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Allure City, The Courtyard Out Front


Aleck stepped out of the car, his sneakers hitting the concrete at the front as the valet opened the door. His eyes took in the scene around him, the blinding lights putting on their dazzling display, the people milling around the entrance coming and going. A lot of them not human, but some of them were - and all of their minds screamed either luck or the lack thereof. They screamed internally from losing it all, everything down the drain as they wasted away their life savings in the games they found within. On the other hand, some screamed of happiness and hope. They either were going in, hopeful of winning more than they brought - and of retiring from their mundane lives. Others were leaving, their minds screaming the happiness of having won exactly that. It meant nothing, though. They all thought they had an edge in life, something to help them or to make things better for them. Aleck knew it for false hope, something the city offered but never actually provided.

Aleck walked through the front door, held open by a sturdy looking man. Clearly someone there to deter a would be thief, or perhaps put an end to a fight breaking out between drunkards. Aleck simply nodded as he passed, definitely giving him a once over and realizing he wasn't a threat. If Aleck wanted to fight him, he'd make short work of the man. It helped being able to read their thoughts, know what their next moves were going to be, sometimes even before they did. He snapped his attention back to what was in front of him. The casino floor filled with people, their voices a cacophony. A symphony of happiness and sorrow. He tuned it out, though. The same as their thoughts. Closing his mind, something he learned from a young age growing up in a home full of psychics. Something he excelled at, though his other family members not so much.

Striding through the people, pushing past them, he walked past the screaming bells and whistles of the slot machines and video games. He pushed past the people playing blackjack and other games of pure luck and chance. He wanted something that required skill, though his particular skills gave him an edge others didn't have. Finally, his eyes caught what he sought. The tables were nearly full, especially the lower end ones where the common people played for pennies and dimes.

Walking to the cages, he pulled out the wad of cash he got from Tommy, and counted it out. Ten thousand dollars. A lot of money to carry around in your pocket, but Tommy always was the flashy type. He passed it through the cage, "Can I exchange this, ma'am?" He said, knowing they'd exchange it without question. His fingers tapped idly while they counted out the chips, and then passed them through the opening to him in their little holder. "And can you direct me to the no-limits tables, I don't want to waste my time with the common riff-raff, ya' know?" His charming smile warmed his face, and touched his eyes - a simple trick to get what he wanted.

"Yes sir, I'd be happy to show you the way personally. Follow me." She said as she stepped from behind the cage, and began to lead him through the tables toward a door at the back. His eyes wandered from her to the people around him, only to land back on her. As they neared the door, he pulled out one of the one hundred dollar chips and tipped her as she opened the door for him. "Right through here, sir. You'll find the games with the kind of money you want, though..you may need more chips."

"Don't worry, darling, I'll get the chips I need." Once again, his charming smile warmed his face and he walked through the door. Quickly he discerned a table worth playing at, and sat down. "So, gentlemen, what's the game?"

"Hold 'em, no limits. Blinds at five and ten. You sure you can handle this game, though, bud? You don't seem like the kind to have what it takes to be in this room, let alone at our table." A burly man in a nice suit, clearly someone of status, leaned out of the shadows with a big cigar in his mouth. "You should just leave, while you still have shoes on your feet to leave with." His boisterous laugh echoed in the room, nearly silent for the seriousness of the game. The sound of chips, the smell of velvet, stale smoke, and staler liquor permeated his nostrils, which flared almost in anger.

"Sure, bud. I'll be big blind this hand, I suppose, and I only brought ten thousand in chips. So, definitely going to have to win this one." With that said, he put his chips down and leaned back, smiling. Already, he was reopening his mind - focusing it on the seven other players at the table. Focusing it on reading their thoughts, both surface and subconscious. Before he left, he'd be rich and full of knowledge of all the seedy business these gentlmen knew.


The Courtyard, Aeternus


Valkyr's gaze darkened as the magic ebbed out of his body, his torn flesh repairing itself even as the magic ripped it apart. He listened to the words of the shit-stained old man, whose words he barely understood as anything comprehensible. HIs fingers flexed for a moment, and in the stillness of the air wind stirred - shifting the scent of the man away from him. He stopped as the other responded, his yellowed teeth behind the ever-dark hood baring themselves in contempt. Turning his gaze from the one, to the lights switching themselves back on. Already annoyed, the lights turning back on in defiance of him only seemed to anger him more. Though, he could sense the source of its power. His eyes turned from that, to the distance - where he felt something drawing upon the power of magic. The screaming, boisterous roar of a monster lashing out in the darkness.

Valkyr calculated a dozen things at once, and then a voice that broke through him like fire burning through his veins and ripping through.
"Another task for you, Valkyr, return."

As the words ripped through his body and burned his very essence, he turned his robbed gaze toward the casino, sighed - and as suddenly as he was there, he was gone. Robes dropped to the ground in a heap, a pile, and his body simply gone and dispersed from Aeternus in that quick moment. Pulled away by a power far beyond even his own comprehension, much less the comprehension of those others who thought this place a home.
In Neo Babylon 11 days ago Forum: Arena Roleplay

Name: Irawan
Alias(es): Ira
Gender: Male
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
Skin: Brown/Hispanic
Height: 3 foot
Distinctive Features: Sharp, pointed nose. Eyes sometimes glow
Likes: Theiving, rabblerousing
Dislikes: The pigs

Appearance:

Fairly normal, Irawan is barely three feet tall, giving him a small and unassuming frame that keeps most people from being intimidated by him, or taking him seriously in the first place. Slender, but strong, Irawan is barely noticeable by the people around him most of the time.

Personality:

Easy going, fun loving - never far from trouble, but always maintaining innocence.

Powers, Skills, and Abilities:

Theivery: Irawan is a skiled thief, in basically every sense of the word.

Knives: Irawan is a master of knives.

Invisibility: Irawan can camoflauge himself nearly perfectly.

Speed/Deftness: Irawan is fast and accurate

Equipment:

Backpack: A container filled with odds and ends needed from day to day. Lockpicks, data-miners, hacking tools and theives tools of various kinds. As well as additional rations and magazines for his silenced pistol kept on his hip.

Your Last Memory:

Attempting to rob a major player in a mob organization, not really sure what happened before that - or what's going on after that. Woke up here.

Additional Plot Hooks:

Irawan is the rich son of a cartel lord back home, but doesn't really care for the family business and instead chose to hone his rogueish skills to make a name for himself across the world.

Allure City, Another Day in the life


“Aleck, answer your phone. We need you to come back, there’s important things going on here. The Company is in turmoil, we already recalled the monster, you shouldn’t still be there either. Call me back.” His finger pressed the little red button, ending the voicemail call before he shut the phone back and put it in his pocket. A lot of people had smart phones these days, especially with the advancements of Xanathan and the other corporations that basically controlled the world. Yet, Aleck preferred his burners. Untraceable and cheap as shit, they’d always served him well. His sister was one of the others, the ones with the expensive, bulky things – though at this point, he was pretty sure she’d opted for the implant Xanathan offered its senior executives. She was insistent that he come home, though, but really – why? There was nothing left in Xanathan for him. Bharata was a madman, running the company like a personal army.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of the company, never had been. He’d only signed on as a mercenary, and eventually became one of the top officers in the militia side of it. In fact, his status was why he’d been embedded in Allure to begin with. Long before it ended up here, before Xanathan ended up here. He still wasn’t entirely sure how they’d managed to find this place, or what happened for them to set up shop here. And yet, here they were. As the city settled into its new location, she’d already begun calling him. She’d known about his mission, hell it was her idea to send him on it, he’d bet. She’d never admit it, but Alex never did enjoy him being around.

Smart, serious, and sensible described her. He was the exact opposite, depending on luck and charm to get his way. It led to some weird family dinners, and their father always did favor his little princess. The thought of that made him sneer, a momentary break in his ever-smiling demeanor. It was a flash, a moment of disdain for his family, before he was back to himself. His mission wasn’t changed, as far as he was concerned with it. Infiltrate and observe. Watch and learn the habits of the aliens, the denizens of this massive city, which now took up the place where – if his education in Earth geography from his childhood held up – Spain used to be, a small country replaced by a sprawling metropolis. “Shit’s wild”, he said aloud as he pulled himself up from his chair. His news broadcasts were nothing but turmoil, and he was almost out of smokes.

Walking to the corner store seemed simple, but Aleck knew he’d have to deal with the moochers nearby. Usually friendly and upbeat, today just wasn’t his day. He didn’t want to deal with those clowns and their incessant need to beg him for his last few credits. Besides, he barely had enough for himself right now. Checking his watch, he reached for the door – tucking his pistol into its place just behind his hip – and grabbing his bag from beside the door.

Large, it was clearly a survival pack of some kind. A go-back most of his operators called it. It, to him, was just a comfort to have on him. A few extra magazines tucked here and there, as well as a couple on his person in easy reach tucked into the vest beneath his jacket. The bag contained his rifle, as well, Xanathan-made it featured several folding points that made it stowable in smaller compartments. His senses reached out, touching the familiar knot of emotions he kept locked away in the back of his mind – another of his small comforts. It let him know his sister was alive, as well as their father. Opening himself up to it, letting the thoughts inside, would give him as much information as he wanted, but it also opened his mind to them. And he refused to let them in, not anymore. His ritual completed, he opened the door and stepped outside, reaching down to check for his keys, and then realized he forgot them. “Well, fuck.” He pushed the door back open and reached up to the knife stuck in the wall – which held his keys looped around the hilt, and pulled it from where it was embedded in the picture of his father. “See ya’, Markus.” He said, closing the door and locking it behind him. “Ya, fuckin’ prick.”

Aeternus Entrance, The Courtyard Leading to.


Valkyr kept his ever-moving, slow pace toward the front of the Casino. His eyes losing their malicious glow with each step, the power receding from within him. The magic flowed strongly here, through his veins and into his organs (such as they were, anyway). It burned like fire rushing through him, boiling water in his veins as it battled against the very nature of his being. His essence, his power – it was like the rushing of a river, and yet calm and peaceful like the sea at the same time. Two parts of him, constantly at war within him. He sought only to find relief from it, to finally get some relief. Magnus refused to allow it, coercing him into things like this. Shutting the Casino down, as some affront to the name of Hell? This place was its own special kind of hell. Ten minutes, and he already felt the deep shame this land held. His fingers dug into his palms, fingers clenching tight into fists. His yellowed teeth gritting against themselves, jaw locking in frustration.

“Why must I be this way, why must I do this? Let me rest, Magnus. Give me peace!” His words were audible only within his mind, reaching out to the edges of this realm – pushing them toward the outer regions of Hell, to the darkest recesses of him. Always an answer came, the sound of the control Magnus asserted over him. The deal made for eternal life; it held a lot of sway over his being. And yet…silence was the only answer. No return of voice, of command. Not even the dark laughter that usually accompanied his pleading for peace.

For a moment, he dared to hope – his eyes widening and his mouth opening as if to exclaim some form of surprise. “Magnus…are you there?” Only silence. “Could it be true, surely not. He’s toying with me. I must continue forward, continue with the plan.” His body began gliding once more. The very fact his power worked here told him Magnus’ influence was still on him, that he still had a connection with the outside. It was a test. A test of his mettle and his resolve to do as he was told. He entered the courtyard just in time to hear a voice, and the overwhelming stench of human excrement. Not the man he needed to speak to, he could tell from how he was dressed – and the putrid odor swimming in the air around him.

“Can you take me to the owner?” Valkyr’s graveled voice, double and triple layered sound, resonated with suggestive power. The words themselves seemed to hang in the air, encircling him and projecting themselves. “Or, if you can’t, could you point me in the direction of someone who can?” He meant the owner of this pocket world, this injected, shit-riddled realm that sought to attach itself to his home and become a part of it – even if only in this one, weird, small way.

Allure City, The Back Alleys of Sin


The horrid scent of the air told him he was in the right place, the back alleys that served as places for drug dens and whorehouses. They littered this part of the city, at least two on every corner and four on most. The ground seemed forever sticky, though from what Aleck didn’t even want to think about. He didn’t really want to be here, but his cover depended on him doing business in this part of town. Mostly with one man, a guy who claimed to be comrade-in-arms with some of the biggest drug dealers in the city. Whose boss, apparently, ran a lucrative crime trade. Bharata sent him here to find the guy in charge, and though it’d been more than two years since his arrival in Allure, he didn’t really feel any closer to that goal. Pretty frustrating, really.

“Yo, Tommy, you around?” He called out, his voice bouncing back at him in the silence – broken only occasionally by the sound of rats digging through trash. Both homeless and animal alike, and sometimes the faint moans from one of the whore’s rooms upstairs. He hated the whole stench of the place, and he hated having to be here. His fingers curled around the grip of his pistol, easing it in the leather and fingering the safety switch off. Just in case.

“Yo, Aleck, my man. You good?” The questioning tone came from behind him, and he almost drew his gun out of instinct. He recognized the voice, though, and turned with a smile on his face. “You need something, out here yelling my name in the streets like that?”
“Yeah, man. I need some stuff. You know, it’s bout that time again. I just need something to get me through.”

“Aleck, you’ve got a problem man. You’re one of my best customers, and I enjoy the repeat business – but if you don’t slow down, you’re gonna die, man. You can’t keep going like this, and if you die that’s a lot of potential money I lose out on.” A savvy businessman, Tommy knew the secret to dealing. You never let your customers kill themselves on the supply, a dead customer is a customer who can’t spend money, after all.

“Man, shut up and get me my stuff. I’m fine, I got control of it.” Aleck’s voice, friendly as it was, said he wasn’t going to argue with him.

“Nah, man. I can’t let you do that today, besides – someone bought my supply out just a bit ago. Waiting on a call to pick up some more.”
Instant rage. The anger washed over him like rain – or at least that’s what he showed on his face. He wasn’t really an addict, after all, just portraying one trying to get in with this man’s crew – hoping to work his way up to the big boys that ran things eventually. Though, he’d enjoy a bit of the Psispice a time or two. It wasn’t bad stuff, really, for most people it gave them visions – mild psychic moments. Nothing major. For Aleck, it was like doing literal crack, though. Psions shouldn’t be using psionic-enhancing drugs, an inheritance of his father’s power, Aleck had a strong affinity for telepathy. He could sense his sister and father from here, thousands of miles away after all. The first time he took the Psispice, though, he sensed everything. Everywhere. All at once. Or at least, that was how it felt to him – the whole of the planet’s thoughts seemed to flood into him at once, and he couldn’t turn it off. In ways, it was like the strongest psychedelic a man could take, and in others he made him want to end his own life just to shut it down.

That feeling kept him from ever doing it again, anyway, so addiction wasn’t a concern for him. Tommy thought he was taking it, though, and he wanted him to think he was taking it. “Well, look man…just put me in touch with your guy already. I been a customer for a while, you can trust me, man.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Aleck. Though, I don’t trust you. At all. It’s that he doesn’t trust you, man. Nobody trusts a junkie.”
“Alright…alright. Just, let me know when your next shipment comes in man. I need that shit.”

“Sure thing, Aleck.”

Aleck turned to leave, taking a step or two before a sense of malice raised an alarm in his brain. He could easily find out who Tommy worked for, all it would take was reaching out with his mind, touching thoughts. That simple thing could end the mission right now. He’d started to do it once, when he first began trying to infiltrate it. The thoughts he saw in the other’s mind drove him crazy, though, the things the man had – the images in his mind. The things he did to people, for the pure joy of doing them, caused the bile to rise in Aleck’s throat.

Besides, telepathy made his job too easy – there wasn’t any challenge in it. Yet, now even without touching his mind he felt something sharp and painful stab at the control center of his brain. Something told him to move, that he needed to just slide slightly to the left, and he listened to those instincts clearly.

In that same second, a flash of silver rushed past his neck – and punched at the air in front of him. The silver glint of a knife, sharpened tip protruding out the front of what – moments before – would have been Aleck’s throat. His body reacted purely out of instinct now, and Aleck grasped the other’s wrist, flinging his body around as he shifted his feet and used his hips to leverage the other’s body, flinging him over and slamming him into the asphalt of the alleyway back first, wrenching the knife from his hands.

“The fuck, Tommy?”

“Shut up, Xanathan Scum. You think we wouldn’t find out you been working for them? We always find out. Get him, boys.” Tommy screamed, as people began rushing out from the alley. Aleck almost opened his mind completely, ready to crush them under the weight of his psionic energy. Then he stopped, opting instead he launched himself directly at the first, the closest. His hand grabbing his own knife, pulling it from its sheathe and slashing through the air.

Not silver, but fiery red and burning red hot the laser-edged blade tore through flesh and bone smoothly, like butter the skin separated. For a second, blood sprayed and then the heat of the laser cauterized their wounds. His head turned and his right hand pulled his pistol up, the safety already off and the first round already chambered. Squeezing the trigger even before the gun was fully pulled up, the first round blasted off like thunder in the tight alley, the echo carrying it further than necessary. The round flew, and then it split – the mental control he held over metal manifesting in that moment – fragmenting the bullet in mid-air, adding velocity and power.

The fragments became fragments, tore themselves into smaller pieces and split a dozen times over – turning into like slivers of metal so small they’d be nearly invisible to the naked eye. Each one tore through a person, into their throat so precisely as to be surgical. As soon as the fight began, it was over – Aleck replaced his pistol in its holster, mentally activating the safety.

And he looked down at the body of Tommy and sighed. He’d spent a good portion of his time here building his cover and getting in with this guy and his hoodlums for nothing now. The man’s body lay limp, unmoving except for the excited rising and falling of his chest. Eyes widened in fear, as Aleck knelt next to him. He picked up the other’s knife and ran it along his cheek for a moment.
“How’d you know?” Aleck asked, genuinely curious.

“Your sister. She called looking for you, explained that she heard my name in your mind. Thought that was weird, but whatever, you know? Said she needed to speak to you, about your mission to infiltrate the gang, to get to the leader. Ya’ know, always thought something was off about you. Apparently, your sister is a crazy fucking bi…” his words cut off as a death gurgle, his own knife buried deep into his throat. With a violent, teeth-gritting twist of the knife, Tommy’s head separated from his body.

“Nobody calls Alex a bitch, Tommy.” Aleck said to the lifeless, glazed over eyes. At the same time, Aleck began rifling through the other’s clothes. Wallet, keys for his car and house, and plenty of free cash just hanging out in his pockets. Aleck definitely kept that for himself, and then pulled out Tommy’s phone – pocketing it before walking out of the alleyway. He opened the door to the other’s car, an import from the look of it. BMW, the steering wheel said. A good brand, though for some reason the letters were changed to BWM. Probably a knock-off reproduction from some company in Allure.

He flipped through the on-board GPS settings, the most recent places. A casino kept popping up, several times he’d been there according to the tracking software, whose security was barely existent to an expert in advanced electronics. “Guess I’ll start there, eh?” He put the car in drive and took off. At the same time, opening his mind to his family for the first time in years. “You really are a fucking bitch, Alex.”
Revertetur In Terram Suam

The words echoed through the darkness surrounding him, encasing him in the endless night. The darkest depths of his soul tortured by the haunting whisper reverberating through his bones - shaking them like some witch's hex. Eyes closing tighter, muscles tensing as his entire body absolutely shivered under the weight of the words. The voice deep, dark - an ominous sound bouncing around inside of his skull. He clenched his fists against it, bracing himself for more. Nails dug into his flesh, piercing through and letting his blood flow freely from the wounds. He didn't respond, he made no motion to respond. Scared of what might come, scared of the darkness that enveloped him from his mind.

Revertetur In Terram Suam


Again, the voice boomed within his mind. The sound of a command, not a request, and again he fought to control his body's involuntary impulses. The reaction of his subconscious mind against the war that voice began within him. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to leave. It wasn't a request. He knew it, felt it deep in his bones. Already, he could feel the consciousness leaving his mind as his body drained into nothingness. It sank into the darkness, his conscious mind separating from the physical body built for it. The call of the depths reaching up from the void, pulling at his very essence - dragging at what counted as a soul, warped and twisted as it were. The soul pulled from flesh, drug beneath the surface of reality and ripped asunder from the material world he came to call home.

"Wake up, Valkyr. You're home." The voice didn't hold the same measure of weight anymore, it wasn't the booming, resonating sound of a mental command, more the quiet sound of a person speaking in close proximity with another. Not commanding, but not friendly either.

"No, this isn't my home anymore," the response was cold, without emotion or inflection, "you tore me from my home."

"It's been too long since you visited, my son, your power was waning. Replenish yourself of me." The voice spoke softly now, the calm, quiet tone of a mother to her child. Asking the child to eat their vegetables, so that they might gain some measure of strength. Yet, the command was there, hiding beneath the surface.

Valkyr opened his eyes, and looked up at the statue of ice in the middle of the lake. Towering over the icy lake, massive beyond comprehension and even then only a physical manifestation of the idea behind it. Valkyr coughed violently, trying to stand but without the strength to do so, only lifting himself up onto one knee. Almost like some force held him down, forcing him to kneel before the stature, his head bowed low enough to touch against the frozen fire.

"As you wish, my Lord." His talon-like fingers reached up, scraping at the iced statue for only a moment, before the force released itself around him. As if the air lost a massive weight, holding him in place under it. He pushed himself to his feet, standing, eyes scanning and searching. He wanted to fight back, to fight against the voice commanding him. To go back to where he called home now, to the material world outside of this horrifying existence. Yet, no escape to be found, he could only succumb to the commands of the Almighty.

"I will drink of your essence, and in your presence become whole." Valkyr's hand reached up, lifting a golden chalice from a shelf along the precipice of ice. The blackened, viscous fluid within looking like a violent mixture of excrement and blood swirled into a single, horrifying beverage. Yet, he knew from experience that it held no flavor, no taste. It simply existed to sustain, flavor mattered little here. In the darkest, deepest pits of hell the only thing that mattered was obedience.

Tilting the cup, swirling the liquid. Valkyr watched it closely, before turning his head back and sucking the liquid down in one, smooth gulp. Immediately he felt the changes within him, the power returning. His body tensed to a stop, nothing moved - no rise and fall of the chest, not even the movement of blood through his veins. It seemed as if the world stood still in that moment, as the drink poured its power through his body. And then he shivered, a deep shiver that ran its course through the whole of his body. The cup dropped, but dissolved into nothingness even as it fell from his grasp.

"Welcome home, my Son. Now, I believe I have some business for you."

"Yes, Magnus. As you wish, Lord."
Stultus Luminaria


His movement carried him through the crowds milling around the streets, going about their business and yet unconsciously giving him space. As if some force were pushing them away from him, either passive or active. He glided through them, feet not touching. Beneath the hood of his crimson cloak, there seemed to be only the darkness. No face, no eyes. Nothing to be seen except for the darkest of blacks, a void of its own making. And then he reached the center of the main street, leading to the courtyard and up to the casino itself. The lights shimmering from it, inviting the people in to their games and their fun.

He looked up from beneath his hood, orange eyes beginning to glow. Already the stench of this place bothered him, this fake hell, this side-show that sought to be something, but only ended up a stain on the name of his true home, of his true masters. These people fancied themselves demons, yet they knew nothing of true demons. They understood nothing of Hell, except their false existence and their claim to be like him and his brothers.

"Exstingue," the word fell from his lips as barely more than a whisper - but the implication of it was clear. The magic swirled around him, manifesting from the rivers of power that flowed through his home and into him, sinews of power that while only visible to himself, carried an immense strength behind them. The whisper echoed for miles, across the entirety of this would-be hell, this knock-off perdition.

Almost as soon as the word uttered, the lights of the casino winked out - as if the power keeping them going were flipped off. The darkness began from there, and much like a blackout when transformers go down - the power began to die around it. Until, after a few moments, only darkness remained. "That's better." Valkyr said, before continuing up the path that would eventually lead him to the casino, and through the courtyard.
I'll fight you.


Her fingers latched around the haft of the staff, her body shaking slightly with anticipation and panic. She wasn’t sure which was the predominant emotion right now, really. All she knew is this guy seemed to be kind of threatening, and she could sense something within him that made her skin itch. She lowered her staff a bit more, keeping it ready as he assumed his more defensive stance. She didn’t have to survey the landscape, Forge did that within her. Even as he refused to help her, he helped her. He needed her, as much as the Gods needed him. She sensed their power in her, welling. Not all of it, she couldn’t handle more than a microcosm of what they contained, but enough. Ares knowledge spilled through into her mind, she saw the same tactical advantages any seasoned warrior would - and more. Millions of years of warfare cycled through her mind, the greatest military minds tactics and reasonings justifying themselves before her eyes. She knew how to fight, she’d known that even before meeting the Wizard, but even now she understood much, much more. She knew how to gauge even the most subtle of motions, to understand the intent behind even the slightest twitch of a finger. She discerned the defensive stance, as subtle as it was meant to be - and she took one of her own. Her confidence fleeting, she knew she was strong - but how strong was she? She couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t intend to die trying to find out.

“My name is Fo…er…Kassandra. My name is Kassandra, I am the Vessel of the Wizard, who is the Champion of the Old Gods. And you are?”

She asked the question with an obvious desire for an answer, this man didn’t seem to be much of a threat, and she didn’t want to fight someone only to end up killing one of the good guys. Yet, what was he? Was he a good guy? Truly? She couldn’t know until things progressed, but she wouldn’t be the one to launch the first attack. Still, she needed to be ready for anything. Pulling her staff back, she put the butt against the ground once more. For all intents and purposes, she looked completely exposed and harmless. Yet, the staff began to glow - a pale orange light flickering at the very end of it, even as the ground began to emit that same glow in various locations. If intentions were discerned, it would seem she only prepared to defend herself. Yet, who really knew what was going to happen.
Kassandra roamed the streets at incredible speeds, her footfalls dropping heavily on the ground - indenting the asphalt and the concrete with each step. She loved it, the smells, the sounds, the sights. She was growing accustomed to it, and she was falling in love with it. The memories and the knowledge of Forge, the knowledge of the Gods, flowing into her mind. She knew where she was, when she was - and what she was now. She understood the world around her in a way she’d never been able to before, and she found herself beginning to love it. Yet, something seemed off. Forge was screaming in her mind, yelling at her to stop. She either wouldn’t, or couldn’t, listen. The sound of his voice fading into the recesses of her mind, she continued her jovial jaunt through the city streets.

“Kassandra, please. Stop. You’re hurting people, hurting things. That’s not what this power is for. You are the vessel of the Champion, you are here to protect. To save. Not to destroy. I understand your power is new, that you want to test your limits and see what you’re truly capable of - but you have to stop!” Forge screamed, as he grabbed at the strings of thought - pulling at them trying to find the one with the weakness to let him resume control, if only for a moment. She ignored him, running through the streets slapping at cars - with each minimal touch they seemed to cave upon themselves. They scraped along the ground with her touch, metal grinding on asphalt catching the attention of the people - who screamed and ran in terror at the very sight of her. She lavished it, a smaller framed woman she was never a threat in her own time. People treated her unkindly, and now she had the power to make them stop.

If she could find a way home.

Suddenly she felt something wash over her, a sensation of power that didn’t seem to emanate from her own core - but from outside of her. She shifted, turning her head just in time to see a man pulling a sword. That seemed weird, considering what era she was in - and the things she knew now. People here didn’t use swords, they didn’t even think of them as effective weapons. Why would they, when guns were so plentiful. She turned her feet in that moment, and skidded herself to a stop - the asphalt launching up like a wake boarder’s wave when they made a sudden turn - raining down on the people fleeing her rampage in stark terror.

“H…hey there, fella.” She said cautiously, as he inched closer to her. She eyed his sword warily, wondering if she were still susceptible to such things causing her harm. Her own hand shifted around the haft of her staff, letting the butt of it touch the ground as she stood her ground. She didn’t know the full extent of her power, but she was damned sure not going to let this guy hurt her - which as he closed the distance slowly, she began to think might be his intention.

“Forge…what do we do?”

“No. You don’t get to ask for my help now, after you’ve ignored me since we merged. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself, young one.” Forge whispered back, and then she felt his presence descend into the darker recesses of her mind - out of reach for her thoughts to find. She sighed, and shifted her feet - falling into a standard spear stance - with the front of the staff, whose claw-like end held an orange-glowing orb, aimed directly toward the approaching swordsman.

“Stop, or I’ll…I’ll…I’ll shoot, I think!”
Kassandra's fingers traced the outline of the engraving, following along the ridges of the letters and the shaping of the stone. The hours she spent on this were many, far more than she should have. Her father's words echoed in her mind, reminding her of how wasteful time spent on nothing more than something pretty were. How she should use her time constructively, to learn a new skill or trade. To better herself, or her mind. Yet, she couldn't have stopped herself from doing it if she tried. The words carved in the stone, simple yet full of meaning to her. They meant a childhood of love, of adoration - and sometimes of being pushed beyond the limits she thought her body capable of. They were a quote, spoken from the lips of a man far wiser than she. And yet, time caught up to them all. She finished tracing the words, her lips curling into a frown and her eyes welling with water beginning to slide down her cheeks.

"Idle hands are the Devil's playground, child" the words etched read, attributed to Samuel - her father. They adorned the site of his grave, giving some semblance of beauty to the blood stained battlefield. Days ago the war ended here, and the old Gods lost. Her father fought on their behalf, alongside fourteen thousand men and women. They danced the blades gracefully, but the enemy outnumbered them and the Old Gods forsook them. Their blood fertilized the land, and many of their bodies still lay exposed to the prying, carnivorous beaks of the crows. The calls of the carrion-eaters echoed throughout the now barren fields, screaming for their kin to come feast upon the flesh among them. Ravens heard, and they came. They came in droves, thousands of them descending - the crows abandoned ship, taking flight into the darkening sky. Their beaks tore through flesh, pressed against bone and ripped the bodies to bits. They all, in unison, cawed their song of approval.

Except for one. One sat upon a broken spear-haft, its gaze focusing on Kassandra - never leaving her figure as she stayed amongst them. Her chest heaved with sobs, and water strolled down her cheeks as easily as it flowed through the riverbed. The raven watched her for moments longer, before taking flight. The unkindness remained behind, deciding food was more important to them than one among them behaving strangely. As it flew away, it seemed to just disappear on the horizon. Kassandra noticed none of this, as she cried over the gravestone she painstakingly carved for her father. She choked on her own tears, sobbing uncontrollably all the while cursing the gods in her head, screaming at their very existence. She tried to vocalize her feelings, her emotions - but they came out only as uncontrollable screams. She collapsed across the stone, finally her pain and heartbreak consuming her consciousness. Everything faded to darkness around her, and she slept the nightmarish sleep of a daughter who lost her father.

And Unknown Amount of Time Later

The sensation of moving jarring her body, the sounds of oars sweeping and of grumbling voices began to stir her from her slumber. She froze stiff, barely opening her eyes and looking around. The voices seemed to come from nowhere, and yet were everywhere. They invaded her mind, invaded her ears. She couldn’t locate a source. Her eyes focused in the dim light, a greenish glow surrounding the atmosphere. She looked toward the rear of the boat she seemed to be on, and located what seemed to be a man in a cloak - his hood pulled over and his head down to hide his face. Startled, she shifted further from him and sat up, her hands holding her upper body up as she scurried backwards. “What…where…how…who…WHAT IN THE NAME OF ODIN IS GOING ON HERE!?” She screamed, clearly freaked out beyond her wildest imaginations. She looked around erratically, every thing her eyes took in seemed to be impossible. The boat moved not on water, but on an eerie glowing substance that seemed to swim with faces along the surface. That seemed to be the source of the grumbling voices, now that her mind was wakening from the fog of sleep.

Her hand slapped against something that moved, and she grabbed it quickly - standing up and shifting her feet shoulder-width apart with one behind the other. She pointed the make-shift weapon toward the hooded figure. “Who are you? How did I get here, what is going on?” She spoke over herself, her words rushed and full of panic. The figure simply kept pushing on the guide-oar. Steering them through the river of souls. “Is this Styx? Am I dead? Are you taking me to the underworld, Kharon?” It seemed to be the only logical explanation for what was happening, but even her mind seemed unable to fully comprehend it.

“No, you’re not dead,” The eerie man continued guiding the boat, “but by the time they finish with you, by the time he finishes with you, you’ll wish you were.” His voice was soft, barely audible. She strained closer to hear, and the way he spoke sent chills through her spine. She held onto the stick firmly, preparing to fight against him. “You’ll see soon enough, for now…sleep.”

She collapsed.

New York City, 2016

Kassandra awakened in a bed, or what she thought was a bed. It was unlike anything she’d ever known. Sounds from outside, and the lights coming through the window despite the darkened sky seemed strange to her. Of course she’d known of fires, but these glowed strangely in comparison to any fire she’d seen. She sought her mind, her memories. She was on the River Styx, and now…now she was in a very strange place indeed. A weird, hard film over the openings. She walked to the nearest window, tapping at it. Not understanding, not comprehending. Glass wasn’t a thing her people had, but her she was confronted with it. As she finished inspecting it, her eyes took in the outside world. And she immediately jumped back, her hands reaching for something familiar - anything that could protect her. Her fingers clasped around something, and she pulled it close to her. She looked down at it, the alabaster-tone of it seeming warm in her hand, to her touch. She looked it over, a staff. Good, a weapon would be useful, she was sure.

She walked back toward the window, pressing her face against it and looking outside - she took it all in, confusion was rampant, panic close behind. Her fingers clasped the staff tighter, and she whispered in her native tongue. “Odin, fylgjagð mik”

“Odin intends to, dear. As do the others, but that will be made clear very soon.” A soft voice spoke from behind her, and she whipped around swinging the staff wildly in her panic. “Cease, Kassandra.Cease.” She stopped instantly, as if some unseen force took hold of her body and took her control in that moment. She managed to move her lips, speaking softly.

“Kharon, what are you doing here. Where have you brought me?”

“My name is not Kharon, I am far more ancient than he, as you will soon find out. You’ve already been told, but your memory and your human mind could not comprehend without my presence. You forgot to protect your own mental health, but now your health - of any kind - is something you need not worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“You hold my weapon, and through it my power. All you have to do is speak the prayer, in Norse, Greek, whatever language you want really. I’ll answer your call. All you must do is pray to me, and I will show you everything.”

“Pray to you, false God? You are not Odin, you are not Thor. You’re not even the Trickster Loki, why would I pray to you?”

As she spoke, the Raven flew to the windowsill. It watched them for a moment, before phasing through the glass - her eyes caught the movement and she turned, swinging the staff quickly and with force. As it neared the Raven, a ringed hand touched the bone - and the Raven became the embodiment of a man. “By Odin, is it you?” Kassandra spoke with awe, as she looked upon the bearded, one-eyed vision of Odin standing before her.

“Yes, child. It is I, Odin.Come to calm you, come to tell you to trust him. Forge knows what he means, he is our champion - and you his vessel. Pray to him, and you shall understand everything, my child.”

“Yes, All-father.”

“Good,” Forge spoke, smiling. “The prayer is in your head, in your mind. Search your memories, and you will know what you must say.”

“Forge gefmikr makt, protect mik fran darknesanórr heartrinn. Save mik fran þessi jörð,” she whispered, and immediately convulsed. Her whole body seemed to be rocked by the power flowing from his body, into the staff, and then into her. She shook violently, and then collapsed to the floor for the third time in twenty-four hours…or a few thousand years, she wasn’t really sure anymore.

She awakened in the dark expanse of her own mind, and she saw through the eyes of her body - which she no longer controlled fully. She fought with an intruder in her head, battling against his willpower. They fought for control, for authority. Forge wanted to control her wholly, to be in command of her every move - but she could not surrender to him. She fought against the being who, now that they were one, she knew to be as ancient as the world itself.

“It’s my body, give it back!”

“You asked for this, in your prayer.”

“This is not what Odin promised me, Forge.”

“Odin promised you power, I am power.”

“I will use your power, if they wish it of me.” Her memories spiked of a meeting, one with a pantheon of Gods involved. She crushed those memories down, not dwelling on them at the moment. “But you will not use my body to your own desires, I will use their power. I will use your power. I will use you, not the other way around.”

“As you wish, Kassandra, but until full synchronization is made, much of my power will not be available to you.”

“I don’t care, Wizard. It will be enough.”

Regaining control of herself, she turned to see the image of Odin as a Raven once more on the windowsill, beckoning with head motions. She smiled, feeling the Wizard’s power coursing through her - she grabbed the Relic, and launched herself through the glass - shattering it around her. She fell four stories, twisting and landing with a knee pushed into the asphalt as it cracked and broke around her - up-heaving much of the street with the impact of her landing. She laughed manically, enjoying her newfound power. The Raven seemed to laugh as well, a weird, unnatural sound. As it landed on her shoulder, she broke into a run - each footstep ripping apart asphalt and ground.

She ran through the streets of New York City, the City That Never Sleeps, she knew it by now. Forge’s mind merging with her own, as much as she allowed anyway, gave her valuable information. She didn’t know the extent of herself, of what she could do now - but she was about to find out.
Just looking for a friendly spar/fight with someone, new here and trying to test out the Arena and get my feet wet, so to speak.

Profile is below

Hello!

I'm new to the site, but enjoy Arena threads from time to time - was wondering if anyone would like to have a friendly match to get me acclimated to the site!?
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