The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Takuya, if you're not going to read the posts that involve my character, then don't you involve him either. As I remember, I described my current setting pretty damn well, and I don't think castle or throne room came up at all. IC: [I]Ilmiwyrth was actually closeted with Rali at the time, working out logistics, dealing with contingent defense plans, perimeter pickets, the formation of regiments, minor infantry tactics, the occasional hit and run style tactic for the few cavalry suited creatures they had, etc. It was going surprisingly well, in main because Ilmiwyrth shut up and let Rali do what he want. He had a feeling that a) Rali knew exactly what he was doing, and b) it wouldn't be much of a good idea to piss him off. Four armed demon creatures tended to be like that. So Ilmiwyrth merely watched him, as he expertly arranged maps, reports and the like to a science of readability. Ilmiwyrth watched his arm movements, puzzled. There was something slightly strange about them. He worked out what it was when Rali bent his arm backwards at the elbow to reach for a dispatch relating to their supply lines. Rali noted Ilmiwyrth's incredulous look.[/I] Rali: We don't have bones. Just specialised muscles. Ilmiwyrth: You don't happen to fight hand to hand do you? Rali: Actually, yes.... Ilmiwyrth: Oh, I have to see this. Rali: There's another person here smart enough not to use a weapon? [I]Ilmiwyrth stood up, absently stretching his fingers, talonlike. Rali took the hint, and followed him outside. Ilmiwyrth lead them onto the archery field, where several people, including Ryshiel and Otku, were busily firing arrows and quarrels into straw targets. Rather than halt the arrows, Ilmiwyrth lead Rali directly into the middle of the field. Unconcernedly, everybody kept firing. Rali raised a pseudo-eyebrow, slightly concerned, while they both dodged the occasional stray arrow.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: If they can't fire at targets with intervening distractions, some of them being comrades, then they won't be much use in a fight will they? And if we can't fight while avoiding arrows, we aren't much use either. Rali: Doesn't this cause a few fatalities? Ilmiwyrth: Not after I'm finished with the recruits. [I]Without further word, Ilmiwyrth sent a stepping, leading leg sidekick towards Rali's midsection. Unhesitatingly, Rali sweeped one of his lower arms into a lower crescent block. Ilmiwyrth spun, left leg coming up in a stabbing back kick. Rali came in fast, using four arms to good advantage. Quickly, fists became the most dominant weapon used, the occasional knifehand strike or palm strike slamming into the fray. Every now and then, they swayed away from arrows as their paths crossed those of the targets, but neither faltered. Ilmiwyrth suddenly brought a knee up sharply into Rali's stomach. Rali doubled over, surprised. A few swift kicks later, he was on the ground.[/I] Rali: That was....surprising. Ilmiwyrth: Been doing this a long while I guess.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm a freaking lower planes demon! What the hell am I on sides for? Sure, I'll get involved with one side or the other, eventually, if I absolutely have to, but allegience is another matter.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ilmiwyrth: Yes. They exist, but they're a non-entity. Paradoxical nasty little things that exist by not existing. Lifé: Which is why you don't get along with them? Ilimiwyrth: That's a major factor, yes. Lifé: Hopefully they'll keep you off balance for me then. Vichante: Another group of ethereals that wants to kill me... Lifé: So? Vichante: Just mentally preparing myself.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ryshiel snarled initially at the hesitant cough behind them. Ilmiwyth let her go and turned around. Not really embarrassed, it wasn't the first time they'd been interrupted. A single glance at Xavier's arms cut any mirth. He rose and moved to Xavier, taking Otku from him and laying her on the bed. He looked her over a moment, she appeared feverish, shaking, and muttering some incomprehensible words. But she seemed almost afraid, which meant only one thing. Her past. Nothing else really scared her, not anymore. Ilmiwyrth opened his mind and with infinite control and patience, manipulated her into believing she was alright. Making her mind turn to other matters. Veiling the memories that tore her apart. He was uncertain how long it took, and he didn't care. When operated under this circumstance, time was meaningless compared to precision. Every mental move he made could possibly cause irreparable damage. When his eyes cleared, Otku shook once more, and lay still, smiling wanly. Ilmiwyrth layed a hand softly on her forehead, making sure that the physical effects were not too severe. As always, she'd be fine. As Otku slowly drifted off to sleep, Ilmiwyrth turned his attention to Xavier.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: Is our new Commander settled in? Xavier: I assume so. Ilmiwyrth: Good. In that case, do me a favour and take our sleeping beauty here into the next room. [I]Xavier rolled his eyes and did it, immediately leaving and closing the door quite firmly. Ilmiwyrth turned back to Ryshiel, the comment he was about to make quite firmly cut off.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante glared at her for a second, then sighed.[/I] Vichante: You know perfectly well that sleep is bad. Lifé: Pity. You'll need it. Vichante: For what? Screwing my life up more than it already is? Lifé: No, we're going to do that for you. Ilmiwyrth: And probably enjoy it more than you would anyway. Vichante: And that just changes everything. Let's just get this over with.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vyrim leant back again, drawing Raeven down on top of him. He slowly moved so that he was on top of her, again trailing his mouth down her neck, kissing her softly, but passionately. He increased the pace slightly, mainly at her urging. Her eyes fluttered slightly, her breath dropped down into lower moans. He matched them, moving his head back to look deeply into her eyes.[/I] Vyrim: I love you Raeven.... [I]That was the last coherent word either of them managed for a long while. Their voices mingling in the sweetest music either of them have ever heard. That music enraptured them, reaching a new high, Vyrim's eyes closed again on Raeven's, his mouth on hers... The ecstasy knocked the breath from him. They lay together a long time, bringing each other's happiness in.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Ilmiwyrth de Ralquire Gender: Male Age-group: Technically Elder. Doesn't mean much though. Race: Shadow Baalor Alliance: He's an observer, representing other beings interests. Appearance: Ilmiwyrth is a creature from the lower realms, and it shows. He's roughly nine feet tall, and somewhat demonoid in shape. No horns, in fact the head looks rather draconic, but he does have the wings. The hands and feet are clawed. Rather than the normal red scaly skin and what not, Ilmiwyrth is a creature of living darkness. So he's entirely unlight. Light shows him as a shadow, close illumination reveals no features on any part of his body. The only non black part of him is his eyes, which are a pale, almost luminous metallic grey, with dancing black pupils. Biography: The mortal realm is like the Elysium Fields for demons and their ilk. Mortals, with their arcane vitrus life energy, are all important in the ever present struggles for power in the lower planes. And when violence erupts on the material planes, the demons rejoice. Anyway, Ilmiwyrth is the result of a pairing between the Shadow Lord Lacroix s'Xalerian, and a female Baalor named Ryshiel Kalianah. With Lacroix's aid, Ryshiel soon rose to prominence within the lower planes, and the pair have remained strangely faithful and loyal. They now rank as one of the most powerful coteries around. Ilmiwyrth grew up cutting his teeth on deathsport intrigue and deception, educated by his parents. Lacroix and Ryshiel grew ever more ambitious though, and the lower planes aren't enough for them anymore. They now seek to engineer conflict on the prime realm, and Ilmiwyrth is here to make sure that happens. No matter what the cost is. A completely unique being in all existance, and more than knowledgable about the situation on the material plane, he doesn't anticipate a lot of resistance. Manipulating these mortals and demi mortals is easy, and even if he does have to take a direct hand, he's pretty confident he can handle anything that comes up.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ilmiwyrth looked curiously at the being in front of him. Another recruit, it seemed. It was squat and misshapen, but so many around him were. It stared at him expressionlessly through three green, fully green, eyes. Ilmiwyrth noted down the details, and gestured for the next one. This "army" was getting rather haphazard. Not least through lack of organisational qualities. Aidian had known his trade, but was too sorely needed elsewhere, right now the acquisition of weapons, to act as a logistics officer. Otku and Ryshiel were doing their best, but they too weren't really sure of what to do. He wondered at where they were now. He wondered a lot of things about the pair. Mainly about why they were still with him. The circumstances surrounding them both, starting with meeting them, were so similar as to be uncanny at times. Otku, his first "convert", really the one that was the catalyst for all this, he'd stumbled in on her so long ago, she'd set him on the path he was now. Ryshiel, met under such similiar circumstances, met on the run after a raid gone wrong. How'd differently she'd reacted, immediately expecting an attack. How long it had taken Otku and him to calm her down. She'd really been drafted into this when they'd been attacked by Ilmiwyrth's pursuit, but she'd never seemed to regret it. They walked in now, wearing identical grins. With them was another creature Ilmiwyrth had never seen before. They were getting common. No wonder people assumed he was worshiping demons. It was about seven foot three, and muscular. It was demonoid in appearance, a slender, four armed, long necked humanoid. It appeared to possess skin, rather than scales, but that skin, a dark grey colour, had a scaled pattern. The neck, nearly a foot long, craned slightly and looked at him patiently.[/I] Ryshiel: This, Ilmiwyrth, is a Lythanoid. He's a subterranean creature, and one of the oddest we've run into yet. However, he may be one of the most useful. Ilmiwyrth: He can convince people the justice is actually intelligent? [I]Ilmiwyrth sounded tired, resigned. This campaign was going so badly, people misunderstanding his intentions at every turn. Ryshiel just grinned back broadly.[/I] Ryshiel: Better. His name is Rali Kreigyr, and before coming to the surface, he was the Commander in Chief of the Lythanoid nation's army. [I]Ilmiwyrth's eyes snapped into sharp, intent focus.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: You've taken care of an army before? Rali: For what it's worth. [I]The voice was gravelly, tired, but possessed of a wry sense of humour.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: How large? Rali: Ten thousand or so. [I]They had nearly half that number.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: And you'd be willing to administer this one... Rali: That's why I'm here. Ilmiwyrth: If you weren't so damn tall, I could kiss you... You're the first good news I've had in weeks. [I]Ryshiel shot him an annoyed look. Despite being as...openminded as him, she was still quite possessive. Otku looked on in long-suffering amusement. Ilmiwyrth lead Rali off, animated now, talking in a steady, inspired stream. The expression on Rali's features was now clearer, as they walked into darkness. Rali's face was lit by some kind of internal grey light. His black lips and eyes looked interested, even happy. As Ilmiwyrth explained their mission, and more to the point, the current set up of the army, Rali's features firmed slightly, and he started shaking his head. A minute later, he was offering suggestions that had Ilmiwyrth, the being feared by more people than any since Maleer, looking down in rueful annoyance. They walked into the main yard, currently underpoplated.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: We have a large detachment under Captain Aidien, headed for Corock, but other than that everyone's here. We've no real way to quarter people effectively, since we haven't really tested which combinations of creature work best. Rali: I'll take care of that immediately. [I]Ilmiwyrth shot him a thankful grin. Rali grinned back, the expression strange on his bizarre face. It suddenly disappeared, and faster than Ilmiwyrth thought possible, Rali lunged towards him. Ilmiwyrth's mind lashed out, but found some strange barrier he'd never encountered before. A second later he was free, Rali looking past him in anger. An arrow now lay in the ground where he had formerly stood. Ilmiwyrth, instantly understanding, spun and again sent his mind out. A few seconds later, a nondescript looking man ran into the large square, screaming and looking over his shoulder as if being chased. He suddenly stopped, a horrified expression on his face. Rali looked at Ilmiwyrth, noting that Ilmiwyrth's eyes had gone a whirled grey and black maelstrom. He looked back. The man was terrified now, curling up, looking all around him as if surrounded by some kind of hideous creatures. Rali doubted that the ones he could actually seewere the ones the man was afraid of. The man suddenly started jolting, as if he were being kicked and struck. His screams of fear turned to pain, and a few minutes later, a rattling moan. He sighed, and lay still. Ilmiwyrth's eyes cleared, and he looked back to Rali, face expressionless.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: That's the third this week. And your next priority. Perimeter defence.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ilmiwyrth: What of it indeed. You say you know him, but I know the type. He'll tear himself apart with recrimination until he kills himself, and if he doesn't do that, he'll take his resentment out on someone else, which will just further the problem. Lifé: Not if he's guided onto another path. Ilmiwyrth: Do you really think anyone could guide Vichante into doing anything? Despite his rather weak, nasty conscience, and his desperate need to believe in something, his strength of will is not something that is easily compromised. Lifé: Then we'll simply have to be subtle. Ilmiwyrth: You'd better be right. [I]There was a loud string of cursing from inside the room. Ilmiwyrth sighed, and closed his eyes a moment. There was a strained thank you from Vichante, then silence.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: He's not exactly domestically skilled... Lifé: All he had to do was clear up some broken glass. Ilmiwyrth: All he had to do was work out what he had to do with it. He didn't do to well. [I]Lifé took another look at the door, biting her lower lip ever so slightly.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: Just go back to bed. We'll deal with him in the morning. [I]Ilmiwyrth turned and walked away, leaving Lifé to wait a long moment before also retiring.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Sobriety, thoughts coalescing into painful clarity, bringing everything crashing down around him, was something he could have done without. He simply glared at Lifé, taking a long time to answer.[/I] Vichante: A lot worse than I did a minute ago. Why did you do it? Lifé: Because you shouldn't have done it to yourself in the first place. [I]Vichante sighed bitterly and leant back against the wall, staring at some unknown spot on the ceiling.[/I] Vichante: Comfortably numb you know. I was comfortably numb. There's no other real way for me to get any kind of peace, not anymore. There's not any real point to anything else. Surely you wouldn't object to me ruining my already ruined life some more. Lifé: And just how is your life ruined right now? Vichante: Asiding having no real reason to it, certainly no direction, and not a long expectancy? I also happen not to be drunk anymore. [I]The slap was hard, surprisingly solid. Vichante's head whipped around, he spat blood. He looked back at Lifé, his expression unchanged. Suddenly, his hand shot out, taking her by the throat.[/I] Vichante: You know how you can't rape the willing? [I]Her eyes widened slightly, she hadn't expected this kind of reaction.[/I] Vichante: You find you don't want to. [I]He shoved her away, not hard, but making sure she moved back. He stood up slowly, as if uncertain. He looked at his injured knuckles, and spun, striking the wall again, as hard as he could. This time with the heel of his hand. The smooth wall showed no reaction, neither did his hand. Vichante sighed, and looked back to Lifé.[/I] Vichante: The last thing I need right now is a crusading reformer trying to motivate me. Lifé: That wasn't what I was doing. Vichante: What were you doing? Lifé: Saving your life. Vichante: Excuse me for not appreciating that. [I]The bitterness in his tone was starting to shock her.[/I] Lifé: What the hell is your problem! You've basically been rescued from certain death, rescued from the most corrupt beings known, and allowed a certain measure of redemption. You've been allowed life itself. Why the hell do you not take that chance? Vichante: Because all things considered, how can I live in any normal society? Lifé: How can any of us. Society doesn't have to be normal. Now, if you don't quit feeling sorry for yourself, and do something about this glass, I'll have Ilmiwyrth rearrange your clothing into a swarm of invisible lice.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante wasn't sure how he had communicated to the automaton that a bottle would be appreciated, but it had shown up anyway. He now held it in one hand, most of its contents empty. Wait...this was the second bottle. In how long? Probably less than an hour. He had a feeling he should be unconscious. Seemed he'd actually lived up to his boast of tolerance. He stumbled along, feeling his way more than seeing. He cleared his head slightly, realising where he was. He'd been lead past here before. Lifé's room. His was a few turns ahead. He stumbled along, and heard a hiss. Lifé again. He started to turn, to wonder what the hell she was on about, when Ilmiwyrth's hand closed over his shoulder and yanked him backwards.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: I wouldn't. Vichante: I....dont know whash you shink Im doing, but shour not right.... Ilmiwyrth: Gods you're drunk. Vichante: Scho? [I]Ilmiwyrth tightened his grip and dragged Vichante back to his room. When he got there, he through him onto the bed. He attempted to pry the bottle out of his fingers, and failed. Vichante glared at him.[/I] Vichante: I'd break thish and hit you wish it...but it would be a washte of good brew [I]Ilmiwyrth shook his head in disgust and walked out, making sure the door was firmly closed behind him. The latch closed both ways, so Ilmiwyrth locked it from the outside. He'd let him out in the morning, assuming he felt like being remotely human. Ilmiwyrth absently snorted, thinking in amusement of the hangover Vichante would have. Inside, Vichante slumped against the bed head, intoxicated amusement giving way to tears. He hd nothing anymore. As much as he'd despised the god in question, Dhirak's ideals had given Vichante purpose. Before that seemed a dream, and Vichante knew he hadn't done anything with his life anyway. So what had he know? The only worldly possessions he had were the clothes he had worn, and he wasn't even sure where they were. He had no real skills except brawling, and had a lot of enemies. He had no purpose to his life. He had no real reason to live at all. And he did nothing except drown himself in alcohol. The bottle flew across the room and smashed againt the wall, glass shards falling to the floor. The liquid glittered along with the shards, dazzling Vichante a moment. He looked at a particularly long shard, then down at his still injured wrist. He sighed bitterly and shook his head. He couldn't do that either. He certainly wasn't going to spend eternity in Dhirak's clutches, but he doubted he'd ever atone. He didn't really care. He was too drunk to care. He balled his fist and struck the wall, barking his knuckles. In frustration and desolation, he didn't care. Pure grief welled up, despair incarnate. He shoved it down, and let the alcohol fog his mind, drag him down into oblivion.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante cocked an eyebrow at Lifé, and almost casually sent the mental message back "I'm more than willing to accept the advice, but considering I've eaten out of Dhirak's hand, isn't it a little unneccessary?" Lifé glared at him. "I thought you couldn't do this kind of thing anymore" Vichante smiled back; "I can't really. It's all your fault.". He left her with that thought for a while, and persisted to enjoy the meal. He looked critically at the water a few times before one of the floating hands got the point, and it was replaced with ...something stronger. When he first tasted it, he nearly choked. It was very strong.[/i] Vichante: I see someone is a creature of extremes. Either dead sober or stone cold drunk... Kryas: You don't have to drink it... Vichante: Asiding the fact that I have an acquired demon's tolerance for alcohol...it's still a challenge. [I]He raised the glass, holding it in his thumb and middle finger only. He raised it to his forehead in a toast, then proceeded to drink it down, in one steady stream. When he was finished, he looked around owlishly, then blinked slowly once, and his eyes cleared.[/I] Vichante: I've had worse. There's this little thing called Scurrd... Ilmiwyrth: And we won't mention it any further. [I]Vichante gave a short, nasty laugh. Everyone else just looked confused. Ilmiwyrth gave them all a look that plainly said it was best left untouched, and the conversation turned to other matters.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vyrim smiled up at her, then slowly let his eyes drift downwards, taking in her body. Gods she was beautiful. The scars did nothing to detract from her magnificence. He traced small patterns over her neck with his tongue, shivering as she gasped softly in his ear. His hands ghosted over her back, feeling her skin warm up the closer he got to the fire. As he reached her lower back, he skipped down to her upper thighs. She pulled her head back slightly, a questioning look on her face. He looked at her gravely for a moment, then started tickling her. She giggled almost girlishly, and squirmed away from him. He didn't let her go for an instant, until she started on him. He tried to pin her wrists with one arm, and she stopped a moment, scared. He grinned at her, and tickled her amazing ribs, and she got over it and fought back playfully. When she lightly ran her long nails over the backs of his knees, he fell backwards, and she surged upwards, and was on him in an instant. And in that instant, the playing died, and Vyrim's mouth was locked to Raevens. Their arms were around each other, tightly. Their leg entwined, Vyrim let his hands run all over her. A second later she sat up, and in a blur, his clothing was also off. They kissed again, gasping at the feel of their skin touching. Again, Raeven broke off and sat up, and then they were fully joined.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ilmiwyrth waited a second or two, then spoke in a deliberately loud stage whisper.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: She's just jealous... [I]That good him a few strange looks. It wasn't a subject that really needed to be dwelled on. Vichante shook his head on concentrated on a fresh set of clothes. A simple set of soft black pants with a matching black dobuk. He shrugged and put them, they'd do for now. Unfortunately form fitting though. He sighed and turned back around, Lifé and Ilmiwyrth were already waiting for him.[/I] Vichante: Tell me, is there some strange vegetarian thing going on here? Lifé: Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask? Vichante: Because one of the more unfortunately influences of Dhirak is that meat around you goes rotten. So it's been a long time since I've had a decent meal Lifé: That explains the meals at the inn. Ilmiwyrth: I knew there was something wrong with you. Vichante: So did I...Can we go eat now, I'm actually hungry. And fairly confident that even if the food is poisoned, it'll probably only incapacitate me. Odds I'm willing to accept.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: Now where did I here that last? Ilmiwyrth: Oh? Vichante: Dhirak of course. As a sidenote, he does have some [I]very[/I] interesting perversions, but anyway, yes, Dhirak, when I first ran into him on some business of my own, said the same kind of thing when I asked him exactly how a dark god amassed power when he couldn't really trust anyone. [I]He fixed Lifé with an amusedly baleful stare.[/I] Vichante: And I still haven't decided which of you is more dangerous. Lifé: Me of course. I'm prettier than he is. Vichante: I think it's more that you actually have a spine. Ilmiwyrth: Oh? Vichante: One of my jobs as Dhirak's head, in fact only, cleric was divine confidante. Let me tell you, it's a good thing he's immortal, because I somehow doubt he could work all those securities out in any one lifetime. He is really an adolescent godling who's just going through puberty and his voice his just starting to break, figuratively speaking. And I made sure he knew it. Ilmiwyrth: How exactly did you last as long as you did as a cleric with that attitude anyway? Vichante: By formerly not being expendable. Ilmiwyrth: And now you are. Vichante: And now I am. Ilmiwyrth: Which leaves you what? Vichante: An ordinary man with some bad memories, some strange experiences, and some even stranger travelling companions. Lifé: So basically you're at a major disadvantage compared to Ilmiwyrth and I. Vichante: You could say that. Lifé: Well doesn't that add an interesting dimension to our previous conversation... Vichante: Remember what you said before about it not being rape? [I]When she affirmed, she sounded ever so slightly uncertain.[/I] Vichante: Well, it's not rape when they fail miserably at doing anything as well.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: Ah, the comments I could make to that. Ilmiwyrth: Thus neatly removing yourself of a need to make them at all. Vichante: Convenient, isn't it. [I]Vichante absently leant back, stretching his arms. Lifé looked on with amusement.[/I] Vichante: No, I'm not flexing muscles for your benefit. Lifé: I doubt I'd be impressed if you were. Ilmiwyrth: You're in a bath with two relatively good looking people. If I were you, I'd be pretty impressed with myself. Lifé: I bet you are anyway. Ilmiwyrth: That was uncalled for. Lifé: My, aren't we less than openminded. Vichante: Given that comment, I'm more than interested on just how openminded you'd get, all other things considered. Lifé: Probably more than you. Vichante: In certain areas, I imagine so. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante simply rotated his wrist, tearing her nails through his skin in a circle around his forearm, but rotating so he could grab her wrist with her hand. He resurfaced and grinned.[/I] Vichante: I could simply pull you know. [I]Lifé's response was calculated disinterest.[/I] Lifé: Go ahead. [I]Rather than simply pull her out of the water, Vichante pulled her and twisted sideways slightly, the flat of his other palm going into her stomach. Not hard enough to hurt, but it did allow him to flip her over him. Her nails didn't do a lot for his skin, but he didn't really mind. The water was a fair bit darker than it was, she'd probably opened a vein. He wasn't really concerned about that either. He rested the arm in the water, letting the warmth dull the sensation, slow the blood flow. He looked at the wound through the murky water....he'd be fine. She on the other hand... Lifé had risen out of the water, only to have Ilmiwyrth absently sweep her legs out from under her. She rose up again, spluttering and swearing.[/I] Vichante: Oh come now, you know you're enjoying this as much as we are. Think of the possibilities. Lifé: I noticed you have. Ilmiwyrth: We noticed your noticing.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ilmiwyrth walked over to the nearest wall, and absently started tapping it.[/I] Vichante: The "don't touch anthing" rule? Ilmiwyrth: Yeah, basically. Like hell any mere cursed blade would remotely even think of pulling anything bizarre on me. Vichante: You could have touched it to prove that point, you know. Ilmiwyrth: Yeah, but that probably would have involved nullifying it afterwards, and certain people might object. Vichante: For someone with the power to manipulate quantam reality on the most innate level, you have way too much caution. Ilmiwyrth: Which is probably why this multiverse is still intact. Lifé: Would you two please just let me relax?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I think [I]I'll[/I] sign up as the main villian. The reasons obvious? Never... Name: Ilmiwyrth de Ralquire Age: 27 Gender: Male Affiliation: Well, to all results, evil. Intent is another matter. Power: He's capable of inducing mild psychosomatic effects on others. Basically, he imposes a force of will upon them that makes them believe something so strongly that it occurs physically. And often messily... However, Ilmiwyrth has before made the mistake of attempting to force something onto a mind that it chemically could not accept. Being locked mentally to an insane person is a painful experience... (Just a note, Ilmiwyrth cannot use his ability to persuade or dominate people, to possess their body, or anything like that.) Weapon: Ye olde martial arts. Occupation: You could call him a reformist, I would suppose. Appearance: Rather unassuming actually. He's five foot ten, and very slender. His hair is black, and falls just past his chin. Eyes are a grey/blue colour, almost moonstone. He does, of course, wear black, but he's never affected the whole robes or cape thing. A simple black, short sleeved shirt, and black pants serve functionally well, a longer sleeved, laced up at the front shirt for more formal appearances. Ilmiwyrth is not your ravening demon. He's more of an understated diplomat. Bio: For every era of peace that freezes the world, someone suffers. There is always the reactive pain in someone's life. It can't be avoided, it's considered worth it, by those who even know that it happens. It doesn't seem to make sense, does it? The idea that peace realy hurts anyone except mercenaries, assassins, grave robbers and the other unsavoury like? Certainly not your young, unassuming, slightly different young man. Ilmiwyrth was born with his strange mind, but it never really meant anything. Not for years, not until he was nearly twenty three. You see, it was about that time that Ilmiwyrth found at Reika's peace was a more than shaky thing, and based on a lot less than most people believed. Reika you see, originally seemed nothing more than your average kingdom, a collection of towns and villages, a few larger cities, nothing really all that strange and bizarre. The strange and the bizarre had been given up long ago, so all the history books said. Maleer had been the last advocate for that kind of thing. He'd been a demon worshiper, all the history books said. He'd been a rapacious fiend, a harbinger of sure apocalypse. All praises to the heroes that stopped his plan to turn the world into a devil-infested waste of ash and gore. But since then, people noticed that things changed. The original generation hushed it up, and it faded from sight. It was the magic. The creatures. All that was fey and bizarre, the eldritch, the esoteric. Whether holy or infernal. It all disappeared. And no one ever allowed the knowledge that such things existed to be passed to the children born after that time. So magic, and the creatures that lived off its existance, faded away. So, what was the truth? In fact, Maleer hadn't started the war. He'd merely stood up to lead it. Normal, unmagical humans were at a sharp disadvantage when pitted against magical humans or magical creatures. And that lack of dominance offended them. But they did have one advantage they pressed to the end. Sheer numbers. Increasingly large groups of them rose up, slaughtering anything that had the remotest connection to the arcane. Maleer, a young half human, half satyr, had taken it upon himself to lead the counter attack. He had been torn down eventually, by the mob, though the cost was brutal. And because the cost was brutal, the hatred simply increased. Those unmagical humans hated Maleer because he cost so many lives, they ignored the fact that they started the war. They twisted it around until they were in the right. And from a select number of the original instigators, hatred filled bigots of the worst kind, a pact was made. Their descendants were the only ones who knew that magic once existed. Their decendants, and those quietly killed for having that arcane spark within them. For generations, anyone who showed signs of being mageborn was killed by these descendants. Ilmiwyrth was of course a target. When he was about twenty three, asleep in his own home, a small hut on the side of the forest he basically lived in as a kind of pseudo ranger. Basically, he made sure the woods weren't set on fire, or anything bizarre like that, and that illegal poaching was not conducted. It was after all, a forest owned by a rather noble character. He was noble by accident of birth apparently, a family that stretched back before Maleer... This nobleman occasionally coursed his own woods, too. One winter, a rather harsh one, the population of the animals had dropped alarmingly. This lord, bored with winter festivities, decided to go for a hunt. Ilmiwyrth pleaded with him not too in the most strenuous of fashions, and was brushed aside. When the lord entered the wood, he and his men had a grand hunt. The game was plentiful, their spears seeming to pierce the heart everytime, the arrows always finding a killing shot. A pity their game was each other, induced by Ilmiwyrth. The lord's brother, a far different figure to his lackadaiscal sibling, turned up at that point. He was the direct descendant of one of those families that had sworn the pact. He saw through the illusion, resisted the mind message, with years of mental discipline. The lord and what remained of his men awoke to find more than a score dead at their own hands, and the hunt was on, the game was Ilmiwyrth. Ilmiwyrth did escape the forest, obviously, and he of course ran for his life. It was not until a year or two later that he found out exactly what he had set himself up against, when he stumbled into a lonley hut in a far different wood. The strange woman inside, young, beautiful, haughty took one look at him and shook her head. She sat him down, and brewed him some strange tea to calm his nerves. Having been on the run constantly, they needed a lot of calming. She quietly explained the real history of Reika to him, and just why he was being hunted, and who was hunting him. His mind catalysed at that moment. His exhausted trembling stopped, settling into a quiescent stillness that spoke of little but leashed purpose, anger, and force. In a low, grating tone, he started to speak. What he said was irrelevant, but whatever it was, she was his first convert. Since then, he swept the land, gathering those who survived the underground purge, and any others who would see justice. At his side came the remnants of the fey creatures that had lived in hiding for years. His army swept through the land, he explained the situation toe very village he passed, all rejected him, attacked him. He annihilated them. But he never stopped giving people a chance for peace, provided they accepted the return of the eldritch. The strange. The bizarre. But there was always someone in every town and village, normally a public figure, occasionally a simple citizen, who stood up and talked of horrors he should not have known about, tales of demons and witches and warlocks and all other atrocities designed to scare small children, so they thought. Always, someone in Ilmiwyrth's army could identify the person as a member of that group of descendants from the original mob. Ilmiwyrth knows he has a long way to go, and that the measure his is forced to take by those he fights against do little to help his cause. Information leaking out to the unconquered areas is always biased against him. Very little sustains him these days. A few close friends, a raging conviction, and little or no sleep. Ilmiwyrth isn't the destroyer he's portrayed to be. He's not a marauding barbarian. A savage invader dedicated to dark and evil gods. Far worse. He's someone with a cause. Someone with a belief. Someone with the knowledge that what he is doing is right. And unless something changes abruptly, the war he is forced to lead is going to drag everyone down with him.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]All I can say Lady M....I am duly impressed. The world needs more ...rants....like that.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]He sighed and let the fire die. He couldn't do it. He got up, and stated running, towards Raeven, towards where he thought she was. He found only a beach and footprints. He screamed mindlessly, and ran into the water, swimming rapidly, keeping himself afloat through magic more than skill, feeling through the water esoterically for a body, for anything. He found her, a long way out, on her back, staring at the sky, completely oblivious. Her face was wet, her eyes showing it to be with tears as much as water. When he touched her, she started, then resumed crying, soft, almost whimpering. Solidifying the water around them slightly, he took her in his arms, letting her grief run its course. When she settled slightly, he held her closer, saying the only thing that really mattered.[/I] Vyrim: I love you. [I]They slowly returned to shore, Vyrim carrying her most of the way back to the campfire. When they reached it, he layed her down, and slowly kissed her.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: Here we go again. Ilmiwyrth: The whole wannabe badass feminist hardcore more amusing than anthing else ***** thing? Vichante: Yeah...I guess that's the one. Lifé: As opposed to the arrogant, idiotic, self-deluded, unamusing misoginists? Ilmiwyrth: Basically. Kryas: How do you put up with these two? Lifé: I haven't really decided whether I will yet. Ilmiwyrth:We were initially nice enough to give her a choice. Kryas: All right, that's enough for now. I assume you're here because you want a hot meal, some wine, and probably a bath? Vichante: A certain someone was nice enough to provide the last one already. Kryas: Whatever. Shut up, and do what you're told. Ilmiwyrth: That's a rather blunt approach.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]As soon the water hit them, Vichante and Ilmiwyrth immediately threw one back. Lifé, without hesitation, sent another wave towards them. Vichante and Ilmiwyrth shared a quick, amused glance, then both dived in through and under the wave. Lifé looked around a fatal instant to long, before Ilmiwyrth and Vichante came up underneath her, grabbing a leg and arm each and flipping her, then pushing her down. They looked at each other over her submerged, struggling, but rather firmly held body.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: Told you she was a liar. Vichante: It's not that bad. Ilmiwyrth: It is under there. [I]They both looked down and shared a ghost of a grin, before letting Lifé up. She didn't seem out of breath, but she didn't seem happy.[/i] Lifé: You know, I may have minded that, but I was wet anyway. Vichante: We noticed. Lifé: I noticed your noticing. Ilmiwyrth: Were we going somewhere?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I believe this is the first piece of literature of yours I've read Deb...I like it. Mainly because I tend to agree with it...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vyrim stayed slumped against the tree, having no intention of moving. It was obvious she didn't want to be around him. It was obvious she hated, feared, distrusted him, or some combination of all of the above. So he simply sat, not feeling ready to face the world alone again. It was strange. He was meant to be stronger than this. In reality, he had lived his entire life alone. But now, after less than a fortnight's acquaintance, he was devastated because this goddess had left him. He'd never been one for divinity before... He watched the fire, crackling, consuming the wood. He reached out, feeling it pulse. It would easy to make it flare up as she had done...make it consume the entire wood. And him. Release was so easy. So close.[/font][/color][/I]