Lucian watched with cold eyes as the horse collapsed, carrying the rider to the ground with it. He grimly wished at that moment he had not so thoroughly slit the horse's throat so that it might have thrashed around and possibly crushed the rider.
But this would be enough.
The chill elasticity. He felt it across his skin again, and then the horse levitated up from the ground and drifted slightly away, freeing the rider, who stood and fixed Lucian with a menacing gaze. The gypsy read the words from her lips,
"Well, hello, little man."
He wrested for control over his fury, and doing so turned it cold in his gut, transforming it into barely controlled malice and the embers of his anger. He looked in her eyes and knew- this one loved death and wanted to kill him.
The knife was still in his right hand and blood dripped from it in a slow, hypnotizing cadence. He resisted the urge to brazenly and out-right attack her, not knowing what weapons she had hidden, or worse- what spells she might be conceiving. But standing there, a handful of yards between them, in no way rendered himself safe from either of the two dangers.
Slowly, never allowing his enchanted eyes to lose focus, he sank down into a crouch, letting his empty left and reached down and dig up a handful of dirt. Touching the grove-floor sent chills through him as the pain and torment of the grandfathers made itself manifest, but now also he felt the anger and the outrage. With it came a tingle of electricity, a little spike that gave his muscles a tensed, energized sensation, his being infused with hate and focus.
The grandfathers work with me.
He straightened slightly, but still crouched.
His voice rasped low, "You who love death, come. I will give you what you love most."
And he circled left, his corded body prepared to spring and evade in an instant.
Scamper
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Lanya finished straightening herself with a grimace, hating the rolling waves of pain that inundated her each moment. Her leg was in agony again - had been in agony this entire time, though she'd tuned it out. But now she was strained and scared again, as far as possible from her earlier mood as her emotions would allow, and now Lucian was in a fighting mood.
"Flame," she whispered, "fly up to the trees. Follow if you must, but don't be seen. Go."
She didn't watch the bird leave her for the safety of trees farther away. She felt tears welling again, and cursed herself for crying. She hated to cry in front of anyone; it was such a horrible sense of vulnerability. She blinked the tears from her eyes in time to see the horse collapse, and the woman stand to meet Lucian. And then she refocused her gaze to the guard coming at her, and fear nearly made her fall.
She refused to waste the effort she'd put in to stand up, and so her hands both grasped the makeshift walking stick before her, keeping her precariously balanced between its wooden frame and her good leg. The man's glare booked no compromise, and she couldn't help but feel a swell of humor at this. She wasn't close enough to tell him it was pointless; she couldn't run if her life depended on it.
But she wouldn't remove her hands from the walking stick, for fear of collapsing. The tree behind her would support her weight, but her leg could only last so much longer, and she'd had precious few hours of sleep in the past three days. She was unsteady at best. She wouldn't fight any longer; she just couldn't bear to try anymore, and continue failing so badly.
But...
Her eyes moved past the guard, to watch Lucian. Now the woman, the same woman who'd made the tree burst into flames, was squaring off with Lucian. Lanya's head filled with the image of him burning, instead of the tree, and the tears came stronger. But she had no control here; nothing she could do or say would change anything. Still, she couldn't help but whisper a silent chant, a prayer to who- or whatever might be listening.
"Please don't let him die. Please, don't kill him; let him live..."
The guard was too close for her to ignore him any longer, and her eyes drew back to look at him. She managed a mere second of eye contact, before she dropped her eyes in the universal sign of surrender. She'd have showed him her bare hands to indicate no weapons, save for the stick which she clung to with all of her remaining strength. There was something he needed to know. She decided to tell him.
"I cannot walk, and I cannot bend my knee. I'm not sure how I could ride..."
The image of the other horse dying flashed through her brain, and she winced in pain. Why did so many things have to die because of her? She felt the urge to apologize, but bit the words back. Perhaps the guard didn't want to be reminded that he was a horse down.
Off a ways in the distance, through the trees, a wolf's mournful howl warbled.
"Flame," she whispered, "fly up to the trees. Follow if you must, but don't be seen. Go."
She didn't watch the bird leave her for the safety of trees farther away. She felt tears welling again, and cursed herself for crying. She hated to cry in front of anyone; it was such a horrible sense of vulnerability. She blinked the tears from her eyes in time to see the horse collapse, and the woman stand to meet Lucian. And then she refocused her gaze to the guard coming at her, and fear nearly made her fall.
She refused to waste the effort she'd put in to stand up, and so her hands both grasped the makeshift walking stick before her, keeping her precariously balanced between its wooden frame and her good leg. The man's glare booked no compromise, and she couldn't help but feel a swell of humor at this. She wasn't close enough to tell him it was pointless; she couldn't run if her life depended on it.
But she wouldn't remove her hands from the walking stick, for fear of collapsing. The tree behind her would support her weight, but her leg could only last so much longer, and she'd had precious few hours of sleep in the past three days. She was unsteady at best. She wouldn't fight any longer; she just couldn't bear to try anymore, and continue failing so badly.
But...
Her eyes moved past the guard, to watch Lucian. Now the woman, the same woman who'd made the tree burst into flames, was squaring off with Lucian. Lanya's head filled with the image of him burning, instead of the tree, and the tears came stronger. But she had no control here; nothing she could do or say would change anything. Still, she couldn't help but whisper a silent chant, a prayer to who- or whatever might be listening.
"Please don't let him die. Please, don't kill him; let him live..."
The guard was too close for her to ignore him any longer, and her eyes drew back to look at him. She managed a mere second of eye contact, before she dropped her eyes in the universal sign of surrender. She'd have showed him her bare hands to indicate no weapons, save for the stick which she clung to with all of her remaining strength. There was something he needed to know. She decided to tell him.
"I cannot walk, and I cannot bend my knee. I'm not sure how I could ride..."
The image of the other horse dying flashed through her brain, and she winced in pain. Why did so many things have to die because of her? She felt the urge to apologize, but bit the words back. Perhaps the guard didn't want to be reminded that he was a horse down.
Off a ways in the distance, through the trees, a wolf's mournful howl warbled.
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
The witch wasn't struggling, which was a good thing for her. Perhaps the smartest move on her part yet as far as he was concerned. He noticed the bird, but ignored it for the time being. It was significant. Everything was significant.
Still, he had dealt with magic users before. Indeed much of his life has been practice in the art of dealing with mages, whether trying to talk to them like a human being or figuring out when they were dangerous. The conclusion he had reached over the years was that they were always dangerous. It didn't matter how wounded and pathetic she looked, she had the potential to do harm and he wasn't going to let her.
Holding his gun tightly in one hand, he walked right up to her hand grabbed her closest arm with the other. He was big, strong, and looked as though he was on the verge of hitting her when he spoke. His gauntleted grip was firm and serious.
"I don't care what you say. You do what I tell you."
His fair features made him look almost boyish save for years of building muscle. It was as if nobody had ever managed to hit him in the face, probably because he was so careful. Holding her arm, he brought his face down closer to hers and stared at her with blue eyes. He listened behind himself carefully, hearing that the young man was talking to Ryxa.
He pulled back, still holding her arm, and moved out of her line of sight so she could see Lucian and Ryxa across the clearing. He pointed at Lucian, who by appearances was in the midst of some kind of war dance.
"Make him stop."
Still, he had dealt with magic users before. Indeed much of his life has been practice in the art of dealing with mages, whether trying to talk to them like a human being or figuring out when they were dangerous. The conclusion he had reached over the years was that they were always dangerous. It didn't matter how wounded and pathetic she looked, she had the potential to do harm and he wasn't going to let her.
Holding his gun tightly in one hand, he walked right up to her hand grabbed her closest arm with the other. He was big, strong, and looked as though he was on the verge of hitting her when he spoke. His gauntleted grip was firm and serious.
"I don't care what you say. You do what I tell you."
His fair features made him look almost boyish save for years of building muscle. It was as if nobody had ever managed to hit him in the face, probably because he was so careful. Holding her arm, he brought his face down closer to hers and stared at her with blue eyes. He listened behind himself carefully, hearing that the young man was talking to Ryxa.
He pulled back, still holding her arm, and moved out of her line of sight so she could see Lucian and Ryxa across the clearing. He pointed at Lucian, who by appearances was in the midst of some kind of war dance.
"Make him stop."
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Blood Ravenous
- Battlemage
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Sun Jun 05, 2005 9:23 pm
- Name: Ryxa
- Race: Human
Ryxa studied the man crouching before her, meeting his brown eyes. His clothing and appearance were simple and neat. Nothing about him told her where he could be from. Yet he was in control of every ounce of himself, so perhaps he was a monk of some kind.
"You who love death, come. I will give you what you love most." Despite the prowess and grace in his movements she felt no fear of his threat coming true. No matter how much he struggled against it he was already hers as far as she was concerned, therefore his threat was meaningless. Later when he screamed pitifully from her torture it would be apology enough.
As he began to circle, the battlemage glanced over to Camulous and the witch. He had her by the arm and she was meek, surrendering. Ryxa's eyebrow raised. It looked like the mission was accomplished, so now it was okay to have some fun with the leftovers.
"Celerity," she said very quietly to herself, using the word as a focus to ignite the spell. The energy infused her whole body and when it strained to be released she knew she had succeeded. Since he was going to the left, she went to his right, far enough away to escape any sudden slashing. The velocity she had achieved made her appear like a blur as she moved behind him within seconds. With the same speed she reached out for the back of his neck.
The switch in her mind flicked on to open the floodgate for the magic she had perfected since she was a child: Painful Touch. After she had discovered her powers, every day was utilized to master the spells by holding down the family cat, watching it struggle and yowl, watching for reactions that denoted intense pain. Either that or she prodded the neighborhood kids and watched how agonizing the screams and crying were.
Just as she had since then she held the power in her mind while she reached for [Lucian]'s neck. She was already imagining the pain of being roasted over a bonfire which her spell, on contact, would make real for her prey.
"You who love death, come. I will give you what you love most." Despite the prowess and grace in his movements she felt no fear of his threat coming true. No matter how much he struggled against it he was already hers as far as she was concerned, therefore his threat was meaningless. Later when he screamed pitifully from her torture it would be apology enough.
As he began to circle, the battlemage glanced over to Camulous and the witch. He had her by the arm and she was meek, surrendering. Ryxa's eyebrow raised. It looked like the mission was accomplished, so now it was okay to have some fun with the leftovers.
"Celerity," she said very quietly to herself, using the word as a focus to ignite the spell. The energy infused her whole body and when it strained to be released she knew she had succeeded. Since he was going to the left, she went to his right, far enough away to escape any sudden slashing. The velocity she had achieved made her appear like a blur as she moved behind him within seconds. With the same speed she reached out for the back of his neck.
The switch in her mind flicked on to open the floodgate for the magic she had perfected since she was a child: Painful Touch. After she had discovered her powers, every day was utilized to master the spells by holding down the family cat, watching it struggle and yowl, watching for reactions that denoted intense pain. Either that or she prodded the neighborhood kids and watched how agonizing the screams and crying were.
Just as she had since then she held the power in her mind while she reached for [Lucian]'s neck. She was already imagining the pain of being roasted over a bonfire which her spell, on contact, would make real for her prey.
Lucian saw her lips move, but the word they formed was unfamiliar and the motion so slight that he could not read it.
The chill-elasticity on his skin. It's an incantation-
And then she moved. Or she must have. It was a blurring rush that swept to the right so rapidly it was nearly beyond what his eyes could follow. He tried to react, tried to turn, but all that he managed was just to scarcely spin half-way around-
A savage grip latched onto his throat, and in the same instant fire exploded through his neck, a fiery nexus of agony that flowed from the touch. It wasn't possible, but his breath was ablaze and ignited his own lungs.
He dropped to his knees, gasping audibly but not cry out. The bloodied knife unconsciously fell out of his hand, not that it would have done him much good against the armor anyway. His eyes shut tight, his breath strangled, not as much from the grip as from the sensation of his lungs being engulfed in flame.
In the midst of the intense burning, he opened his eyes, their focus not at the face of his tormentor, but past her. And there in an eye blink, he saw-
The grandfather engulfed in a furious conflagration, hungry tongues of fire that strained for the highest boughs of the tree. And outlined like shadows against the flaming red and orange background he saw Lanya and the soldier, the former in the grip of the latter.
And through the grove floor he felt the anguish and death that was filling the place like the acrid, black smoke of living growth in flame.
He shut his eyes, trying to draw breath, trying to focus.
Too powerful. It was more than a mortal man could fight against.
The chill-elasticity on his skin. It's an incantation-
And then she moved. Or she must have. It was a blurring rush that swept to the right so rapidly it was nearly beyond what his eyes could follow. He tried to react, tried to turn, but all that he managed was just to scarcely spin half-way around-
A savage grip latched onto his throat, and in the same instant fire exploded through his neck, a fiery nexus of agony that flowed from the touch. It wasn't possible, but his breath was ablaze and ignited his own lungs.
He dropped to his knees, gasping audibly but not cry out. The bloodied knife unconsciously fell out of his hand, not that it would have done him much good against the armor anyway. His eyes shut tight, his breath strangled, not as much from the grip as from the sensation of his lungs being engulfed in flame.
In the midst of the intense burning, he opened his eyes, their focus not at the face of his tormentor, but past her. And there in an eye blink, he saw-
The grandfather engulfed in a furious conflagration, hungry tongues of fire that strained for the highest boughs of the tree. And outlined like shadows against the flaming red and orange background he saw Lanya and the soldier, the former in the grip of the latter.
And through the grove floor he felt the anguish and death that was filling the place like the acrid, black smoke of living growth in flame.
He shut his eyes, trying to draw breath, trying to focus.
Too powerful. It was more than a mortal man could fight against.
Yar, says I.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
"I can't...I don't have control over him!"
Although Lanya knew she'd been branded a witch before, she didn't understand that this idea had followed her all the way to this place, this territory which was far enough from the other city that she thought she could escape the idea that she had any powers beyond her own human ability to breathe. Even now, it took her a long moment to catch up to what the guard was saying, and what he was implying. If he thought she had power over Lucian...over anything at all...
"I'm not a witch."
She blinked, staring at the guard in obvious confusion. Then a bit of fire lept into her gaze, and she shouted into his face.
"I'm not a damned witch!"
She started to try and pull her arm from his grip, but he was far too strong for this maneuver to work. Instead she looked away, toward where Lucian and the woman squared off. She sighed, trying to hide the sniffle. She hadn't stopped crying yet, and it was becoming a damned nuisance.
"I couldn't stop him. He's deaf; he wouldn't..."
The woman flashed, and in a moment was behind Lucian. She touched his neck, grabbed it or...something...and suddenly Lucian was writhing in obvious pain. He collapsed to his knees, and Lanya, instinctively, tried to start forward to help him.
"Stop! You're hurting him!"
The guard's grip stopped her short, of course, but worse was the pain in her injured leg as she applied her weight forward. For an instant, she'd forgotten how hurt she was, forgotten that her leg was useless, and swung it around to try and run to the man who'd become a friend. The pain blazed through her knee and up her thigh, along her spine and exploded through her forehead. She couldn't even feel her leg below the knee; everything above became all that mattered.
She screamed and then slammed her mouth shut, eyes watering from more than just delusional tears now. Why did everything always have to hurt so much? Surely Lucian didn't have to die for her. Not this one, too.
She had to take several moments, and her voice was small and carried little weight to it. She could no longer see the guard through her watery eyes, but it wouldn't have mattered; Lucian was in pain, and it was her fault, and this man might have the ability to stop this, stop all of this at once. She was begging, and she knew it, and for the moment she didn't even care anymore. The pain was all that mattered.
"P-please make her stop, he'll die. Please, I swear I w-won't fight, I couldn't fight even if I w-wanted to, but if he dies that's another person who's died for me, f-for nothing, for God's sake please make her stop!"
This last she emphasized with a fist against his chest. It wasn't a hard hit; hardly a hit at all, in fact. More of a placed impression, trying to convey what she wanted through his breastbone. Another impression, and tears fell again, and she hated herself more by the moment. Maybe this guard would kill her, finally, after all this time. Maybe if she tried to fight him, he would lose what little patience he seemed to have and drive his sword through her body. She could die with Flame singing in her ear, here among the trees and mud, and these past few years would end.
"Please..."
All that she wanted in the entire world, at this moment, was to feel her older brother's arms around her, whispering it was going to be ok, that he was going to protect her from the world, as he used to when she was younger and small enough to fit on his lap. But she was stuck with this guard instead, and the rain, and a miserable leg and not a single possession to her name. She covered her face with one hand, using the guard's firm grip on her other arm as her sole anchor. Let him drop her; she didn't care anymore. She just wanted to go home, and right now, home was this muddy clearing.
Although Lanya knew she'd been branded a witch before, she didn't understand that this idea had followed her all the way to this place, this territory which was far enough from the other city that she thought she could escape the idea that she had any powers beyond her own human ability to breathe. Even now, it took her a long moment to catch up to what the guard was saying, and what he was implying. If he thought she had power over Lucian...over anything at all...
"I'm not a witch."
She blinked, staring at the guard in obvious confusion. Then a bit of fire lept into her gaze, and she shouted into his face.
"I'm not a damned witch!"
She started to try and pull her arm from his grip, but he was far too strong for this maneuver to work. Instead she looked away, toward where Lucian and the woman squared off. She sighed, trying to hide the sniffle. She hadn't stopped crying yet, and it was becoming a damned nuisance.
"I couldn't stop him. He's deaf; he wouldn't..."
The woman flashed, and in a moment was behind Lucian. She touched his neck, grabbed it or...something...and suddenly Lucian was writhing in obvious pain. He collapsed to his knees, and Lanya, instinctively, tried to start forward to help him.
"Stop! You're hurting him!"
The guard's grip stopped her short, of course, but worse was the pain in her injured leg as she applied her weight forward. For an instant, she'd forgotten how hurt she was, forgotten that her leg was useless, and swung it around to try and run to the man who'd become a friend. The pain blazed through her knee and up her thigh, along her spine and exploded through her forehead. She couldn't even feel her leg below the knee; everything above became all that mattered.
She screamed and then slammed her mouth shut, eyes watering from more than just delusional tears now. Why did everything always have to hurt so much? Surely Lucian didn't have to die for her. Not this one, too.
She had to take several moments, and her voice was small and carried little weight to it. She could no longer see the guard through her watery eyes, but it wouldn't have mattered; Lucian was in pain, and it was her fault, and this man might have the ability to stop this, stop all of this at once. She was begging, and she knew it, and for the moment she didn't even care anymore. The pain was all that mattered.
"P-please make her stop, he'll die. Please, I swear I w-won't fight, I couldn't fight even if I w-wanted to, but if he dies that's another person who's died for me, f-for nothing, for God's sake please make her stop!"
This last she emphasized with a fist against his chest. It wasn't a hard hit; hardly a hit at all, in fact. More of a placed impression, trying to convey what she wanted through his breastbone. Another impression, and tears fell again, and she hated herself more by the moment. Maybe this guard would kill her, finally, after all this time. Maybe if she tried to fight him, he would lose what little patience he seemed to have and drive his sword through her body. She could die with Flame singing in her ear, here among the trees and mud, and these past few years would end.
"Please..."
All that she wanted in the entire world, at this moment, was to feel her older brother's arms around her, whispering it was going to be ok, that he was going to protect her from the world, as he used to when she was younger and small enough to fit on his lap. But she was stuck with this guard instead, and the rain, and a miserable leg and not a single possession to her name. She covered her face with one hand, using the guard's firm grip on her other arm as her sole anchor. Let him drop her; she didn't care anymore. She just wanted to go home, and right now, home was this muddy clearing.
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
The her arm tightly while she denied her crimes, sobbed and tried in vain to get out of his grip. He didn't want to listen to her desperate hysteria. The guilty so often pulled every possible emotional routine in the book that he was prepared ahead of time to deal with sobbing and nonsense.
"I'm not a witch."
"I'm not a damned witch!"
Of course not. Nobody was. There were no criminals in Marn, only crimes that committed themselves and innocent people who took the blame.
Of course you're not a witch, but if you say that again I'm going to hit you. He thought, only half paying attention to her actual words until she said something that couldn't have been made up.
"I couldn't stop him. He's deaf; he wouldn't..."
Deaf?
And then Ryxa was upon him, using her powers to drive the young man into a state of pure agony, the likes of which Camulous rarely saw even on a battlefield.
The girl struggled and would have fallen but for the grip he held on her arm, which kept her painfully upright. She was obviously hurt, and the idea that she was faking it quickly left the captain's mind. Nobody could fake something so well, could beg so convincingly... Unless it was a trick.
Her words and her sorry physical state tugged at his heart-strings, urging him to have mercy - even to let her go free then and there. Such a thing would never happen to be sure, but he had to forcefully repress the instinctual feeling of pity and the drive to have mercy.
She hit her hand helplessly on his breastplate and he had to set his jaw and look away or she would see the weakness in his eyes. He had to be firm and had to carry out his duty. The best he could do was be fair.
"RYXA! That's enough!" his booming voice bellowed over the roaring tree and the sounds of the forest, louder than the sounds coming from Lucian.
"I'm not a witch."
"I'm not a damned witch!"
Of course not. Nobody was. There were no criminals in Marn, only crimes that committed themselves and innocent people who took the blame.
Of course you're not a witch, but if you say that again I'm going to hit you. He thought, only half paying attention to her actual words until she said something that couldn't have been made up.
"I couldn't stop him. He's deaf; he wouldn't..."
Deaf?
And then Ryxa was upon him, using her powers to drive the young man into a state of pure agony, the likes of which Camulous rarely saw even on a battlefield.
The girl struggled and would have fallen but for the grip he held on her arm, which kept her painfully upright. She was obviously hurt, and the idea that she was faking it quickly left the captain's mind. Nobody could fake something so well, could beg so convincingly... Unless it was a trick.
Her words and her sorry physical state tugged at his heart-strings, urging him to have mercy - even to let her go free then and there. Such a thing would never happen to be sure, but he had to forcefully repress the instinctual feeling of pity and the drive to have mercy.
She hit her hand helplessly on his breastplate and he had to set his jaw and look away or she would see the weakness in his eyes. He had to be firm and had to carry out his duty. The best he could do was be fair.
"RYXA! That's enough!" his booming voice bellowed over the roaring tree and the sounds of the forest, louder than the sounds coming from Lucian.
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Blood Ravenous
- Battlemage
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Sun Jun 05, 2005 9:23 pm
- Name: Ryxa
- Race: Human
As her gloved hand gripped the man's throat her eyes glowed with malicious joy. The gasp, the squeezing shut of his eyes, the sudden release of his muscles making him drop to his knees and lose his knife, all of his reaction induced a tension in Ryxa's body that was pleasant. She kept on feeding him the spell, letting him wallow in fire—feeling a bit jealous—and was about to take it up a notch when a booming voice startled her.
"RYXA! That's enough!"
The battlemage lost her grip and straightened. She glared at the Captain with great displeasure. "You have no authority over me, I hope you'll remember," she hissed loud enough for him to hear. "Me and my little slave were just having some fun." As she talked she patted [Lucian] on the head like he was a child, but she was imagining her hands covered with razor blades, slicing into his scalp. Her increased speed stayed with her even now, so within two seconds she had patted him more than six times. It was so real to her that she felt warm blood on her glove from the repeated lacerations.
She turned her head back to the witch's friend and said, "Alright, my little man, we're going. Get up." She was in control now; he wouldn't want to feel that pain again and would follow her orders. However, she hadn't heard [Lanya] saying that he was deaf and that he might not notice her command. In fact, she hadn't noticed the entire interaction between Camulous and the witch.
"RYXA! That's enough!"
The battlemage lost her grip and straightened. She glared at the Captain with great displeasure. "You have no authority over me, I hope you'll remember," she hissed loud enough for him to hear. "Me and my little slave were just having some fun." As she talked she patted [Lucian] on the head like he was a child, but she was imagining her hands covered with razor blades, slicing into his scalp. Her increased speed stayed with her even now, so within two seconds she had patted him more than six times. It was so real to her that she felt warm blood on her glove from the repeated lacerations.
She turned her head back to the witch's friend and said, "Alright, my little man, we're going. Get up." She was in control now; he wouldn't want to feel that pain again and would follow her orders. However, she hadn't heard [Lanya] saying that he was deaf and that he might not notice her command. In fact, she hadn't noticed the entire interaction between Camulous and the witch.
The second she released his neck the burning alleviated instantly and Lucian gasped in long, full draughts of air, suppressing the choking urge to cough. His mind reeled for just a moment, trying to understand- he had felt the flames in his throat. At the time there had been no doubt in his mind that there were crackling fires inside of his lungs, and then in an eye blink- gone.
Like it was a fake hurt. His body played against itself. His jaw muscles tightened, anger itched in his stomach.
It's not real.
He didn't know why, but abruptly she patted down on his bowed head in a blurring cadence of motion, each time laying open his scalp with a blade she held across her palm. He winced away and pushed a hand through his hair to press against the wounds...
Nothing. There was nothing. He lowered his hand before his eyes. No blood, no gashes. Her skill was the manipulation of his senses. Making him feel hurt that she had not inflicted.
It was a lie.
In his lifetime, Lucian had experienced more suffering and hardship than most. He had set his own bones from falls in the wilderness and lived through wild animal attacks. His body had been rent by the cursed claws of a daemoness. He had even managed to survive all of his encounters with human brutality.
And it had made him one to recover quickly from initial agony and shock. One capable of dealing with injury and suffering without outcry or compliant.
His greatest strength was in fact his threshold for pain.
And that was the pain of real wounds. Wounds that could kill him or sever tendons or brake bones.
This woman could make the hurt like real wounds- perhaps even worse. But when it was over, that was that. Physically, he realized, tilting his neck from side to side, touching his throat and finding no blisters or burnt skin, he was no worse from the pain.
It was all in his head.
Slowly he gathered his feet under him, keeping his head bowed, and straightened. He looked perfectly pathetic, splattered with mud and filth, completely soaked, loose clothing sagging wetly from a thin frame, his hair matted and devilished. He hadn't heard her command to stand or her exchange with the solider.
That wouldn't have mattered to him.
He looked up, into her confident eyes. Frozen blue, dark and gloating. He did not look deeper, he had no need. She loved to kill, she loved to make things suffer.
And the side of his mouth tugged up a little, into a small half-smile. Quietly he rasped,
"It doesn't hurt anymore."
Sinew snapped to life and with all of the speed and strength in his body he lashed out at her right leg with his left in a snap kick aimed to knock her off her feet. Moving as fast as she did, Lucian did not know if even his quickest would be enough to catch her off guard, but again, it didn't matter so much to him.
He wanted her to know. He knew her game.
Like it was a fake hurt. His body played against itself. His jaw muscles tightened, anger itched in his stomach.
It's not real.
He didn't know why, but abruptly she patted down on his bowed head in a blurring cadence of motion, each time laying open his scalp with a blade she held across her palm. He winced away and pushed a hand through his hair to press against the wounds...
Nothing. There was nothing. He lowered his hand before his eyes. No blood, no gashes. Her skill was the manipulation of his senses. Making him feel hurt that she had not inflicted.
It was a lie.
In his lifetime, Lucian had experienced more suffering and hardship than most. He had set his own bones from falls in the wilderness and lived through wild animal attacks. His body had been rent by the cursed claws of a daemoness. He had even managed to survive all of his encounters with human brutality.
And it had made him one to recover quickly from initial agony and shock. One capable of dealing with injury and suffering without outcry or compliant.
His greatest strength was in fact his threshold for pain.
And that was the pain of real wounds. Wounds that could kill him or sever tendons or brake bones.
This woman could make the hurt like real wounds- perhaps even worse. But when it was over, that was that. Physically, he realized, tilting his neck from side to side, touching his throat and finding no blisters or burnt skin, he was no worse from the pain.
It was all in his head.
Slowly he gathered his feet under him, keeping his head bowed, and straightened. He looked perfectly pathetic, splattered with mud and filth, completely soaked, loose clothing sagging wetly from a thin frame, his hair matted and devilished. He hadn't heard her command to stand or her exchange with the solider.
That wouldn't have mattered to him.
He looked up, into her confident eyes. Frozen blue, dark and gloating. He did not look deeper, he had no need. She loved to kill, she loved to make things suffer.
And the side of his mouth tugged up a little, into a small half-smile. Quietly he rasped,
"It doesn't hurt anymore."
Sinew snapped to life and with all of the speed and strength in his body he lashed out at her right leg with his left in a snap kick aimed to knock her off her feet. Moving as fast as she did, Lucian did not know if even his quickest would be enough to catch her off guard, but again, it didn't matter so much to him.
He wanted her to know. He knew her game.
Yar, says I.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
The captain's voice made her jerk with surprise, and she raised her face from her hand to stare in blind incomprehension. She couldn't fathom a world where this guard would actually do something to alleviate her various pains and concerns. She turned her gaze to where the woman had Lucian on his knees, then found herself in a dizzy spell and wobbled. The world shifted and spun, and she struggled not to follow, but it was a close call indeed. The guard had been nice; perhaps it was his nature, tempered by years as a guard and hidden beneath the veneer of a guard's armor. She couldn't see clearly anymore either way, and so had become wholly dependent upon the guard's sturdy arm.
"S-sit...can I sit somewhere?"
Anywhere, her thoughts continued, beyond her control. She'd sit on the horse, but she suspected that would be the most painful choice. Instead, she leaned back, against the bark of the tree which had served as her home these many hours, and waited to see if the guard would release her arm. If he didn't, she would soon fall asleep on her feet. No food and little rest, not to mention a bit of blood loss - it was a miracle she hadn't passed out already. But as the light dimmed into a pinpoint in her vision, the edges solid black, she realized that soon she would pass out, whether she liked it or not.
She had to tell the guard. She thought she opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn't sure. She imagined moving her lips - "I'm passing out-" and then the blackness completed in her vision. She became dead weight, and it was a powerful faint indeed; she would not wake for some time.
"S-sit...can I sit somewhere?"
Anywhere, her thoughts continued, beyond her control. She'd sit on the horse, but she suspected that would be the most painful choice. Instead, she leaned back, against the bark of the tree which had served as her home these many hours, and waited to see if the guard would release her arm. If he didn't, she would soon fall asleep on her feet. No food and little rest, not to mention a bit of blood loss - it was a miracle she hadn't passed out already. But as the light dimmed into a pinpoint in her vision, the edges solid black, she realized that soon she would pass out, whether she liked it or not.
She had to tell the guard. She thought she opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn't sure. She imagined moving her lips - "I'm passing out-" and then the blackness completed in her vision. She became dead weight, and it was a powerful faint indeed; she would not wake for some time.
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
Camulous' eyes were locked on Ryxa, his temper somewhat alleviated by the fact that she obeyed his order, albeit reluctantly so. He was none too fond of being spoken back to. Not by his men, not by a battlemage, not by an out of control woman.
"He goes to trial like everybody else!"
Trial often meant torture, he knew, but it was the best he could do. She didn't have to obey him, but she did have to obey the law, and the law said that they were entitled to a trial before they were executed. The trials were grim affairs, often one sided, but far from pointless. Half the people who went to trial ended up dead, but the other half were spared.
His thoughts were interrupted by the witch.
"S-sit...can I sit somewhere?"
"No!" He blared at her, and squeezed her arm tighter in case she tried to do so anyway. He didn't even bother to look, not caring what excuse she had then. She wasn't going anywhere.
But when her body went completely limp, he did notice. She was weak before, but suddenly she dropped from consciousness completely and he had to reach around and catch her with his other hand or she would have fallen into the dirt. This he did as quickly as possible, not to take his attention off his surroundings for more than absolutely necessary.
Realizing his mistake, that she actually was passed out, he struggled to get her into a carrying position so he could take her back with him. It wasn't such an easy thing to do gently while still remaining prepared to fight off Lucian. Ideally he would be careful of her injuries and not throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes... But this was not an ideal situation, and so that's exactly what he did. With her tummy doubled over his thankfully rounded shoulder piece, he heaved her up and held her there with one hand on the back of her legs. His free hand never left his gun.
Ryxa and the young man were still fighting but to hell with them. Camulous had what he came for and just as he had no authority over Ryxa, he had no responsibility for her either.
"He goes to trial like everybody else!"
Trial often meant torture, he knew, but it was the best he could do. She didn't have to obey him, but she did have to obey the law, and the law said that they were entitled to a trial before they were executed. The trials were grim affairs, often one sided, but far from pointless. Half the people who went to trial ended up dead, but the other half were spared.
His thoughts were interrupted by the witch.
"S-sit...can I sit somewhere?"
"No!" He blared at her, and squeezed her arm tighter in case she tried to do so anyway. He didn't even bother to look, not caring what excuse she had then. She wasn't going anywhere.
But when her body went completely limp, he did notice. She was weak before, but suddenly she dropped from consciousness completely and he had to reach around and catch her with his other hand or she would have fallen into the dirt. This he did as quickly as possible, not to take his attention off his surroundings for more than absolutely necessary.
Realizing his mistake, that she actually was passed out, he struggled to get her into a carrying position so he could take her back with him. It wasn't such an easy thing to do gently while still remaining prepared to fight off Lucian. Ideally he would be careful of her injuries and not throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes... But this was not an ideal situation, and so that's exactly what he did. With her tummy doubled over his thankfully rounded shoulder piece, he heaved her up and held her there with one hand on the back of her legs. His free hand never left his gun.
Ryxa and the young man were still fighting but to hell with them. Camulous had what he came for and just as he had no authority over Ryxa, he had no responsibility for her either.
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Blood Ravenous
- Battlemage
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Sun Jun 05, 2005 9:23 pm
- Name: Ryxa
- Race: Human
Ryxa heard Camulous' reply, but didn't care much for it. She didn't care about trials or justice; so far she wasn't convinced the girl they were after was in fact a witch, because she had seen no magic from her at all. But none of that mattered to her.Camulous wrote:He goes to trial like everybody else!
It had been a great opportunity to watch Moryldar at work earlier in the day, torturing Chrishton, but she still craved her own victim to torture in her own way. Whether it was [Lucian] or someone else, it didn't matter. Yet, as he looked into her eyes and she saw his life spark, she knew she wanted it to be him. To break him, watching as the smirk disappeared, for what he had to say to be drowned out in his screams...Yes, that's what she lived for, not trekking through the woods on the second chase of the past few days. She wasn't meant for this.
As he said that she saw his muscles tighten. For those fractions of a second as he readied himself for an attack she backtracked, anticipating something. It took her the same amount of time to run back a few yards as for him to snap kick. It was like she disappeared as he attacked. She stopped far out of his reach and frowned.Lucian wrote:It doesn't hurt anymore.
What was happening lately? All of the people she had been sent to capture recently were tough and wouldn't cave from her touch, no matter how harsh. Her fingers flew to her throat to touch purple bruises there. She had underestimated someone before and it hadn't worked well; Chrishton was brute force, and if he had wanted to he probably could have broken her like a twig... The only way she had defeated him was giving him so much sudden, intense pain that his brain overloaded and he fell back, unconscious. How she was going to do that to his man was another story.
The impulsivity that ruled her existence didn't let her stay back and think of a plan; she rushed in behind him, and as he recoiled from not hitting her she aimed her own kick at the back of his head. There was no time to look to see if the Captain was going to back her up or not.
Again, she became a blur and Lucian connected with nothing but air. He had expected this, though, and was not frustrated. In fact, he felt himself grin a little bigger as he flowed through the kick and recovered his balance, catching the streaking movement to his left as she sped by him faster than he could react.
Defeat or dying was not something he feared. All things die, given time. The only thing to concern yourself with was how you died.
He would die smiling at his enemy.
The blow came solidly to the back of his head, a brilliant burst of white light before his eyes that made his temples pulse. Even in at that he did not fight the impact as instinct did, but allowed himself to bend with it, his body relaxing as he fell forward, taking some of the force out of the hit. He hit the ground loosely, his light frame almost bouncing.
Predators feed on the fear of their prey, he knew. It excited them, pushed them harder for the chase, for the kill. All prey knew that a predator could sense and relish their fear and suffering.
As he felt the accustomed ache spread through his skull, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and shook his head ruefully, chasing away dark clouds. That had been a real blow. If he had resisted it, it might have even rendered him unconscious. As it was the dull throb made him grit his teeth as he made his way to stand up again.
He wanted her to know. She was a predator, but he was not her prey.
Defeat or dying was not something he feared. All things die, given time. The only thing to concern yourself with was how you died.
He would die smiling at his enemy.
The blow came solidly to the back of his head, a brilliant burst of white light before his eyes that made his temples pulse. Even in at that he did not fight the impact as instinct did, but allowed himself to bend with it, his body relaxing as he fell forward, taking some of the force out of the hit. He hit the ground loosely, his light frame almost bouncing.
Predators feed on the fear of their prey, he knew. It excited them, pushed them harder for the chase, for the kill. All prey knew that a predator could sense and relish their fear and suffering.
As he felt the accustomed ache spread through his skull, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and shook his head ruefully, chasing away dark clouds. That had been a real blow. If he had resisted it, it might have even rendered him unconscious. As it was the dull throb made him grit his teeth as he made his way to stand up again.
He wanted her to know. She was a predator, but he was not her prey.
Yar, says I.
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
Camulous did his best to ignore the fight, and managed quite well to keep his ears open specifically for sounds that would indicate a threat to him but not to Ryxa. They weren't talking any longer, busy dueling in both mind and body. Probably both using magic...
He wanted her to lose, of course. He would never say so aloud, but he did want her to lose. If that happened, Camulous would just use the witch as bait and wing it from there. He wasn't afraid of failing the mission at this point. However, it would be very helpful to know what sort of technique the young man had in such a circumstance. And such knowledge would entail looking.
Pride and duty battled within him for dominance. Pride wanting him to keep walking with his eyes forward, duty pulling him to see what was happening...
When he checked, the young man was getting up off the ground, and Ryxa appeared to be fine and, not surprisingly, enjoying herself a little too much.
As he carried the witch between the trees and back onto the path where his horse was waiting and watching with simple, innocent eyes, he began thinking again. Thinking about what was going to happen to her.
Before such thoughts could invade his mind, he pushed them back into the recesses of his subconscious. It wasn't good to think. It was a weakness of his. The same thing that made him a good leader made him a poor soldier unless he fought it off.
He wanted her to lose, of course. He would never say so aloud, but he did want her to lose. If that happened, Camulous would just use the witch as bait and wing it from there. He wasn't afraid of failing the mission at this point. However, it would be very helpful to know what sort of technique the young man had in such a circumstance. And such knowledge would entail looking.
Pride and duty battled within him for dominance. Pride wanting him to keep walking with his eyes forward, duty pulling him to see what was happening...
When he checked, the young man was getting up off the ground, and Ryxa appeared to be fine and, not surprisingly, enjoying herself a little too much.
As he carried the witch between the trees and back onto the path where his horse was waiting and watching with simple, innocent eyes, he began thinking again. Thinking about what was going to happen to her.
Before such thoughts could invade his mind, he pushed them back into the recesses of his subconscious. It wasn't good to think. It was a weakness of his. The same thing that made him a good leader made him a poor soldier unless he fought it off.
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Blood Ravenous
- Battlemage
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Sun Jun 05, 2005 9:23 pm
- Name: Ryxa
- Race: Human
The fire on the tree crackled low in places but had mostly turned to glowing embers. It's orange light still lit up the cloudy day and the last drops of water falling to earth. Luckily the fire hadn't spread, but the recent rain had helped more than luck. Ryxa guessed the tree was dead after such a burning and felt no remorse. It was just a stupid, old tree that was now black and barren of leaves.
Anger filled her hot and liquid like lava. She was tired of these men that rebelled against her; Ryxa was powerful and invincible and it was just idiocy to not accept the fate that she would have their freedom. Even after a swift, strong kick to the back of the head [Lucian] was still triumphantly rising up from the forest floor. "Irritating... like a cockroach," she growled at him as he tried to stand.
Pain Touch had fizzled when she dodged away from his attack, but now it returned as strong as it ever was because of her anger. With a wicked grin showing off a canine tooth she struck on an idea.
The battlemage kicked him square in the back. When he collapsed down only partially, still fighting to get up, she tackled him with a knee digging into his spine. Within only a lightning fast moment she had him thus pinned. Her speed was overwhelming. She grabbed his chestnut hair in a gloved fist and yanked back his head. It was prudent to see at least part of his face as she focused her magic.
The free hand smacked onto his cheek. Right in front of her eyes large sewing needles that were visible only to her appeared and floated into place. Dozens stabbed forward between her fingers into his eyes, his mouth, his ears, and his nose, as many as could fit. Blood spurted out, covering her hands and the forest litter. The vitreous jelly in his eyes oozed out and slid down his cheeks and on her glove.
As she looked at the side of his face with staring eyes where the imagined needles forced themselves in, she noticed the scarring visible on the inside of his ear. As of yet it was only a curiosity that was ripped apart by sharp points.
Anger filled her hot and liquid like lava. She was tired of these men that rebelled against her; Ryxa was powerful and invincible and it was just idiocy to not accept the fate that she would have their freedom. Even after a swift, strong kick to the back of the head [Lucian] was still triumphantly rising up from the forest floor. "Irritating... like a cockroach," she growled at him as he tried to stand.
Pain Touch had fizzled when she dodged away from his attack, but now it returned as strong as it ever was because of her anger. With a wicked grin showing off a canine tooth she struck on an idea.
The battlemage kicked him square in the back. When he collapsed down only partially, still fighting to get up, she tackled him with a knee digging into his spine. Within only a lightning fast moment she had him thus pinned. Her speed was overwhelming. She grabbed his chestnut hair in a gloved fist and yanked back his head. It was prudent to see at least part of his face as she focused her magic.
The free hand smacked onto his cheek. Right in front of her eyes large sewing needles that were visible only to her appeared and floated into place. Dozens stabbed forward between her fingers into his eyes, his mouth, his ears, and his nose, as many as could fit. Blood spurted out, covering her hands and the forest litter. The vitreous jelly in his eyes oozed out and slid down his cheeks and on her glove.
As she looked at the side of his face with staring eyes where the imagined needles forced themselves in, she noticed the scarring visible on the inside of his ear. As of yet it was only a curiosity that was ripped apart by sharp points.