Saltwater Thief

Warriors of Sengun: A Pokémon Role-Play (Started, Still Accepting)

Hmm, what have we here? Looks fun. Let me see here...

A Song of Air & Ice (Saltwater Thief and Feisty-Pants)

Dan Halen- The Hunter
The northern reaches of Guildaris proved to be a place that grew in their magnificence as one progressed further into them. Civilization itself seemed to give way to nature and its unruly beauty as even the highway fell away to become little more than a web of horse trails that snaked through forest and swamp, over valley and vale and into the Advarse Mountains. Here, the fauna grew unchecked and ungoverned as it spread its leafy limbs wherever it pleased. Animals were abundant in these parts, from squirrels and field mice to wolves and bears, alongside many a magical beast or mythical monster. Though the entrance of the countryside, affectionately called the Wooded Chasm, was a popular tourist destination and vocational getaway, not much further the land grew rough and unforgiving, and the wildlife more vicious and untamed with it. Traversing it on foot and alone was more than dangerous, and most people dared not venture it without at least a horse to help them expedite the journey. While Dan was far from most people, he still had chosen to acquire a steed for himself to speed him on.

The horse was a deep brown colored beast that, while not the mightiest of his kind, was more than dependable and, the rancher had assured him, one of the most enduring he’d ever raised. Dan had acquired the equestrian after staying overnight at a small ranch in the Chasm, where the old man who owned the property, his two sons, and his daughter had been incredibly hospitable toward such a stranger. They’d given him a bed, a warm meal, and some advice for his travels. In particular, the old rancher suggested that he’d want a horse if he intended to go all the way to the Advarse, and that he had a few the Hunter might peruse and possibly purchase. Money held little value so far out in the boondocks, but Dan was easily capable of striking a bargain. In return for the animal, he’d taken some time in the tool shed and, using some materials he’d managed to bring with him from Batotia, forged four brand new hunting rifles for the family, all of them up to par with his typical standards. In exchange, the rancher had insisted he take one of the best of the stable, with obvious exception to his breeding stallion and mare, to see him northward. It handled very much like the wild mares that heeded his once-goddess’ beck and call, full of fire and speed but dutiful toward its rider. It took some time for it to heel for him, but once it did the trip progressed very smoothly.

The cold forest floor passed swiftly beneath the horse’s hooves as they trod over root and rock, moss and milestone. In open areas he would give his steed leave to run as it willed, but in the dense confines of the trees he forced a slower pace, both for the sake of safety on the haphazard trail and to give his senses a greater range; anyone or anything that may have attempted to sneak up on them would find itself ferreted out before it closed to within 20 yards. With his ears and eyes surveying the route ahead and around, Dan was able to steer the horse away from any danger, whether it made itself known or not. A bear snoring in its slumber, a wolf ravaging a carcass, the faint chuckle of a wild hyena lying in ambush, and a multitude of other sounds alerted him to their sources long before he needed to watch for them. And yet, when a noise came that forced him to halt entirely, it was none of these fearsome things. It was not a roar or a snarl, nor was it the tearing of flesh or the snapping of bones that drew his attention, but a much softer sound. Two softer sounds, in fact; the first was a pained whimpering that strived to be as quiet as could be, as if trying to avoid being noticed. The second was an equally near-imperceptible noise, but this was a low and threatening growl that seemed to dare any who heard it to stay away. The sounds were canine to his ears, and yet they did not belong to any breed of dog or wolf Dan had ever heard.

The hunter strained his ears, listening very intently for the direction of the sounds. With his eyes shut and only his hearing to guide him, he stepped off of his steed and began to pick his way toward the source. He found it at the base of a massive oak tree, but still could not find the animals that made it. Until, at last, he noticed a large leaf had been pulled in front of a natural cave formed by where the ground had broken away beneath one of the oak’s above-ground roots. He grabbed the leaf and pulled it aside… and then swiftly leaped back as a fair sized black shape came shooting out toward him. The black shape soon revealed itself, upon its landing, to be a mid-sized doglike creature that looked like a cross between a fox and a golden retriever. Its jet black fur shone in the sunlight that leaked through the canopy, and as it darted toward Dan again the fur seemed to wax and wane with the light, as if the fur itself was naturally reflective. He dodged again, and only when he had dodged several more times did he understand.

“Wait a minute… you’re a Shimmerfang!”

Shimmerfangs were rarities, even in the most fantastic of wild lands, and were widely known for both their beautifully rich and reflective coats as well as their ability to take down opponents twice their size in an instant. Elven civilizations, in particular, prized the animal both for its fur, which was said to possess an alarming amount of innate magic for such a small creature, and as a companion for its gentle disposition alongside its ferocity. But this one was being far from gentle or regal… why? As Dan dodged still more attacks, he finally grew tired of the game and, on the next lunge, jabbed the Shimmerfang just behind its neck with two fingers, paralyzing it with a pressure point strike. As the poor thing landed only to fall over, Dan turned back to the hole he had uncovered; there, in spite of protesting barks from the animal, he looked and found something unheard of- a second Shimmerfang, this one white in color, gingerly crawling out from the hole and whimpering for its friend. Once it was free, the plight of the white one was plain to see- it had a front paw that was badly damaged and could not be walked on.

It all made sense then. The white one had clearly been injured somehow, and now it depended on the black one to keep it safe until- if ever- it healed. There was something admirable about it, how the black Shimmerfang had stood by the white in spite of, or perhaps because of, her time of weakness. In fact, he reflected, it was the exact thing he hadn’t done… Another growl from the black prevented him from falling into regret’s abyss. He realized that he needed to convince the both of them that he was a friend. Reaching into one of his pockets, he withdrew two pieces of dried meat and set them out, one in front of the white and one before the black, who he tapped again to remove the paralysis. Both of the Shimmerfangs sniffed the morsels gingerly, and then the white began to tear into hers with hungry abandon. The black soon followed suit with his, and before long Dan was laying out more strips for each.

“Well, it seems I’ve made two new friends out here. Hold on a second, I think I saw an herb that I can use to help heal that paw…”

And so he did. The white still couldn’t walk very well, but the paw would now at least be guaranteed to repair itself in a timely manner. The hunter, for his part, had found himself unable to let the little things go, and so he decided to take them along as his pets. The black Shimmerfang he named Fate, and the white he christened Faith. What gave him those names, he knew not, but they simply seemed to fit. And so, with Faith riding in his lap and Fate bounding along behind the horse, the three set off again for Advarse. At the moment, neither Shimmerfang was more than twenty pounds, but in a short time they would both grow to be at least thrice that. In fact, he mused, Fate may even do so by the time the journey was over…

And lo and behold, he had been correct. A little more than a week later, and the group had finally finished their trek through the mountains. A soft snowfall gathered on the ground, a herald for the winter weather in the season ahead, as the horse and Fate both ran through the open field that opened into the Advarse Valley proper. Faith had not grown much, having been confined to Dan’s lap for most of the trip, but once her leg would allow her to run again she would catch up to her brother quite rapidly. The Valley itself was quite peaceful; it was a place where the residents minded their own business, intervening with each other only when beseeched for help, and every man was given his own space. Of the dozens of homesteads scattered about, only some were occupied- plenty of them had been left by those who had tried to carve out their lives there and failed, running back to the comfort of the city as they did. Thus, when Dan and his travelling companions happened upon a snowy little cottage by an icy lake in the midst of a wintery wood, nobody in the region raised a hand as they moved in and made the place their own…

A Crown of Bones

I owe all of you an apology. I've not been keeping up with this thread of late, and for that I am sorry.

I'll be able to post this afternoon.

A Crown of Bones

Not sure when I'll find the time to hammer this out with all the other things I'm writing, but I'll find it before the weekend's end.

Hogwarts: We Are Now

Feisty-Pants said
Well! Gogo post! :3Also. Anna, I've a friend who's hankering to get into this RP. He's been a good friend for a couple years now, so I can vouch for both his dedication and writing talent if you'd be so kind to let him in!! ^_^

I wouldn't say hankering, personally, but it is a nicely set up roleplay that I think would be fun to be a part of. Of nothing else, I wouldn't mind a spot on the waiting list.

Oh, and hi. Probably should've said that first. Oh well.

A Crown of Bones

Well, that sucked. Significantly.

A Song of Air & Ice (Saltwater Thief and Feisty-Pants)

And so it continues.

How's that for your divine intervention?

A Song of Air & Ice (Saltwater Thief and Feisty-Pants)

The Hunter

Once Dan had left the confines of the city, the earth and sky began to refresh themselves and become cleaner with every step. The mud-caked concrete and asphalt, although suborn, eventually gave way to grass and a dirt road that wound its way into the countryside. The air around him changed for the better as well. Inside of the industrial walls of Einbroch the winds he'd conversed with had been foul-mouthed and rude, poisoned by the smog and pollution and reeking with a stench almost worse than the rest of the city. But out here, as he listened to the crossing breezes and soaring tradewinds, they began to cast off their soot fetters and fly freely, singing back to him as they passed. Moreover, as he put more of the urban landscape behind him by the day, the darkened clouds that hung over the city receded as well and gave way to a crystalline clear night sky. Stars, tens of thousands of them, dotted the ebony atmosphere in great pattern the likes of which Dan had never seen. Complimenting them were the twin moons of Guildaris, two great silvery orbs that hung in the sky and shed their light upon the world enough to see by. The picture that he witnessed as he crested a particularly large hill and saw the entirety of the landscape's shift from city to country, the image of the rolling hills and sweeping plains bathed in moonlight... it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Second, he reminded himself, The second most beautiful thing. You know full well what trumps this.

A pang of sadness struck him as his conscious sought to run him through with yet another lance forged of memories and regrets. He shook his head rapidly back and forth to clear his head, and then started down the road again. He had to keep moving. Three days had he spent in this world, in two of them voyaging out from Einbroch with no particular destination in mind. The road he'd chosen was one that twisted and turned through the petrified forest to the east of the city before turning to the north and passing through the large mountain range. Supposedly, if the maps he'd seen were to be believed, beyond those mountains there lay a wintery valley far from any city or conflict. It was sparingly populated, and those that did live their largely kept to themselves. Perfect, he had thought, for a man who sought only to be alone with his sorrows and lost labors.

And so it was that he trudged onward, making his way closer and closer to that place with every step. He had to go quickly; as he understood, the way into the valley would soon become blocked by snowfall, and even the hardiest mountain climber dared not attempt the journey in such conditions. As he walked, however, he could not stop his mind from wandering. Sometimes it hypothesized about the world he now found himself in, theorized about it based on the people and places he had encountered thus far. At other moments, it chose to contemplate the various magicks he was capable of, and when this occurred he would tap into his power to rehearse them when it was practical. But more often than anything else, his mind dwelled on the past. Memories often flooded his inner thoughts, memories in pristine clarity that brought him rushing back to the scenes he recalled. The Fealty Tower, and that dreadful room with the shattered door. The Warlock, with its hardwood deck beneath a full moon. Then the small cabin aboard the ship, where a crimson dress and white shirt lay thrown aside on the floor. The oceangoing library, complimented by the sounds of steel grinding on steel, of ice breaking, and the laughter of a madman. After that, the Warden’s Tower came swimming before him, with his window and a bookshelf that hadn’t quite thawed. Following that was the Forgotten Terrace, its doors flung open to reveal the damning prophecy revealed by a setting sun. And then the volcano, its magma boiling below as smoke billowed out to ensure that the survivors would never see the victim’s passing. And finally, the Great Gate, and the colossal, shadowy terror that lay behind it…

Suddenly, his attention was called out from his memoirs by a great crimson flash in the sky above him. Looking up, the source of the light was apparent immediately; high in the eastern night sky, a new star had appeared. It was larger and more luminescent than its brothers and sisters, much like On’Eman’s North Star had been, and it glowed with a red light that twinkled amidst the evening and set it apart from the rest of the nocturnal painting. Startling though it was, he could find no ill intent or malice behind the phenomenon. Nor did anything seem to stir at its occurrence; perhaps, he reasoned, that was how stars were born here? More curious, he noted, was how the flash seemed to have struck the clouds hanging over the city that lay multiple miles behind him. The bearers of black rain and vile smog seemed to recoil at the flash’s appearance, separating until roughly halfway across Einbroch as if the star had lashed at them with a whip. He found it fascinating that such things happened and appeared to be commonplace, but decided that investigation would have to wait until after he had beaten the winter’s wrath to the valley. And so, on he walked along the road, barely noting that the red star seemed to be lighting his path as it preceded him…

A Crown of Bones

I've posted. If I went and stepped on toes with my explanation of the magic, please let me know and I'll adjust accordingly.

A Crown of Bones

Alaric listened very casually as the old man spoke his piece. With nothing but his strength of will, he held his face in the form of a passive observation; in actuality, his inner emotions were beginning to simmer with every word he understood. That the Order had performed such actions on nothing more than a rumor was inexcusable, nothing short of a travesty and a mockery of justice. Were it not for the ever-increasingly angry mob and the Order outnumbering them three to one, he very likely would have engaged them immediately to stop the madness by force. However, as things stood, direct combat was the very last thing they wanted. Moreover, based on what the old man had told them, there was an innocent little girl whose life hung in the balance, and they were her only hope for survival. Open action would only serve to end them and condemn the girl; they would need to employ subterfuge if they wanted to save her and get out alive. And subterfuge would mean they would largely depend on…

A serious of whistles not at all unlike a bird song struck Alaric’s ears. To anybody else, it would’ve been something brushed aside and paid no regard to. But it was far more than a simple mockingbird’s tune to those notes. Kotori and he had devised a variety of codes to communicate between themselves when they were younger, and strengthened the codes further still with multiple sleepless nights at the Tower. To his ears, the melody that flew from her lips was as comprehensible as if she’d stood next to him and spoke plainly in his ear.

Two targets, north of your position. Invading houses. Crowd nearby. Ready to strike, give signal.

Alaric’s mind whirred as he processed what was said. The two targets she mentioned must have been Order members leading the barbaric hunt for the little girl, and the crowd behind them had likely been worked into a frenzy given current evidence. In his head, he went over what needed to happen and how. Firstly, they needed to locate the girl. That alone took absolute precedence. Once they knew her location, they could pick her up and ride away without trouble. That was his preference, as a fruitless search of the town would besmirch the Order’s reputation, possibly even cause the townsfolk to turn on them. However, if a clash with the Order proved inevitable, diversion and misdirection would have to be their greatest allies. And they were far more in Kotori’s employ than his or Tegan’s.

Alaric nodded to the old man and maneuvered his horse more toward the middle of the road, slowly so as to not draw more eyes than he already had. Then, he began to slowly and methodically pick at various hairs, blades of grass, brambles, and other such flora that had stuck itself in his shirt sleeve- or so it appeared. In reality, he was sending his reply to Kotori through another code, this one based on the locations of his pluckings and the hand motions that followed them. Through this, he informed her of the little girl, their goal of locating said girl, and the particular need for her to be ready to engage from nowhere if needed. Then he turned to Tegan and spoke to her.

“Come my friend, let us ensure we do not interfere with the work of these good men.”

As he dismounted and began to lead his horse to a nearby trough, he could only hope his other Guardian was wise enough to read past the sleight of voice. Tegan was a seasoned veteran who had seen combat against Malfear’s barbarians, and Alaric dared not presume to try and direct her; he trusted that she would know what she needed to do when the time came. As he led his horse to water, he employed the noble beast as a screen to hide his actions and dipped both of his hands into the water of the trough. When he withdrew them, rubbing them together like a man washing his hands, he was actually tuning the liquid to his magics and concentrating very hard on the small amount that began to congregate in his palm. With a deep breath, he cast his focus and will toward the tiny puddle.

Construct Magic, he’d been told by Maester Silvius, was only alike to normal manipulation of the elements as forging a sword was like wielding one. If he wished to control the water directly, he need only a simple thought such as “forward,” “up,” or “surround” to project through his magic into the water. For a construct however, he needed to picture a much more vivid thought. He needed a picture of what he wished the construct to do, what he needed it to be capable of, and what shape he wished it to assume. “Detail and purpose,” Silvius had instructed again and again, “are absolute when dealing with constructs. If you are not sure what you wish, your construct will know even less. You are doing more than directing the water; you are imparting a piece of your will to it to act as its will. Therefore, your purpose must be strong and your details beyond question.” And so it was. As the pool began to split into three smaller pools, still in his palms, Alaric began to send his will into each of them.

”There is a girl here, hiding in the town. She is alone, she is afraid, and she needs our help.”

As his thoughts went toward the water, each of the three pools began to take shape, taking the form of small ovular bubble-like objects.

”She must be found before the Order finds her.”

Now small amounts of water began to grow from the ovals, becoming legs, tails, wings, and feet.

”Search every house.”

Now the heads grew, each oval developing an shape that resembled a tiny creature of the earth.

”She MUST be found.”

Alaric felt part of his conscious, three tiny parts of it, fade away briefly as if a string had been attached to them and pulled taught before being cut. When he looked at the pools again, they had taken the forms of a grasshopper, a lizard, and a hummingbird in his hands, all made of water and all less than an inch in height. He closed his hand around the three, so that they were surrounded by his body and his magic, and issued one final word to them through his thoughts.

”Go.”

And with a downward shake of his hands he released the three of them to hunt through the town. The grasshopper coiled its watery legs and leaped from house to house, the lizard slithered its way across the ground and up through the floorboards, and the hummingbird flitted through the air. And Alaric waited as patiently as he could, tending to his steed as if nothing was out of the ordinary as he waited for one of two things to happen; either his constructs would find the girl, report back to him, and they could then decide how to reach her, or the Order would find her and force their hand. Either way, try as he might to stay calm and aloof, he couldn’t help but keep a hand near both the hilt of the sword at his hip and the lid of the water gourd not half a foot from it on his belt…