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Fantasy For my Family

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Game master
This is a closed rp between me and a couple of friends. Character thread is here: http://www.rpnation.com/index.php?threads/for-my-family.11443/ 

A dull *thud* echoed across the grounds as a young man wearing heavy gauntlets crashed from a twenty-foot fall. On the opposite side, another young man glared with bright grey eyes from beneath messy white hair.

"Next time you challenge someone to a duel, at least have the decency to make it worth their while."

The young man whipped around, loose white clothing billowing in the wind as he stomped away. As he walked, a man who looked maybe a couple years younger hopped down from the fence he had been sitting on and followed.

"Gods above Valk . . . that match was decided in eight seconds!"

"Wrong. That match was decided before it even began, and took seven seconds too long."

The young man flinched a little as Valk flicked his wrist, and a series of sparks flew along his arm.

"But . . . seven of those seconds were him flying through the air--"

"You're right. I should have fried him where he stood, saved myself some headache."

"At least you get to pra--"

"This doesn't qualify as practice Jarod. If there were five of them, maybe I could at least get multi-target practice in, but it's just one-on-one. A complete waste of my time."

Valk let out a sigh as he entered the building. Much as he knew he shouldn't, he was almost hoping for a large Fell-one attack at this point. At least THAT had some danger to it.


Within the Maveret grounds, a rather large estate stood. It was of bamboo construction, with a garden in the center of the estate. One of the rooms, the door open, held a young man with a naginata. He seemed to be following different forms, and every now and again wind would flow through the door and around his form.

"Still practicing your basics every day I see, Aatron."

The young man stopped in his tracks, relaxing as he turned to face the source of the voice. It was a well-aged man, with a beard that reached almost down to his waist, and was all gray.

"Yes Father."

"It is good to see one so dutiful carry on the family name. But be sure to set aside time for your family besides protecting them will you?"

"Yes Father."

"Oh, when you have time, Faora was looking for you."

"Faora? What did she need?"

The older man chuckled

"If you are so curious, why don't you ask her yourself? She's only eight after all."


Junior Member
Whatever it was that Faora had wanted, she was blissfully forgetting it--after all, it's hard to think of much of anything when one is flying through the sky.

"Hold on! Old man Earth is coming to pay us a visit!" Odom went through the carefully planned series of events in his head. This was one of his simpler compilations: jump out the window to the tree branch, enhance the branch's natural spring with a mana injection through the toes, launch into the air, arc to face a carefully placed pitchfork in the ground, fall to the pitchfork, stabilize the landing by grasping the pitchfork with the right hand, and ending with a graceful one-armed handstand three feet above the ground. It was all quite easy, really, except that Odom had a distinct problem with sticking to plans. How was he to know that a bird would conveniently fly to the top of his arc? He simply couldn't resist using the extra foothold, gaining yet more altitude, more velocity . . .

Except now, his velocity was possibly exceeding the limit of what his lean arms could handle upon landing. Plan B? B for better think of something quick, maybe. Then again, that's exactly what he loved about not having a plan B. Plan A *never* worked out, and so he always had one more shot at sharpening his wits. Or, you know, death--but he tried not to worry about that. He seemed to have an ok relationship with the guy.

Distractions. Too much thinking, not enough doing. It would be ok if he broke a rib, but he really didn't want to get Faora hurt--or suffer the through her brother's reprisal afterwards. The guy was so high strung. Anyhow, he needed a way out of this, and he knew just what to do, just what he could always depend on.

He went with his gut.

The pitchfork was twenty yards away. Ten. Two. Then it was bending beneath his hand, just as the tree branch at the beginning of his experiment. Then it was far out of sight, replaced by a thousand very close blades of grass, asking for his name and address and really getting much too personal. Probably because he was approaching them much too fast. Fortunately, he could talk back--and he asked them, very politely, to soften his landing a bit. After all, there was a darling little eight-year-old girl under his arm, and it would really be a shame if she got a scratch . . .

The grass was very obliging. A hop, skip and a jump later, Odom and Faora were giggling fitfully in front of one of the estate doors, the lawn tickling their rolling bodies. In between bouts of glee, Odom's brain got around to realizing that something was not quite right. Was that door always open? He hadn't thought so . . . oh, look! Aatron! Wouldn't he be so happy to see that his sister was safe?


Rudd wiped the sweat off of his brow. It was a very practiced motion--whether at the Vejta estate or the humble ranch back in Maasmechelen, he had been plowing the fields his whole life. The lectures and the meditations were rather odd to him here, but at at least he could always get away from things with some good old fashioned dirt moving.

Then again, his stomach grumbled at him, he could also get away from things with a good meal . . . six hours in the fields, and you haven't eaten yet? Do you have the brain of a swine? Fill me up, or you'll be filling up a coffin!

Rudd's stomach was always exaggerating, but it was also usually right. He started to head towards the kitchen, then turned around to grab some of the tomato crop. Couldn't hurt to have something fresh for his work, could it? He turned back towards the kitchens, and then turned around again. He should probably get the rest of the guys, too. Couldn't hurt to have some company. He turned back towards the kitchens, and then turned around again. Why not grab the fiddle? It couldn't hurt to have some entertainment . . .

About an hour later, he finally made it past the kitchen doors to the smell of fresh tomato soup. He took a deep swig from a wooden bowl, let out a hearty breath of air, and slung his fiddle onto his shoulder. Every eye in the room turned to him and sparkled with glee.

Oh yeah. It was gonna be a good night.
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Game master
Aatron let out a calm sigh as his father left the room. He could probably spare some time for his youngest sibling. She was the only one who seemed to take some of what he said to heart. Merely high birth was not enough, one must hone themselves to as fine a point as possible. It wouldn't do to--

Aatron suddenly found his train of thought cut off as a crash sounded right beside him. He turned around, the traditional samurai garb billowing in the wind . . . and instantly narrowed his eyes. Just outside the room, lying in the garden, was Odom. And to top that off, Faora was under his arm. His gaze did not leave the young man's for a solid minute as he glared into his soul.


He spoke with a seemingly pleasant tone while his eyes held a gaze not unlike glaciers.

"Would you be so kind as to explain how you ended up crashing in front of me? And why Faora has been dragged into such a dangerous prospect?"

His knuckles where white as his grip on the weapon beside him tightened.
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Junior Member
"Aatron! You're just in time! We were exploring the clouds together. Weren't we, Faora?" The little one just kept giggling. She was in his lap at this point.

The corner of Odom's mouth dropped as he heard mumbling. It took a moment before he realized that it was coming from Aatron's knuckles. He couldn't make out what they were grumbling about, but they were clearly unhappy.

"Your knuckles are frowning. Are they unhappy? Maybe you should be gentler with your lady." By lady, he meant the naginata. Did Aatron know that? Maybe not. Maybe so. That was half of the fun. "Or maybe you're unhappy? We can fix that!"

Odom quickly lifted his knee, and with a gentle push of mana, Faora's giggling was transformed into bawdy laughter as she was hurled straight into her brother's unwitting arms. The resulting thud was quite satisfying. It was probably rude to laugh, but then again, Odom had never understood manners. Why would laughing ever be a bad thing?
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Game master

Aatron barely had time to snarl the name out before his younger sibling was flying straight toward him. The naginata left his grip as both arms wrapped around her, his legs bending slightly to absorb the impact. He let out a sigh and smiled as he looked down at her face that was now buried in his chest. She was giggling incessantly.

"Faora, you're all right?"

"Yes! I was flying just now!"

"Were you?"

He raised an eyebrow, his expression had softened significantly with only a few words.

"Yes! Mr. Odum told me that he could let me fly, and he did!"

"Indeed . . . I recall you had something you wanted to tell me."

"Ah-- yes I did . . . but it's more of . . ."

The girl fidgeted in Aatron's arms


"Just . . . could you set aside a bit of time? Two days from now?"

Aatron let out a sigh

"Faora, I can always set aside some time for you."

Her expression brightened significantly as Aatron ruffled her hair a little

"Now why don't you head inside? Mother's making dinner right now, and she might like some help. I'll be along in a few minutes, after I talk with 'Mr. Odom'."

He gave a smile and let Faora drop from his arms, watching her go out of the room and close the sliding door. The instant the door clacked shut his head snapped straight towards Odom and his eyes may as well have been shooting fire.


Junior Member
"Your eyes are indecisive. Are they happy, or angry? Please pick, it's making me dizzy." Odom didn't bother standing up. He was leaning back on his hands, legs sprawled in front of him, feet waving from side to side. The grass was still quite springy. It tickled his rump and made his mouth twitch into a quirky half-grin.


One Thousand Club
In the rafters of the dining hall, several meters above the heads of Rudd and the others, a man stretched out along a wooden beam, one leg straight and one hanging off the beam. His back leaned against the perpendicular pillar that connected to the one he was resting on, and he silently observed the caucophony below. He was able to pick out Rudd, not that it was hard: he was the center of attention with his fiddle, wooing the ladies as per usual. After running a hand lazily through his long blonde hair the man grinned slowly, his expression toothy and unnerving. He leapt from the rafters yet landed upon a table without a sound, aided by telekinesis. He sauntered across the long table towards Rudd, bringing an odd stillness and coldness to the air as he went. The partiers went from loud and joyous to wary and near-silent as the man strode past them, whispering in his wake.

Ryrax chuckled coldly as he reached the end of the table, turning on his heel and stopping to stare over the heads of the crowd. "Don't stop on my account," he said with his manic grin, "I'm just here for the food." He waved his hand and a bowl of soup drifted over to him, downing it in a single gulp. He glanced over at Rudd as the guests continued to warily stare at him. "What's up with the sheep, eh? They were having such fun a minute ago."


As soon as Valk finished speaking, a man in leather armor was sent flying, coming to a crashing halt just a few feet to Valk's left. He was originally in the dueling ring to Valk's left, but he now lay on the ground groaning in pain. His greatsword lay nearby, or what was left of it: it had been sundered in twain. The unfortunate man's victorious opponent came striding over, his very walk oozing with pompousness.

"Well met, sir! However, you should have known that this would be the end result," he said as he walked, his voice naturally projecting. He had the air of someone telling a child 'I told you so' when they insisted on playing with fire even though they had been warned that it would singe them. "After all, you didn't challenge just anyone. You challenged me, Oliver Montacus Layfaire III, last and best in the line of Layfaires!" He adjusted the armor on his right shoulder, grinning slightly in a satisfied way. "But don't give up hope after just one defeat. Keep training, and perhaps one day you'll be strong enough to follow me into battle, as my right-hand man! That is a worthy goal for every soldi-"

"Enough, Oliver!" the referee shouted as he strode over, shaking his head exhasperatedly. "Seriously, don't you ever stop...?" he said somewhat to himself as he slung the defeated man over his shoulder. "Someday that arrogance is gonna get you killed," he said, and strode off towards the medical wing.

Oliver simply sighed dramatically. "Ah, such is the plight of heroes. Our confidence in our abilities is mistaken for arrogance, a truly terrible thing to have. Isn't that right, Valk?"


Junior Member
Rudd stared at Ryrax for a moment, his fiddle on his shoulder, his bow pointed downwards at the long table. Then, shaking his head, he began to chuckle. An irrepressible grin spread across his face with his words. "Just startled by a sheep in wolf's clothing is all. You can be the drums, then!" Rudd began pounding his foot on the table as he lifted his fiddle once more, and the crowd cheered all the louder as he sawed away a popular folk tune. Ladies and fellows alike began boisterously singing about a girl named Lilly, and her stubborn attempts to woo a country boy named Eli. Rudd just kept grinning at Ryrax as his bow furiously galloped across the strings, his heel raising the dust from the table beneath, and tossing empty bowls onto the floor.


Game master
Valk glanced over at the . . . let him be called 'passionate', young man. His gaze held equal parts irritation and anger

"There is a very, very, fine line between confidence in your abilities and shouting out about them for the world to see. Actions speak ten times louder than words, so you should let them speak for you."

Valk walked past the Layfaire, hoping that the conversation would end there. He honestly thought his hope was in vain, giving whom he was speaking to, but he could still hope.


"I'm angry Odom. VERY. ANGRY."

Aatron reached his hand to the side and a gust of wind brought his naginata to him

"I have long since accepted that you will continue to engage in antics like this, despite my repeated attempts to reprimand you from such. If you want to endanger your own life, that's your business. But when you bring Faroa into your schemes . . . you overstep your boundaries."

Aatron had been walking slowly towards Odom as he spoke, and now his blade rested only inches away from Odom's face

"I will say this only once. Leave Faora out of your would-be death traps."


Junior Member
"Death?" Odom cocked his head to the side. "He and I have a mutual avoidance policy. Surely you realize that I'd never expose the young one to someone so unpleasant. She's as much my sister as yours, after all." His smile developed to its full ear-spanning width as he crossed his eyes at the naginata, which he leaned into slightly. "Besides, she's gotta have fun with *someone*, and that someone sure isn't gonna be you . . ." He stuck his tongue out at the naginata, and let a small, invisible pulse of mana between the two lift him to his feet. He swayed a bit as he settled on his heels, and then turned towards the tree across from the highest window. "I'm gonna go ask the tree for a favor. Lighten up a little bit, will you? Your eyebrows are grumbling about their workloads." Odom winked at Aatron over his shoulder, and then whisked up the tree with all the lilting grace of a ring tailed lemur.


One Thousand Club
Ryrax yawned as he brought over several more bowls of soup to float around him, orbiting him like a half-dozen moons. He strode lazily through the air, just above the heads of the dancers and partiers, occasionally grabbing a bowl and downing it. After a few minutes of this he let the bowls fall to the ground with a clatter, and sat next to a young woman of about 19 years of age. She had curly brown hair and gasped when he landed, but he caught her wrist before she could leave the table. "Leaving so soon? Stay, and have some fun!" he said as she pulled against his grip in vain. Fear shone in her eyes as he toyed with her, and she gave one mighty tug. In that instant, Ryrax let her go, causing her to fall backwards onto her rear. Ryrax laughed maliciously as she scrambled to her feet and ran off to rejoin her family.

Ryrax sat and drank ale for several minutes before suddenly standing up, his grin having vanished. He closed his eyes and tilted his nose into the air, sniffing like a hound having caught a scent.


"They do indeed, Valk!" Oliver said jovially, rolling his right shoulder in it's joint. "So why don't we have an exchange of actions?" He stepped to the opposite side of the dueling ring that Valk had just left. "Shall we see whose fists roar loudest with pride?"


Junior Member
Rudd had stopped paying attention to Ryrax as soon as he'd left the table. He became absorbed in his playing. His world was composed of nothing but the roaring voices, the stomping feet, the vibrating strings. He waited not a moment between songs, and began spinning on the table, dancing from end to end as he drew paintings with his bow. This only made his family roar louder, as couples leapt onto other tables and began to dance along. Rudd wanted this party to last all night.


Game master
Aatron glared after Odom as he bounced away like a giant monkey. He hissed through his teeth, but let out the breath slowly.

"I don't care what supposed 'relation' you have with death. Faora is the only sibling of mine I truly care about, and I won't have her tango with death any more than necessary."

He walked inside and slowly slid the door shut behind him, a soft *clack* echoing through the garden as he did so. The naginata was left on a rack at the side of the room, and Aatron made his way deeper into the house


Valk let out a sigh and looked back over at Layfaire

"If it will shut you up."

Without another word, Valk spun around and stomped the ground, facing Layfaire. His entire form became wreathed in electricity.

"Call it."


One Thousand Club
Ryrax levelled his head and broke into a toothy, manic grin. He looked over to Rudd. "Fell One. C-class at most. I'll handle it, seeing as you have sheep to serenade." Without another word, he was off, charging into the evening air. He was eager to fuel his right eye's power, and greedily chased the alluring scent of the fell one into the forest.


Oliver bounced on the balls of his feet for a second before steeling himself for enough time to say, "Begin!" Immediately he launched himself at Valk, his hammer arm on a crash course towards the man's face.


Game master
Layfaire's fist flew through Valk's head . . . or rather an image of Valk's head. A brief, blue blur remained where Valk had been only seconds before. A crater appeared on the far wall where he landed, and in the briefest of seconds he was right next to Layfaire, with the speed of a missile.


Junior Member
Rudd looked on after Ryrax as he finished his song. He almost wanted to join him. After all, the real reason he was here was to gain the strength to fight off the Fell Ones. Then again, he had hunted with Ryrax before, and he felt no desire to do so again. No doubt the man had it covered. He grabbed another bowl of soup, swigged from his mug of ale, and swept into his next song. He'd need some alcohol to help forget what he knew Ryrax would be partaking in that night.


Odom leapt from the longest branch to the highest window, and rested for a while on the windowsill. He supposed that Aatron would be happier if he left Faora alone . . . but that would be boring. A wistful smile snapped across his face once again, and he slinked off into the estate to find some trouble.


One Thousand Club
Oliver could have done the sane thing and dodged out of the way (he would have had barely enough time), but instead he opted for a more ludicrous approach. He dug in his heels and caught Valk's head with his left hand. His arm immediately popped out of it's socket but his digits held Valk's head in a vicegrip. "Caught you!" he said with a pained grin and brought his arm down like a hammer at Valk's neck.


Game master
Valk dug his heels in against the ground. He could feel the strain through Layfaire's arm, though he could also tell that escaping was going to be a bitch with such a tight grip. If he was normal . . .

Valk let out a short, loud yell, and a massive pulse of electricity released from his entire body. The windows in the immediate vicinity shattered, and Valk felt himself skid several feet away from Layfaire as a direct result. One hand went to the ground, eyeing the man to make another attack


One Thousand Club
"Ah, I thought for sure I had you! You're a slippery one, aren't you, Valk?" Oliver said, thoroughly amused. His shoulder popped and cracked as he used his mana-infused muscles to force it back into its socket where it belonged. "I guess I'll just have to try harder!"

He charged again, launching himself into a flurry of punches with both his arms.


Game master
Valk made minute movements at Layfaire's barrage, dodging by mere centimeters.

"You are certainly more skilled than the man from before . . ."

Valk brushed aside one arm with with his palm as he stepped right in the man, inside his range

"--But you're SLOW!"

Twelve punches went into Layfaire's gut in a single second. Right after, he leapt fifteen feet into the air, and came down with a shout. The blue explosion could be seen all around the estate as the shockwave cleared out the immediate area.


One Thousand Club
Oliver had barely managed to jump backwards to avoid the actual impact, but he was still blasted into the wall by the shockwave. He leaned against the wall catching his breath for a moment. "...I may be slow, but your punches lack substance," he said, and shifted his weight off of the wall and started moving towards Valk. "You landed twelve punches yet I feel like it was only two. I admit, that electricity of yours made it rather tingly," he said with a chuckle, "but still, nothing I cannot handle." That was why, to some, Oliver was a bit of a monster: he typically focused all of his mana into strengthening his body in purely physical ways. He almost always internalizes his mana usage, and such a nonvisual use is startling to the unprepared opponent.

Oliver kicked off into the air, leaping several dozen feet above Valk. He reached the peak of his parabolic journey through the air and started his rapid descent straight at Valk's face, hammer fist-first. "Rrraaaaahhhh!!!" he roared enthusiastically as he dove.


Game master
Valk gave a bored look as he watched Layfaire fly up into the air. Impressed as he was by the man's ability to count the hits he had taken (most just flew from the combined force of several blows in the span of only a second), his flight seemed to be in slow motion compared to what he did on a regular basis.

"Well, at the end of the day--"

Valk seemed to phase out of existence as a blue shimmer appeared where he had been standing before

"Only one of us is taking damage at all."

The crater from Layfaire's impact was nothing short of amazing, but there was no time to marvel as a cloud of dust shot up in a line, marking the path Valk took straight to Layfaire's face. His fist was laced in lighting, ready to pulse on impact.


One Thousand Club
Oliver didn't have time to think...not that he would have anyway. He strengthened his mana concentration in his forehead and bashed it into Valk's fist. While he was sent flying, Valk's hand was almost definitely shattered. Oliver rose from his crater some several meters away, rubbing his forehead with his left hand. "Ouch! I'll have to put some ice on that one later!" he said as he rose to a standing position. He brushed himself off and tested his limbs to make sure everything worked properly. Apparently satisfied, he charged at Valk yet again, like the most stubborn freight train you would ever meet.


Game master
Valk bounced back about a foot from the force of the impact. He could still move his hand, but his fingers seemed to be broken, all of them. Didn't matter that much, with mana therapy those could be healed within several minutes. But this was becoming a problem. True enough, the man in front of him could not land a hit. He was too frontal with his attacks, and not fast enough for such simple methods to work. However, he also seemed to have the durability of a mountain . . . a stubborn, loud-mouthed, mountain. If this kept up, he was going to hit his limit before the man fell, a situation he would rather avoid. Still, he kept his confident air. Showing that this approach might actually be getting to him was a mistake he refused to make.

"Still with the obvious attacks?"

Valk zipped right under Layfaire's arm and came behind him, putting a flat hand against his back.

"My turn."

His eyes pulsed blue, as a massive wave of lighting flew straight through him and into Layfaire like a bolt from heaven


In the House of Astora, located in province of Lordran, a man tinkered in his room. Jyterra crushed a 'soul' in his hand, and used his limited ability to actively manipulate Mana to channel the 'soul' into a rather hastily made ring of silver. The ring, now glowing with a shade of black, was prepared for 'Enchanting'. Jyterra carefully laid the ring down on a small square of velvet, and shifted his focus to his hand, hovering over what appeared to be a small, rather thick walled, stone crucible. Within the crucible seemed to be light made real, as it lay inside the well as if a liquid. Slowly, a small stream rose up towards the hand, and seeing this occur, he smiled in satisfaction, and moved his hand, and the light, towards the ring. Hovering over the ring, he began to move it back and forth, weaving a pattern in liquid light over the glowing black. After hours of intense concentration, and with the crucible void of light, a magnificent structure of ethereal lines floated over the, especially now, rather plain ring. Now, with both hands together above the design, and pulled the ring up. As the ring rose ever so slowly, the beams blinding light pulled tight, as if yarn in a loom, and sank into the shrinking blackness emanating from the ring. As it did so, a rather unique geometric design was forming on the ring itself, reminiscent of the lines already consumed. As he neared the end, and the ring nearly devouring the last of the light, a rather young man burst through the door, nearly yelled, "Jyttera! We've been looking for you for 6 hours now" And that was all he had the chance to say, as Jyterra's concentration wavered, and the room exploded.

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