The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The gong rang, wakening Ilmiwyrth. It wasn't really a gong, but that was how the entity chose to manifest its presence, in pure sound. One of the many bizarre and often unique lifeforms that inhabited the monastery, the quitherling existed in any form of energy it chose. It tended to exist as an impossibly low sound wave, the reverbrations giving it an almost physical state of being. But now it announced itself, which meant Ilmiwyrth was needed. A string of clicks and whistles, the coded sounds that those in the monastery had taught the quitherling in order to communicate with it, followed in rapid succession. Ilmiwyrth rose slowly, listening to the message. A minute later he was striding down a long corridor, not pausing for the servants to open the door, but throwing it open himself. The Abbot of the order didn't seem surprised. Ilmiwyrth was always quick tempered.[/I] Abbot: You know why you're here. Ilmiwyrth: We're finally doing something about the mages? Abbot: Indeed. You are released from the confines of the monastery. [I]Given that ritual, but necessary dismissal, Ilmiwyrth was free to leave. Leaving without that consent was fatal. He spent little more than five minutes within the monastery before he was on the road, purpose in his eyes and mind.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ilmiwyrth: You people drink wine? Vichante: No, but I was willing to agree with the point. Ilmiwyrth: I'll give you that. Vichante: Wise decision. [I]They somehow managed to keep walking while continuing that particular exchange. Lifé ignored it. Actually, after a while it started seeming like Vichante and Ilmiwyrth were ignoring it, considering how unconcerned with what was actually being said they seemed. It eventually died out, the silence being broken by nothing more than neccessary noise, which wasn't exactly a lot, being far preferable to random banter. They'd be there soon enough, and have the hot meal and beverage of choice. Or something along those lines. And then probably have to deal with certain ramifications. Which would probably involve bloodshed. The only question was whether it was physical or verbal. Vichante wasn't particularly concerned, he had a strange lingering feeling that he'd get a lot of both on this particular trip.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]PERSONAL Member Name: The Harlequin Former Member Names: Member Since: 18th April, 2002 Current Status: Extreme Otaku Nicknames: Harlequin, Hamlet, and a long time ago a certain person used to call me a funny little dancing man... Favorite Forums: Adventure/Battle arena. And recruitment arena! Come on, we all know it's underrated... Favorite RPG: Latham Adytum probably. Or Harlequin, Raiha and a Cask of Amontillado, or Harlequin, Ravenstorture and a now empty barrel... Favorite Threads: Any of the one's I've gotten into without being yelled out by the collective populace of OB. Favorite Smiley: I a no like the smiley! Most Memorable Moment: Probably when Jesus Chicken and I posted his first banner, and when he and I got in that huge argument with Amphion. What ever happened to him anyway. Quotable Quote: There are a few. If I think of one that stands out, I'll put it in. Words of Wisdom: Damaged people are the most dangerous. They know they can survive. Wish to be remembered for: I'd actually prefer not to be remembered, and I have a feeling that if I ever do run off, only the usual crew will ever notice my absence. Convenient....lack of witnesses, so to speak. Desired Epitaph: After everything, now this Favorites: Hand to hand weaponry, Tae Kwon Do, Raven, Tea Party I will.... .......just how crash hot Chaos really is in a spar...because I'm bored. ....... a decent picture...for Danni's sake, and my peace. .......work out something else to do with my OB life...because as it is there's not a lot of ambition here.... .....my body to Raiha.... .... ..... .... MOST AND BEST Most likely to succeed: Lady A Most likely to secede: Cloricus Worst spelling: Most of the peopel currently populating the Battle Arena Best poster: James, Sara or Lady M Cutest couple: I'll go Piro and Tori, because Raven and I are only cute to each other, not other people. Best writer: Either Raiha or Phantom Best artist: Been a long time since I had anything to do with any artists. Best...spar-er?: Chaos, Piro or Phantom Craziest: Jesus Chicken, and it's all my fault. Funniest / wittiest: As above. Interesting-er-ist: Lady M, from the few conversations I've had with her. Random award: Mnemolth - The "Most likely to have a bad experience with an uzi fired from a truck". SIGNATURES "The usual crew" - Mike, Danni and the rest in other words. Thanks to all of you, you've made OB a hell of a lot more interesting. And given me plenty of opportunities to make sarcastic comments... Raiha - Well, wasn't that a particularly interesting exchange, whichever one I'm talking about. Hopefully you've gotten over calling me cowboy at least....Oh, and keep dreaming, you know? Lady M - Admittedly, we've had what, two conversations, but you're still one of the most interesting people I've ever come across. I'd like to get to know you better, simply because I find your viewpoints on a number of matters refreshing. Mnemolth: I'm several steps closer to finding out where you live.... I'll edit it later if anything specific comes up.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]My Blog Address: [url]http://asortafaerytale.blogspot.com/[/url] Blog Title: After Everything, Now This Reasons/Thoughts Behind It: To put it bluntly, I read this thread, read a few entries in other people's and thought "Hey...I need a forum in which to regularly ***** about how life sucks". And I'm better at dealing with things when I write them out. Ask Raven about long emotional letters I send to people....hehehe....big fiasco, stupid me.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vyrim sighed, and started following her. It wasn't particularly hard, but it did take a while to find her. When he did, she was leant against a tree, collapsed. Overextension. He sighed again, he was starting to do that a lot, and picked her up, carrying her back to the fire. She'd wake up some time soon, and probably be very hungry. And probably upset. He'd deal with that then.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]At the sight of the staff, Ilmiwyrth and Vichante shot each other an amused look *That explains some things...*. Whether Lifé caught the innuendo or not was immaterial, considering she didn't wait for them. Ilmiwyrth and Vichante sighed, and took a last look around the stable, finding nothing remotely suitable, and started walking. Whether Ilmiwyrth particularly felt like doing something about this was a subject Vichante felt strongly needed broaching. Ilmiwyrth's reaction was anything but expected. He simply stopped. He looked angrily at Vichante for a long moment, then seemed to calm down. He sighed again, and a surprised Lifé and Genitian were suddenly beside them.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: The reason what I do is so dangerous is because of how it works. Take that window back there. In replaced the window, all I did was recreate the matter that had formerly existed there. To counter this though, the same amount of matter ceases to exist elsewhere. So basically, someone else just lost a window. If I start making major changes, or start jumping us around too much, then certain things might cease to exist. The world for example. Vichante: How so? Ilmiwyrth: I shift to another plane. That means in effect I destroy this plane and the one I intend to shift to, and recreate the current one in the other one's place, and the other one in the current one's place. If I jump around a lot, then details start to slip. If I shift quickly, and thus recreate things quickly, then things don't take the pressure, and start to warp. Also, those beings not tied to this plane are aware of it, those with the knowledge anyway. So the reason I don't simply reorder the world to my liking is because I can't. Is that information enough? Lifé: I knew there was something wrong with you.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name:Steven Argent Callsign: Quietus Age: 18 Sex: Male Height: 5"11 Build: Very slender, with a low body weight. He's by no means emaciated, just thin. Not a lot of muscle, especially in his upper body, but it's not really neccessary. Attire: White t-shirt, with a black chinese style overshirt, worn open (think inverse of that crazy guy in Matrix Reloaded), and a pair of black cotton jeans. Black hair, falls just past his shoulders. Gothic face makeup. Abilities: Steven's blood isn't exactly blood. It's an alkaline substance, of astonishingly high pH. And that pH is much higher than any acid currently known. So neutralising it isn't an option... The other problem is that in certain places, where the veins are particularly close to his skin, the blood occasionally bursts through and flows, normally all over his hands or neck. Althought the alkaline doesn't actually harm Steven in anyway, if he has it all over his hands, and touches things....things tend to corrode. Rapidly. High blood pressure is something to be avoided. Biography: Steven never really knew why he never got angry. No matter what happened to him, he never really got angry. He wold occasionally get mildly annoyed, but as soon as his blood started to race, something seemed to cry out warning, and he calmed down. Eventually, he didn't bother getting angry. Something simply wouldn't let him. Then, of course, came the first time Steven cut himself. When he was about five, he had gone to a small park, near his simple home. He had fallen, and landed on a sharp rock. He lay there for a while, slightly surprised, in shock and pain. When he slowly got his feet, his knee was bleeding slightly. There was a slightly smoking patch below him. No sign of any kind of sharp rock. Steven visited the place a few months later, and there was a large bare patch, no sign of life. Curious, he asked the park ranger why nothing grew there. The man smiled benignly, and said something about the plants not being able to tolerate the alkali levels. Then, of course, the second problem. Like any good teenage boy, he was interested in teenage girls. At highschool, Steven wasn't really interested in academics. He wasn't into sport either, he just tended to drift. He had a few friends, mainly those who didn't fit in anywhere else.There was this one girl, a few weeks younger than him, and to him amazingly beautiful. She was new to the school, and as disinterested with it all as he was. She seemed perfect. The infatuation was mutual, and despite the fact that several other people, of both genders, were after her, within six months they were together. A few days later, Steven had his first kiss. Unfortunately, they were at Steven's house, and Steven's parents were at work. The girl, R'Shiel, was a little ambitious, and pushed the kiss a little further than she should have. She started kissing Steven's neck, and was forced to laugh when she felt him drooling. As she ran her tongue over him, she noticed a slight split, where the liquid was coming from. R'shiel spent two months in hospital. The burn healed a year after that. It was horribly disfiguring, and those who had previously been after R'shiel suddenly found reasons to walk the other way. On the other hand, it did get her to concentrate on her studies, and she's now a rich, happy, high profile doctor. Anyway, Steven was arrested, and locked up. No one believed R'shiel's story that some strange fluid from his neck and hands caused the burns, everyone assumed Steven was a sadist, and thus he was locked up. The asylum happened to be one of those monitered by Eden. The insane are always the most interesting studies.... Anyway, while one of their monitors was there, there was an escape attempt, involving several inmates. Steven was not one of these, but he had the misfortune to be standing between them and the door. As they rushed past him, one pushed him out of the way. He stumbled back, tripped, and hit his head on the wall. This was the first time anyone had ever offered any kind of physical violence towards him. Steven leapt to his feet, and ran after them. The inmates escaped, Steven trailing them. It was fairly easy to trail him, there were two thin black lines where blood ran from him, scarring the ground. They found Steven strangling one of the inmates, blood flowing from his wrists over the man's neck, searing it to the bone. The others were similarly injured. That was the end of Steven's freedom. Eventually, they learnt that restraining him was best done by simply reducing his emotion. He ended up being a passive test subject, but that was irrelevent. They never really worked out how to alter his blood, and they never managed to neutralise it. When several other people were in the process of escaping, long dead memories stirred in Steven, and in a sudden spurt of life, he too decided that captivity was no longer for him.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ilmiwyrth sighed, and turned to the window, replacing it to its former status.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: I'll ignore that for now. What I would like to point out though is that your madam beastmaster is not exactly predisposed to the survival of certain people in this room, most importantly me. Lifé: Then perhaps you should shut up and start walking. Ilmiwyrth: I have no intention of walking anywhere. You have a horse, he had a horse...looking...thing, and I have a horse. Why the hell are we walking? Vichante: Because my horse looking thing as you so aptly put it wouldn't particularly like to obey me right now, and would probably attempt to eat me. Lifé: It would probably succeed too. Vichante: Then start on you. Lifé: With much less success. Vichante: In keeping it down perhaps. Ilmiwyrth: If you two were finished? Vichante: If we were? Ilmiwyrth: Then we take a turn at being horse thieves. Vichante: Hardly a thrilling occupation. Or a novel one, unfortunately. Lifé: Dhirak makes his followers steal their own mounts? Vichante: I wasn't exactly a cleric my entire life. Lifé: How long were you a cleric? Vichante: About six months. It's actually the longest I've ever stuck to any occupation now that I think about it. Ilmiwyrth: Well, you'll have a bit of success keeping fugitive for a while I imagine. Vichante: Where do I get my risk pay? [I]That didn't seem to require an answer. Vichante knew it, and sighed. He walked out of them room, wondering exactly where in this god-forsaken (he hoped) village he could find a creature stupid enough to end up with a crew like this.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Aerin: You do want to get out of here don't you? "Don't you?" [I]Now that was Dhirak's style. Behind Vichante now lurked a few ominous figures. Dhirak, Iyachtu Xvim, Tsien T'sing and Habiek. And someone Vichante didn't recognise, but wasn't exactly a divinity. Dhirak proceeded to ignore everyone except his rather pissed off cleric.[/I] Dhirak: I told you to get him for me, fool. Instead, you blundered into here, and forced me to take matters into my own hands. [I]The other figure, who looked nearly as unhappy about the situation as Vichante, must be Ilmiwyrth de Ralquire. Former mortal turned reality manipulater. The only type of being capable of destroying that which was generally considered divine. Or anything else for that matter. That, of course, forced Vichante to take stock of the situation. His usefulness was fast coming to an end, and it was looking suspiciously like there was a rather nasty fight in the offing, one that involved participants that weren't exactly friendly towards him. Which left one avenue open really. Ilmiwyrth. Ilmiwyrth was probably thinking the same thing. Which was probably why he stepped forward and started talking.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: Alright assorted entites, I believe that is enough. Lifé: And who might you be? [I]Ilmiwyrth smiled slightly, and the world around them seemed to explode. Instead of the forest, a flickering set of images surrounded them, all sorts of landscapes, many of them not found on this plane, much less this world. At last it flicked back to the forest scene, leaving everyone slightly uncertain about just how much of it was actually really.[/i] Ilmiwyrth: Ilmiwyrth de Ralquire. Once a mortal, now one who dabbles in the manipulation of the very fabric of reality. Basically, I'm the person who walks in and screws everything up. [I]Dhirak looked at him acidly a moment then turned to Vichante.[/I] Dhirak: You two are going to get on surprisingly well. [I]He was about to add more when Ilmiwyrth interrupted.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: Before this goes any further, I suggest we do as previously mentioned, and promptly disappear. [I]Dhirak spun to him, a motion copied by the rest of his coterie, but by then Ilmiwyrth had disappeared. So had Vichante and Lifé. Which basically left a group of pissed off dark gods in the same proverbial room as a group of pissed off gods who didn't particularly like them. Which was no longer Vichante's problem. In fact, right now, he was truly hoping that Dhirak had some very nasty, preferably aeon-consuming, things done to him. For Vichante was now completely empty in side. He raised his hand, focusing his will. Nothing. Vichante was now no longer a cleric. Which basically left him as nothing but an insane man with a track record of killing things. In a room with a person he didn't trust, and a person he didn't know. Both of which were probably capable of killing him. Which was the next question. Where was this room? His room. The bloody inn. He looked at Ilmiwyrth, who was apparently happy about the number of dirty looks he had gotten today.[/I] Vichante: You have a nasty sense of humour. Ilmiwyrth: He did tell you we'd get on well. Lifé: Both of you, shut up, now. [I]Ilmiwyrth and Vichante gave her identical rakish grins. She sighed forlornly. Then they looked at each other. Then they sighed forlornly. Not only were they currently on the run from several annoyed divinities in the company of probably the strangest being in the multiverse, they were going to aggravate each other to no end.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]When Vyrim returned, the place was deserted. And Raeven knew enough not to leave footprints. So Vyrim had to do it the hard way. He wandered aimlessly for a good half an hour, finding absolutely no sign of her. At last, in frustration, he simply sat down and leant against what he thought was a tree. And it jumped. The charm broken, Vyrim stared in astonishment as Raeven looked at him a moment, then broke down crying. Instantly he had her in his arms.[/I] Vyrim: What's wrong? [I]Her response was mainly incoherent, but he caught something about inadequecy, and how she was so untalented he had found her even without resorting to magic. At last, she murmered "If I'd been stronger, it wouldn't have happened." Vyrim wasn't sure he understood, but as he attempted to calm Raeven, she suddenly broke away from him and stood up.[/I] Raeven: You can't understand! You have no idea what this weakness is like. [I]Vyrim stood slowly, arms out from his sides, fingers stiff and splayed. It didn't take magic to show he was nervous.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]If Lifé had any doubts that Vichante was who he said he was, they were dispelled now. His response was a sarcastic drawl, one that gave the impression he'd dealt with more hostile deities before.[/I] Vichante: Whatever lights your fire my dear. I doubt you'd like the rest of the bargain though. [I]Jenica was not conveying a lot of amusement. Vichante was, but he was hiding it behind the sarcastic drawl.[/I] Vichante: More to the point though, I'm more interested in certain things you have custody of. [I]It was Jenica's turn for flat amusement. Her response though, was directed at Lifé.[/I] Jenica: You're a big girl now. Surely he didn't need to come all the way in here to ask me for your hand. [I]It wasn't obvious which denial came out first, or which was more vehement, Vichante's harsh laughter or Lifé's sharp retort. [/I] Vichante: I'm far more interested in the Overrilth. [I]Any trace of levity fled.[/I] Jenica: Why? Vichante: There are certain beings there that Dhirak would like the services of. Jenica: And what makes you think that I would ever aid Dhirak, in this or anything else? Vichante: Probably the fact that Iyachtu Xvim, Tsien T'sing and Habiek are going along with him. [I]Jenica stared at him, anger radiating outwards. Vichante faced off calmly, unfazed and uncowed.[/I] Vichante: Either I gain access to the Bazaar, or things get a little different around here. Jenica: And would the loss of this forest be no less than what those petty godlings would do with the beings contained in the Bazaar? Vichante: I'm here to bargain with them, not coerce them. The ones I seek are notoriously intractable. Jenica: And just who in the Bazaar of Overrilth do you seek? Vichante: I'll keep that to myself and Dhirak. Merely allow me to say that they have no interest in the wanton destruction of life, and that they have no qualms about refusing Dhirak and his cohort anything. [I]Jenica's eyes narrowed, as she started to grasp his patron's plans.[/I] Jenica: You're treading on dangerous ground. Vichante: Overthrowing a pantheon always is. [I]Jenica had had a vague idea that that was the ultimate plan, but the confirmation seemed to shock. Lifé hadn't had a clue, and was even worse.[/I] Vichante: Either me, or someone a little less diplomatic about the whole thing, so destroying me on principle is not your best option.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante didn't look particularly surprised. Or particularly concerned.[/I] Vichante: It is not you that my business concerns, so step aside and allow me passage, and I'll be out of the way as quickly as possible. Lifé: Something about polite was it? [I]Vichante ignored Lifé's muttered admonition and concentrated on the spirit in front of him. Some kind of silent communication flicked between them, and the Javjene did not look pleased with what Vichante was saying. At last, the cleric broke the silence in a calm tone, that did nothing to disguise the ulimatum.[/I] Vichante: Alright then. You can kill me, or at least destroy this body, and Dhirak and a few of his...associates will personally turn this forest into a new outpost for the damned. Lifé: You've forgotten the other elements in this equation. Vichante: Oh? Lifé: K'Jenica, Aerin, and most importantly to you, myself. Vichante: Why me? Look, to all respective entities who not only don't like me wandering around here, and also further don't like me not liking wandering around here, and further don't like it when I tell you that cetain business associates of mine don't like you not liking me wandering around here, this will be a lot faster, a lot easier, and a lot less messy, if I simply walk through, get to the Overrilth, deliver Dhirak's message, and walk away. [I]No one seemed to be paying attention. In fact, Vichante got the idea that he was being ignored on a mass scale, despite there only being two entities that were apparent.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vyrim caught her easily and laid her down gently, letting his lips linger on her neck some more. She looked so peacefully beautiful asleep, a slight smile on her face as he kissed her and held her close. He wondered at whether finding shelter would be advisable. They had left the mountain and all its horrors and annoyances far behind, along with Vyrim's home, and were now in a very different type of forest. It was open, the trees far apart. And although this too was dark, it was cool and serene, not bidingly frenzied like the one they had fled. It was unlikely anything dangerous was running around, excepting humans, and it was unlikely anything even remotely shelter like would be around anyway. Vyrim ignored the idea and simply carried Raeven to the nearest clearing, lit a small, well contained and well hidden fire, lay her beside it, and let her sleep. He'd join her in an hour or so, after finding them a deer or other hapless wood creature.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: Which is probably why you're delusional. Lifé: I was speaking metaphorically. Vichante: I know. But most people smell flowers, and we all know weeds have more interesting properties than most flowers. Lifé: Oh, I have a strange feeling that you wouldn't object at all. Vichante: I someone doubt I'd need to. [I]Lifé didn't grace him with a reply. The forest started to close around them, and slowly grew darker.[/I] Vichante: If I were you, I'd stop looking for the spirits. They'll soon start to get nasty. [I]Lifé simply glared at him. Vichante shrugged boredly, and continued along. Pretty soon, the particular spirits he was here to ...see, would show up. And it would probably take a little coercion to get them to do what Dhirak wanted.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I don't mind the books, but personally I don't think Terry Goodkind is all that good an author. And Pillars Of Creation was just bizarre.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Khalith, an assumed name for an assumed identity, walked along easily, revelling in the myriad colours that inhabited his world alone. No one else perceived the details he did, and he had no problems with it staying that way. He absently picked up words, minute echoes from not only distance, but from time, things said a day or two ago, things said in buildings high above him. This new life, so full of things to discover, or rediscover, or whatever, suited him quiet well. He didn't even have to pretend a former life. He just said he'd had amnesia, or been exposed to lithium chloride, or some other such reason that the modern world abounded with anyway. He felt like a traveller from the dark ages, this strange amalgamation of strangeness and intriguing familiarity, a hint here and there, lurking around the edges. And truly told, the dangers in this age were not so different to those ancient ones. As he passed a squalid alley, home to the forgotten flotsam that were the remnants of the covert wars waged by corporations against others and themselves, Khalith heard the unique hum that signified life. The construct of sound that was blood rushing through veins, muscles quivering ever so infintisimely, breath echoing cavernously out of the mouth and nose, all underlined by the repetitive bass that the song was built on, the unique rhythm of the heart. He heard the hum louder than usual, the blood was up, as was the heart. A person stimulated, whether to violence or love was not certain, though likely known considering the circumstances. Khalith heard the rush as a swift passage of air. The added reaction time, along with not so dormant, though definitely forgotten or never realised, instincts, allowed him to spin, catching the knife aimed for his stomach,using the momentum to hurl his attacker around, keeping a grip on the wrist and nothing more. If he'd gripped the forearm, the attacker would have been off balance, no more. But with his wrist held but the rest of his arm free to move, all the small bones in the wrist were sharply wrenched. Khalith winced as the piercing sound of a break rang through his ears in a shock of pain. So there were disadvantages. The man fell, his moans sounding even worse to Khalith. He left, letting them echo out behind him.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]A day, or night, or whatever, or so later, Alastuin was looking at the inside of a rather nice private jet. It carried an aura of quiet, an aura of stateliness. An aura of luxury. It was also completely windowless. It also had seats that faced inwards, and a row of large beds down the centre.[/I] Alastuin: Did it come like this? Ciiahn: Yes. It used to belong to some group, some mile club or something like that. Why they would want something like this is completely beyond me. Alastuin: I'll show you later. Ciiahn: What? [I]Alastuin gave him a sidelong glance, laughing at his confusion. Ciiahn sighed, and ignored it. He absently threw himself onto one of the beds, one hand going up to cover his eyes. A strangely human gesture really. Alastuin landed beside him, propped on her elbow.[/I] Alastuin: Are we really going to London, or are you simply abducting me to some ancient lair? Ciiahn: Well, I do have an old place in London, so perhaps both. Alastuin: Oh, in that case...I believe I'll live. [I]Five minutes later, the jet took off, but Ciiahn and Alastuin weren't really paying attention.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Lyrathne: Strung with fourteen strings, tuned to seven tones (doubled), Two courses are "drone strings" set to octaves. Five are melody strings, the lower three courses being octaves, the upper two, in unison. Basically a weird looking fourteen stringed instrument. ..Thanks to Janny Wurts for writing that book.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ciiahn: I refuse to fly publicly though. Alastuin: Then what do you intend? Ciiahn: Haven't you ever read a book in your life? All us ancients are extremely wealthy remember. Alastuin: What? Ciiahn: I'll buy a jet. [I]He said this as if speaking to a particularly slow child. Alastuin glared at him, he gave her the look she had just given him. She jerked her hand away before he could lick it, so he settled for the side of her face. She giggled strangely, and as Ciiahn looked at her just as strangely, she lunged forward and wiped her face on his.[/I] Ciiahn: I should have expected that.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Strangely enough, I'm most of them. Demon, athlete, rebel, bookworm, brains, emotional, silent and always, intrinsically, my self.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Ilmiwyrth de Ralquire Age: 23 Appearance: Six foot one, pale skin, black eyes and lips. Slender, wears long black clothing. My usual character appearance. Bio: A member of the order of the Twisted Ether, a rather esoteric and somewhat untrustworthy group at the best of times. They are mainly concerned with maintaining the auric flow of the earth's energy. It turns out they aren't happy with certain mages... Occupation: Monk Weapons: Ye olde martial arts.[/font][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Sere Tuscumbia [/i] [B][SIZE=1]OOC: Ohkami, not to be rude or anything but -- [B]can you not READ?![/B] I have read the Recruitment, and I have read Justin's first post, and this takes place in [B]765 AD.[/B] As in, even before the Medieval Ages. This is a long, [B]long[/B] time ago. The Muslims still ruled Spain and such. This is still the Iron Age. Weapons are crude, heavy. Are you starting to get just how long ago this is?[/SIZE] [/B][/QUOTE] [font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Unfortunately for Sere, some of us actually studied history. The Medieval area actually began in 476 AD, according to the history unit I did a while back. And people were running around with rapiers.... And the Muslims didn't actually appear in Spain until the late 700's, so "still" is a bit off. Just a note there. IC: [I]This squalid city, with its dark skies and darker population, was truly a vampyre's dream home. The city full of black clad people with pale skin meant he completely failed to stand out, which was perfect. And the Order of Demos was still less than well established, which suited Ilmiwyrth de Ralquire just fine. Admittedly, it suited the other's of the order less well. Which had a lot to do with the being in front of him. The vampyre was older than he was, but by no means more powerful. His maker had been weak, pitiful. So was the progeny. Still, it spoke stridently.[/I] Vampyre: I have been charged to return you to the Chapterhouse, so you can account for your actions. Ilmiwyrth: That's nice. [I]A second later, and the vampyre had his back to the wall and teeth in his neck. Ilmiwyrth let the abnormally powerfully effective blood flow into him a moment, then left. The body slumped, a few stray trickles of blood staining the snow. In this city, there would be no questions.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vyrim awoke when the auric flow of the chamber was redirectedly slightly. He shifted in his sleep more than anything, but eventually reached conciousness. Raeven was sitting up beside him, and he hugged her tighter, he realised what she was doing. He waited until she was finished before speaking though.[/I] Vyrim: Reiki my love? Raeven: Don't worry about it for now. [I]Why would he worry? That though, not to mention his breath, suddenly stopped as he felt Raeven's lips press against his own. Fleetingly, there for an eternal second, then gone. She laughed softly at his reaction, then returned to his arms, and her arms to around him. They awoke sometime later, sunlight streaming down upon them. Vyrim slowly stood up, stretching. The wall was completely gone. Raeven stood up a little more cautiously, but found herself to be in good shape.[/I] Vyrim: Well. I'd say it is about time we left. [I]He took her hand, and led her out of the cave. Without the present tension of someone bleeding to death in your arms, Vyrim found it fairly easy to work out where he was.[/I] Vyrim: Which way to the palace? [I]Raeven pointed. Vyrim noted the direction, and sighed. It would take them half a day to get off the mountain, but at least they wouldn't have to cross the forest again.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Afterwards, they simply lay there and held each other, Ciiahn with one arm under her neck, the other stroking her back. She moaned in contentment, and moved closer to him. He stroked her back, marvelling at the feel of her skin under his supersensitive fingers. He was far more surprised by what was going on in his head. It was not like him to act upon a whim. Even less like him to feel upon a whim. But what he felt now was surprisingly, almost shockingly strong. And he was far less than adverse to it. He...he loved this magnificent creature in his arms. And when he whispered that fact to her, he got the reply he wanted to hear. Such affirmation of course, could only lead to one thing...[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ciiahn watched her in amusement for a few moment longer, letting his eyes run over her newly made flesh. Eventually, he held out a hand, and she let him help her up. He bundled a towel around her, not concerned about clothes for the moment, and led her back out to the living room. The bodies were still there. Alastuin, suddenly less hesitant, fell on one almost immediately. Ciiahn merely watched, occasionally correcting her if she made a mistake. Eventually, she finished all three, the bodies left professionally pale white. Ciiahn was impressed, and pretty damn proud of himself. This was after all the first he had created. Most first creations tended to die in the process to. So he was doing alright. Later, as they both sat on the couch, Alastuin turned to him, her voice subdued.[/I] Alastuin: Why, really did you do it? [I]Ciiahn suddenly leant forward, and placed a light kiss on her startled lips. Light though it was, it was a kiss that carried several thousand years experience, and was quite effective. When she had recovered, his voice was just as soft.[/I] Ciiahn: Why did I just do that?[/font][/color]