McHaggis Member
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TokyoPewPew,
BleedingLover
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8 yrs ago
happy new year!! may 2019 be a good one for everyone ^^
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8 yrs ago
same
8 yrs ago
blizzcon always makes me want a warcraft rp
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8 yrs ago
Lord Wraith earned his type today.
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8 yrs ago
and so the community, united by one man's war against them, returns to warring against itself
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Bio
catch you on the flip side
Most Recent Posts
Interested! Will work on something soon ^.^
Updated with some original settings :3
Just a quick post, left it as open as I could for those a bit behind on posting to catch up :3
The ship rose with creaks and groans not unexpected of a huge ton of metal about to escape into the great blackness of the universe, an unsettling shaking occuring in the lower levels of the ships were the dormitories were – prompting the pilot's voice to chime, "Sorry about the discomfort!" through the intercom even if there wasn't anything she could do about it.
As if there were ever any doubt, The Medusa made it. It ripped up through the air, past the various levels of atmosphere that Caelum ought to know the name of but didn't, and everything settled down in a flash once she was safely powering through the void.
Well, 'powering through' was subjective – they were cruising, a leisurely lap around Sycamore's designated safe zone before the pilot would read them the mission statement. She wasn't at all surprised at the Defective Alliance holding it off for her to do it, not now after she'd skimmed it. Nobody would join otherwise. Even so, she'd wait for an hour or so for everyone to settle in before calling them all together. Bad news tended to be somewhat disorienting, she knew.
As if there were ever any doubt, The Medusa made it. It ripped up through the air, past the various levels of atmosphere that Caelum ought to know the name of but didn't, and everything settled down in a flash once she was safely powering through the void.
Well, 'powering through' was subjective – they were cruising, a leisurely lap around Sycamore's designated safe zone before the pilot would read them the mission statement. She wasn't at all surprised at the Defective Alliance holding it off for her to do it, not now after she'd skimmed it. Nobody would join otherwise. Even so, she'd wait for an hour or so for everyone to settle in before calling them all together. Bad news tended to be somewhat disorienting, she knew.
James MacFusty
Jimmy, who was at the tail end of the line when it started, stared at the dog for a few moments from his position a few metres away from it. He had the fortunate experience of being after Jordan Mason who was thrown off into the distance by the power of the great beast's head.
What the..? Well, what had seemed at first to be a boring lesson was certainly livening up. Reaching the front of the queue, he didn't make any moves to pat the dog – just stared flatly at it, his arms folded behind his back. The creature stared back, pulling into a sitting position with its eyes warily set on the boy in front of it. "Yeah, that's right... you better be scared," he said with a laugh, sauntering over to the group of Hufflepuffs he vaguely knew. Scrubbles growled at his retreating back.
"Tessa Anne Goffe! How's my second favourite Quiddich player? The first being myself, of course.." he joked, completely ignoring the dog that, had it been human, would have been glaring daggers at him. As if in hindsight, he grinned at the other Hufflepuff chaser, too. "No offense, Elizabeth. You're still third."
Jimmy, who was at the tail end of the line when it started, stared at the dog for a few moments from his position a few metres away from it. He had the fortunate experience of being after Jordan Mason who was thrown off into the distance by the power of the great beast's head.
What the..? Well, what had seemed at first to be a boring lesson was certainly livening up. Reaching the front of the queue, he didn't make any moves to pat the dog – just stared flatly at it, his arms folded behind his back. The creature stared back, pulling into a sitting position with its eyes warily set on the boy in front of it. "Yeah, that's right... you better be scared," he said with a laugh, sauntering over to the group of Hufflepuffs he vaguely knew. Scrubbles growled at his retreating back.
"Tessa Anne Goffe! How's my second favourite Quiddich player? The first being myself, of course.." he joked, completely ignoring the dog that, had it been human, would have been glaring daggers at him. As if in hindsight, he grinned at the other Hufflepuff chaser, too. "No offense, Elizabeth. You're still third."
Siobhan pondered the mysterious 'room that wasn't there' that Kyle mentioned. Perhaps she should ask the older Gryffindors about it, say she wanted some place quiet to study? "I'll search for it during my free periods," she said. "It can't be too hard to find, right?"
The Gryffindor girl's nose wrinkled as her new worst enemy was mentioned. "Oh, you mean Trish -- her cronies too. What about her?" Siobhan didn't like where that train of thought was going... were they going to purposefully provoke them?
The Gryffindor girl's nose wrinkled as her new worst enemy was mentioned. "Oh, you mean Trish -- her cronies too. What about her?" Siobhan didn't like where that train of thought was going... were they going to purposefully provoke them?
“Not a problem! Have a nice day!”
The bell above the door chimed daintily as it slammed shut, battered by a wind that almost took it off its hinges. Inside the tailor's shop was dark, lightless aside from a dim candle flickering back and forth, back and forth with the cold draught; only faint streams of sunlight filtered through the open window and the clouds above – winter was well on its way, and with it, shorter days.
To the tailor – Evander – it was merely one grim reminder that for the next few months he would be starting and finishing work under the cover of darkness. Six 'til six. Of course, 'work' was subjective. The shop averaged three customers a day, most looking for a cheap mend of their own travelling cloaks rather than a hand-sewn new one. They all spent their waking hours on whatever needed to be done, be it mining or fishing or hunting or forestry, while Evander was allowed to sit sticking needles into a pincushion for what seemed like an eternity every day.
The worst part of it all was that he wasn't allowed to leave even when it was painfully clear there would be no further customers, long after the streets had emptied and his parents and friends were all safely sequestered in their little houses, locked away from the ominous blackness that was the outside world. The landlord – landlady – didn't do any work, just commanded him to do it as her apprentice, and all he could say was, “Yes, mistress. Your wish is my command, mistress.”
As it was, the only thing he could do was nothing. Rocking rhythmically in the chair, ravelling and unravelling a bolt of silk cloth. It was a deep turquoise-slash-blue, the exact shade of glacial ice, and had he not done so before and been caught, he would have stowed it away in his backpack with none the wiser. Instead, he shook his head, muttering to himself, “Not now,” as he strode over to the door, peeking out at the desolate streets. The tailor's workshop just so happened to be right at the edge of town, marked by an empty clearing with the ragged edge of a forest cutting into it. Intellectually he knew that the next town over was in that direction, if he were to follow a meandering path around trees and stumps, but instinctively... well...
No, it was silly. Evander closed the door again, but stood behind it, his forehead pressed against the old oak wood. Two hours to kill in the shop behind him, or he could lock up early and bet on the fact that the owner wouldn't shop up to check on him. Two hours of nothing versus 'practice' – hiding in the hollow of a tree and turning the rain into snow, moulding ice into... well, anything small and sharp. He grabbed his cloak from the stand nearby, royal blue and lined with gold, and jogged out in the direction of the woods.
They were no less eerie than they were from a distance. Evander shuddered despite not feeling at all cold, thankful that to remain undetected he had to only take a few steps into the woods. He was brave! He knew that, but what was the point of putting himself in senseless danger? Taking off his gloves, he crouched down near the dull, moist leaves of the nearest plant – late-blooming flowers curling limply out from a bush. "Shh... don't worry now," he said, running a finger over the petals (if they could even be called that) of one. A cold mist rose from it as the raindrops – most of them – froze over.
Not all of them. He'd forgotten about that, the fact that he was slowly, gradually getting worse and worse at using his abilities. He'd been much better at it in his early teens, with violent spikes of ice erupting from his fingertips at inopportune moments and furious snowstorms rolling into town without warning from the skies. Evander was lucky that they'd all been easily hidden, that he was able to hold his tongue and his temper in check until he was alone. It was impossible to tell what caused it – was it a bodily change, did it only work for young boys and not men? Did the Gods or whatever that ruled over his fate just hate him? It burned inside not being able to do those things and the vortex of shame and embarrassment, even if nobody else could see it, only made it more difficult to summon frost.
Evander leaned back against the wet bark of the tree behind him, droplets of rain collecting first on the leaves and then dripping down onto his face somberly. They villagers would probably call him melancholic, if he went back down, soaked through to the skin with a permanent loss etched into his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on platinum blonde locks. Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? All I want... all I want... His eyes itched just a little bit, or at least that was his excuse. ...is to be able to do something with this. To be powerful.
Well, that was that then. Time of self-realisation over and–
A wolf howled, closer than he would have expected. The dual-toned sound resonated through his limbs, tingled his fingers with terror. He didn't particularly like wolves, as his last trip to the mountain had emphasised. Four years ago, they had pounced, and that was the last time he had truly been able to effectively use his abilities – the last display of power he'd been able to muster. Evander supposed they could smell the blood of their allies on them. One of his apprenticeships in the village, when he was still flighty and indecisive and all about fighting and sport as most young men were, had been as a hunter. Of course, the only animals he'd slaughtered were the savage wolves that wandered too close to town – sometimes for the safety of the people, sometimes for their pelt and gold.
Evander saw the Beast; fur pitch-black and easily visible even though the sun hadn't quite set yet, with eyes that didn't sparkle with any sort of life nor recognition. The tailor staggered back to his feet, bracing himself against the tree behind him rather than running. It was circling rather close, and the damned thing was at least up to his knees – larger than any wolf he'd ever seen before. A nightmare stuck in real life.
His fight or flight response malfunctioned.
His heart started thudding, pounding in his chest with every tentative step the Beast took towards him.
A gasp – one last breath before he was savaged to death – came out frozen.
This is it, Evander thought mournfully. The end... I'm sorry, Father... Just.... He couldn't help but expect to suddenly burst out with shards of ice as sharp as blades, kill the wolf and save his own sorry life but he knew – he knew – it wouldn't happen. The tailor held his head high, fingers bunched in his shirt. Come on... come on... I don't want to die here! The Beast leapt at him and he closed his eyes without any thought from his conscious mind. It was karma, it was providential, it was all because he'd left the store door unlocked... yes, that was it...
There was a rip as a large hole opened up near where his stomach was, however, his flesh was untouched. Mixed with dark, sticky saliva was a piece of parchment, left in the tear. It must have been from the wolf's mouth, it had left it there purposefully. Trembling fingers picking it apart as the surreal experience started to numb his nerves and mind, he read:
"You are one of six chosen few to receive this letter. You were chosen, because you wish for something with a great desire. So I shall grant you your wish. Into the Woods you must travel, to the Tree of Truth. There you will find me and if you follow my commands, you shall have your wish granted."
It left him with more questions than answers, some he asked aloud. "Where is the Tree of Truth? Or, what is it?" he questioned. "What are you?"
The Beast growled low in its throat as if trying to... trying to communicate, head bowed low in what the tailor suspected was mock submission, almost as if it were pretending (and joking) that he was some sort of king he served. It stared flatly at him then turned to trot back from whence it came but not before giving him a universal gesture for him to follow. Evander nearly sobbed, partly because of the adrenaline ebbing from his system. The rest was in desperation – if this was the only way he would be able to find his true calling, to use his magic, then so be it. I'm sorry, Father, he repeated, chasing the creature deeper into the woods, hoping fervently that this wasn't all some elaborate plot.
The bell above the door chimed daintily as it slammed shut, battered by a wind that almost took it off its hinges. Inside the tailor's shop was dark, lightless aside from a dim candle flickering back and forth, back and forth with the cold draught; only faint streams of sunlight filtered through the open window and the clouds above – winter was well on its way, and with it, shorter days.
To the tailor – Evander – it was merely one grim reminder that for the next few months he would be starting and finishing work under the cover of darkness. Six 'til six. Of course, 'work' was subjective. The shop averaged three customers a day, most looking for a cheap mend of their own travelling cloaks rather than a hand-sewn new one. They all spent their waking hours on whatever needed to be done, be it mining or fishing or hunting or forestry, while Evander was allowed to sit sticking needles into a pincushion for what seemed like an eternity every day.
The worst part of it all was that he wasn't allowed to leave even when it was painfully clear there would be no further customers, long after the streets had emptied and his parents and friends were all safely sequestered in their little houses, locked away from the ominous blackness that was the outside world. The landlord – landlady – didn't do any work, just commanded him to do it as her apprentice, and all he could say was, “Yes, mistress. Your wish is my command, mistress.”
As it was, the only thing he could do was nothing. Rocking rhythmically in the chair, ravelling and unravelling a bolt of silk cloth. It was a deep turquoise-slash-blue, the exact shade of glacial ice, and had he not done so before and been caught, he would have stowed it away in his backpack with none the wiser. Instead, he shook his head, muttering to himself, “Not now,” as he strode over to the door, peeking out at the desolate streets. The tailor's workshop just so happened to be right at the edge of town, marked by an empty clearing with the ragged edge of a forest cutting into it. Intellectually he knew that the next town over was in that direction, if he were to follow a meandering path around trees and stumps, but instinctively... well...
No, it was silly. Evander closed the door again, but stood behind it, his forehead pressed against the old oak wood. Two hours to kill in the shop behind him, or he could lock up early and bet on the fact that the owner wouldn't shop up to check on him. Two hours of nothing versus 'practice' – hiding in the hollow of a tree and turning the rain into snow, moulding ice into... well, anything small and sharp. He grabbed his cloak from the stand nearby, royal blue and lined with gold, and jogged out in the direction of the woods.
They were no less eerie than they were from a distance. Evander shuddered despite not feeling at all cold, thankful that to remain undetected he had to only take a few steps into the woods. He was brave! He knew that, but what was the point of putting himself in senseless danger? Taking off his gloves, he crouched down near the dull, moist leaves of the nearest plant – late-blooming flowers curling limply out from a bush. "Shh... don't worry now," he said, running a finger over the petals (if they could even be called that) of one. A cold mist rose from it as the raindrops – most of them – froze over.
Not all of them. He'd forgotten about that, the fact that he was slowly, gradually getting worse and worse at using his abilities. He'd been much better at it in his early teens, with violent spikes of ice erupting from his fingertips at inopportune moments and furious snowstorms rolling into town without warning from the skies. Evander was lucky that they'd all been easily hidden, that he was able to hold his tongue and his temper in check until he was alone. It was impossible to tell what caused it – was it a bodily change, did it only work for young boys and not men? Did the Gods or whatever that ruled over his fate just hate him? It burned inside not being able to do those things and the vortex of shame and embarrassment, even if nobody else could see it, only made it more difficult to summon frost.
Evander leaned back against the wet bark of the tree behind him, droplets of rain collecting first on the leaves and then dripping down onto his face somberly. They villagers would probably call him melancholic, if he went back down, soaked through to the skin with a permanent loss etched into his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on platinum blonde locks. Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? All I want... all I want... His eyes itched just a little bit, or at least that was his excuse. ...is to be able to do something with this. To be powerful.
Well, that was that then. Time of self-realisation over and–
A wolf howled, closer than he would have expected. The dual-toned sound resonated through his limbs, tingled his fingers with terror. He didn't particularly like wolves, as his last trip to the mountain had emphasised. Four years ago, they had pounced, and that was the last time he had truly been able to effectively use his abilities – the last display of power he'd been able to muster. Evander supposed they could smell the blood of their allies on them. One of his apprenticeships in the village, when he was still flighty and indecisive and all about fighting and sport as most young men were, had been as a hunter. Of course, the only animals he'd slaughtered were the savage wolves that wandered too close to town – sometimes for the safety of the people, sometimes for their pelt and gold.
Evander saw the Beast; fur pitch-black and easily visible even though the sun hadn't quite set yet, with eyes that didn't sparkle with any sort of life nor recognition. The tailor staggered back to his feet, bracing himself against the tree behind him rather than running. It was circling rather close, and the damned thing was at least up to his knees – larger than any wolf he'd ever seen before. A nightmare stuck in real life.
His fight or flight response malfunctioned.
His heart started thudding, pounding in his chest with every tentative step the Beast took towards him.
A gasp – one last breath before he was savaged to death – came out frozen.
This is it, Evander thought mournfully. The end... I'm sorry, Father... Just.... He couldn't help but expect to suddenly burst out with shards of ice as sharp as blades, kill the wolf and save his own sorry life but he knew – he knew – it wouldn't happen. The tailor held his head high, fingers bunched in his shirt. Come on... come on... I don't want to die here! The Beast leapt at him and he closed his eyes without any thought from his conscious mind. It was karma, it was providential, it was all because he'd left the store door unlocked... yes, that was it...
There was a rip as a large hole opened up near where his stomach was, however, his flesh was untouched. Mixed with dark, sticky saliva was a piece of parchment, left in the tear. It must have been from the wolf's mouth, it had left it there purposefully. Trembling fingers picking it apart as the surreal experience started to numb his nerves and mind, he read:
"You are one of six chosen few to receive this letter. You were chosen, because you wish for something with a great desire. So I shall grant you your wish. Into the Woods you must travel, to the Tree of Truth. There you will find me and if you follow my commands, you shall have your wish granted."
It left him with more questions than answers, some he asked aloud. "Where is the Tree of Truth? Or, what is it?" he questioned. "What are you?"
The Beast growled low in its throat as if trying to... trying to communicate, head bowed low in what the tailor suspected was mock submission, almost as if it were pretending (and joking) that he was some sort of king he served. It stared flatly at him then turned to trot back from whence it came but not before giving him a universal gesture for him to follow. Evander nearly sobbed, partly because of the adrenaline ebbing from his system. The rest was in desperation – if this was the only way he would be able to find his true calling, to use his magic, then so be it. I'm sorry, Father, he repeated, chasing the creature deeper into the woods, hoping fervently that this wasn't all some elaborate plot.
Bump! Even though I won't be back for a few hours.
Jun's eyebrows furrowed in response but he leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his free drink. Well, it couldn't get any worse.
"I'm the best damn swordsman this side of the Earth Kingdom," he muttered angrily, barely audible enough so that the men could hear him. "And I'm not half bad at taking out benders with it. That enough for you?"
He crossed his legs, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. "I didn't think you had enough folk on your side to be able to turn a 'boy' like me away."
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Suyin said, clipping up her hair into a loose warrior's bun. She seemed utterly unconcerned about a possible life-or-death situation, which facing pirates always was. "Fire Nation fortress... Most of our old places have contingency plans – and a lot of them. You think there's a back door?" She knew their manor at home had at least three: one leading from the parlour behind a cupboard, another beneath the cellars and a final back entrance leading from her own room into the hot caverns deep beneath the island. She wouldn't at all be surprised if her suspicions were correct. "If they do... sounds like a perfect way for a two-man strike team to get in and out."
It just wasn't fun when their soldiers got to do all of the work. She knew Father wouldn't have done that; he instead preferred to go out on his own and conquer.
Suyin skipped over to the corner of the room and picked up her ornate bow, plucking at the string and frowning imperceptibly. She'd need to do some maintenance on it later. "We need to be prepared for flanking attacks, too. The pirates aren't known for their honorable tactics.
"I'm the best damn swordsman this side of the Earth Kingdom," he muttered angrily, barely audible enough so that the men could hear him. "And I'm not half bad at taking out benders with it. That enough for you?"
He crossed his legs, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. "I didn't think you had enough folk on your side to be able to turn a 'boy' like me away."
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Suyin said, clipping up her hair into a loose warrior's bun. She seemed utterly unconcerned about a possible life-or-death situation, which facing pirates always was. "Fire Nation fortress... Most of our old places have contingency plans – and a lot of them. You think there's a back door?" She knew their manor at home had at least three: one leading from the parlour behind a cupboard, another beneath the cellars and a final back entrance leading from her own room into the hot caverns deep beneath the island. She wouldn't at all be surprised if her suspicions were correct. "If they do... sounds like a perfect way for a two-man strike team to get in and out."
It just wasn't fun when their soldiers got to do all of the work. She knew Father wouldn't have done that; he instead preferred to go out on his own and conquer.
Suyin skipped over to the corner of the room and picked up her ornate bow, plucking at the string and frowning imperceptibly. She'd need to do some maintenance on it later. "We need to be prepared for flanking attacks, too. The pirates aren't known for their honorable tactics.
I'll take up Cinderella's son in a last case scenario, will work on my IC post soon!
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