a switch being turned from the dark, clouded madness that had been intoxicating him upon arrival, “So, yes…” the tip of his tongue brushed his bottom lip before settling on a half-crooked smile of wonderment and perplexity over where this silly maze would lead him.

Annie’s eyes peered up at Peter. An eight year old’s conscious determined the situation with hesitation, still drunk on her faux uncle with his palm holding her hand so securely. Her dark eyes admired the seemingly young man holding her hand and then looked towards the television, mouth parting in childish cowardice and fear. The eight year old’s imagination took hold of her, and as a natural order of things, she tucked her body quietly behind Peter for some security like the weird man at the counter would suddenly try to consume her or harm her as were the scary things were doing to the people on the television. She didn’t really want to be here, anymore, but there was something stopping her from dissuading herself against whatever Uncle Scottie wanted of her. So instead, she buried her tiny face into his shirt, breathing in whatever she could of him for comfort.

Peter’s head turned slightly as he focused on the young girl who grabbed his attention once more, “It’s okay, little Annie, my lamb. Nobody wants to hurt you,” He followed his attention back to the Risen. His face shifted, smile cracking with slight lust for blood as he studied the walking dead thing in front of him. Peter did not want any trouble. He was already in enough trouble… or would be, when and if the Prince found out. But, oh, he was quite intrigued. He had not stumbled here by chance. No, no, he had followed the Cobweb’s instructions, and so many possibilities were opening their mouths ready to devour his sanity.

Releasing the girl’s small fist, Peter traced his up her slender arm, brushing the tips of his fingers against her virgin flesh and petite shoulder before firmly securing it over her light silk trodden head, which was resting into him, “I think your television is scaring her,” he narrowed his eyes while his face still managed to hold his freakish grin. His head tilted sideways, studying the movements of the thing in front of him, so knowledgeable he could be, resting in that skin. This would mark the second time Peter came across a wraith, and a strong desire to know about the creature was drawing an abundance of attention from the vampire and his dollish ghoul. The carnival was still holding more importance, however.