Fantasy God of Lost Faith - The Storyline

[TheImmortalDeity]

Hatch

​

As the sun rose and its rays peeked through a pale glass window, Hatch’s surroundings became known. He stood in the middle of a hut, no bigger than a dining room. Behind him were a table and two chairs, each made of brittle wood that teased to snap at the slightest of touch. The walls had been assorted with various nick-nacks that ranged from toadstool to high-end potions of a masterful make. The thing that glared the most to him, however, was the woman that stood before him, tending to what he assumed to be an alchemy table, grinding herbs and other materials together in a wooden bowl.

There were no signs of her noticing him, her hands busy as she hummed gently to herself. She had strikingly long blonde hair that fell to her heels as it swayed along with her movement like a pendulum. Along her body was a black dress that hugged tightly to her frame, revealing her lithe figure. In a gap between her work, she let out a small sigh, stretching her arms over her head before turning to Hatch once and for all. As their eyes met, a sultry expression inched over her face.

“I was waiting for you to wake up,” she said, returning to her witchcraft soon after, this time sprinkling a cloud of odd dust over the brew. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions, but let’s start with one for now. We have some time on our hands, so why not enjoy each other’s company?”

“Who are you and why did you bring me here?” Hatch asked, the words slipping off his tongue against his will. His voice was low, wary. There was no reason for him to trust this stranger. For all he knew, she dragged him here against his will.

A shallow laugh escaped from her as she put down the bowl, leaning herself against the edge of the alchemy station and giving him a quick look over. “That’s two questions. Fine. I’ll humor you, but only a little.” An elegant hand went to her hair, twirling a loose strand as she pondered over her words carefully. “People tend to call me ‘The Witch in Black’, but I prefer Hesphelda. As for where you are, well, you’re standing in my workshop. Quaint, isn’t it?”

Nothing was gained from her words and Hatch was left with more questions than he started with. He went to speak again, but she hushed him with an extended finger. “I answered one question. Now, how about you answer a few of mine?” She took a few steps forward, perusing over her assortment of vials before grabbing hold of one containing a gold liquid inside. She continued to go back to her work, sloshing the vial inside of the mix, blending it in with the prior ingredients.

“Why are you targeting churches?” she asked, swishing the bowl in the palm of her hand. “Is there a reason behind it? Maybe a traumatic backstory or a calling of some sort? Not that I particularly care about your reasoning. I just want to know what type of man it takes to go against an organization the people love so dearly, knowing that he won’t be able to show his face publicly without a thousand soldiers biting at his heels.”

At first, Hatch said nothing. He had realized that this was another fragment of his lost past. Anything he said wasn’t his own words, but rather the words of his past self. Mechanically, his mouth opened, speaking without any thought behind it. “You answer me, woman. I’m getting tired of your games. What’s to stop me from killing you where you stand?”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, don’t you? Very well, I’ll prove my worth to you. Let’s hope you can do the same.” Setting the bowl away, she used the tip of her toes to face Hatch, walking toward him. Subconsciously, he stepped backward and stumbled into one of the old chairs behind him as it squeaked under his weight. Hesphelda placed a hand on either one of his shoulders and lifted her leg so that it was wedged between Hatch’s. With her face close to his, she raised a brow.

“You want to see a god. Why else would you be attacking their places of worship? I can take you to one. You can feel it, can’t you? This world is on the verge of change; a change that none of us can account for. You want to see it, I can tell. Why not join me? Together, we can make that change come true.” Her nails dug into his shoulders, an otherworldly glint to her. She was too close.

In haste, Hatch pushed her off him, standing up and heading for the door. He paused when his fingers cradled over the doorknob. Hesitantly, he spoke. “I hail to no one. Show me where this ‘god’ is. I’ll make it clear which one of us will be following who after that.” Then, the memory shattered, the scene breaking down into specks within the canvas of his unpainted mind.

~~~

As he sat up, a wicked headache drilled its way forward, his mind throbbing as the information from the Memory Essence passed through his body. He felt stronger than before, but the flashback of The Bunny’s blade tearing through him replayed like a video on repeat. Slowly, Hatch raised his arm, expecting for the worst. He was met with a limb that was very much attached, his fingers moving to his command accordingly. There was no answer as to why this was the case, but he had no urge to fight against it.

Around him was the wagon where they had first met Alyssa. The fire had died down and the corpses had started to rot. How long were they inside the forest? Despite their appearances, all the gear on the deceased Agents were relatively still usable. They were able to be looted, if one wished to do so. Lifting to his feet, Hatch cracked his neck, doing some minor stretches before feeling as good as new. Well, as good as one was able to feel after a devastating defeat.

For the first time in his life, he was silent. He stared at nothing, gritting his teeth in frustration. Did he really lose? The possibility had never entered his mind once since conception, and yet the glaring facts presented themselves as clear as day. He had lost. It wasn’t from a fluke or miracle, he was simply too weak to fight against his enemy. That realization alone caused him to experience great fury, storming over to where Berlin rested and driving a swift kick into his stomach.

“Get up, you fucking pansy.”

NyxNightmare LokiPokie youngmanrhys Eldritch Goat Lo Mayn HTCOR

 

[youngmanrhys]

Rhydian Garefs

The battles he had braved with his comrades before paled in comparison to the hell in which he was thrust within now— even with newfound allies, the hope of survival had fluttered away as quickly as it had blossomed in his mind.

It was almost as if the universe itself had been determined to rid him then and there— more agents began to surround him, and the man he had hoped to make an ally was foolish enough to charge after the assassin. The same assassin that brought the two, white-haired fools he had attempted to save to the ground. The same assassin that only minutes prior had nearly killed him with a single blow. Rhydian hadn't watched the sight, but he heard it. The tearing of flesh followed by a blood-curdling screech of a man. He refused to turn— focus to Alyssa after his strike was true into her forearm. The shriek that left her lips satisfied him; especially when the woman with horns protruding from her head was able to safely hop away, and safeguard an older man who barely held consciousness.

Another arrow was docked into the notch of his bow, and he was prepared to fire into the woman's neck next. Yet his nerves were at an all-time high, something was rushing at him from behind— and he knew exactly who it had been.

Rhydian didn't have much time to react. A few more moments and the assassin who had so easily dispatched the entire company would be upon him. There was little he could do to defend himself, nothing except anticipate where his strike would land. He thought it over once, and assessed that a strike to his back to pierce his chest would've been far more likely than anything else. That spot had been stricken by him from the front, practically obliterating the light chest piece he had worn beneath his cloak. It was where he had been most vulnerable. Too much risk to strike anywhere else— lest he have more armor, or worse, he'd risk missing a fatal blow.

The archer bit his lip before immediately tilting his body towards the left, and prepared to sacrifice his rib-cage to land a blow on the assassin. His arrow had, at this point, been removed from Calcolo to be held at the ready in his right palm while his bow dangled loosely in his opposite. Rhydian's eyes met that of the Bunny's. He invoked a wrath when he struck the woman, and now he was about to suffer a grim fate for certain this time at the hands of the same man. Though, he wouldn't let himself fall without a devastating hit of his own— a final gambit sworn through conviction.

Yet the Bunny stopped, and two agents were flung at impossible speeds through the air. Their bodies splattered to mere chunks against the forest's trees. Whatever was capable of such power had Rhydian on alert too.

A tug came from his side, and almost instantly Rhydian thought to drive the arrow into whoever it was that he allowed to get within range of him. Eyes were wide in alarm when he realized who— no, what, it was. A masked individual, but not one of the Bunny's subordinates. No, Rhydian knew that they were something greater. The feeling of hopelessness that resonated deep from within his soul wasn't normal, and for the first time the archer knew he was simply defeated. Between men who harbored power beyond his comprehension— how was he to compete? To challenge the skill of men who were so above him? As if they were Gods, and he were a mere insignificant ant so easily discarded from the world.

Another figure came, equally as disturbing, and through a slight exchange of words between the two he learned their names. Tragedy and Comedy; a pair almost as comical as they were disturbing. Dire wolves came with their arrival, tearing apart the enemy he had fought against so diligently with ease. Compared to even the beasts of the Lost Woods— he was no match. Not even the Bunny himself, and he learned that soon as the blonde haired maiden fled, and he sacrificed himself in defense for her evasive action. In a single moment, the assassin who had slaughtered his group, and nearly he himself, was impaled by Tragedy. It was grotesque in the manner he perished. No matter his crimes, no matter the injustices that man had enacted against him— Rhydian wouldn't have wished any of the suffering upon him. Remorse had been gifted to him alongside a single essence of memory that flowed into his chest.

Bunny's death and the slaughter of his men was quick, and soon among the field had been the dire wolves, the company that had been defeated, and now him— the only one standing to face Tragedy and Comedy. It was futile to resist them, and Rhydian knew that well after a simple display of strength from each of them. He was a human— a speck that couldn't possibly hope to contest with monsters of legend. Yet, his grip tightened on Calcolo, and the arrow he held found its way into the bowstring once again. The last time he would ever wield it— that he had almost been certain of.

The duo, however, surprised Rhydian. They had chosen to spare their lives— fearful of invoking the wrath of Him. One of them among the group had been chosen; chosen by a higher being, and perhaps that was the very thing that saved them.

A flash of light erupted in Rhydian's face, and his body felt weightless— before his consciousness was no longer his own.

____________________________________________
​

"N-No please! Please! My Lord we've done—"

The sound of flesh squelching against metal reverberated through the air, along with the crackling noise of flames. Heat came in unbearable waves from each side, as if he were being burnt like coal in a furnace. Eyes shifted from left to right, not by his own will— though Rhydian accrued many details in those few, almost meaningless seconds. He was in a village, and houses by the dozen were stricken with a poisonous fire. Buildings crumbled to ash, and carried away by a late night breeze. Cattle moaned in pain as they burned to death, while men and women shrieked in fear trying to outrun knights clad in iron armor.

It became apparent to Rhydian that he was in a memory, and thus he let himself relax— and took in every moment that was woven before him. To others, it might've been but memories so easily forgotten, but to him; this was his history. His story. The only piece of a puzzle that led him to learn who he was.

In this fragment of history, Rhydian was a bit shorter. Men who he was taller than as an adult stood a few inches above him. Yet, the knights themselves were different. Tall and terrifying; akin to monsters he'd only heard of in stories. Demons that sought to rend, ravish, and pillage whatever and whomever they pleased. But these weren't demons. They were people— living beings like him. Had he beheld the consciousness now in this memory, fear wouldn't have tainted his being. Though, here he was but a child. One inexperienced with death, heartache, and the reality of people with power that sought to abuse the advantage they had over those less fortunate. The youthful version of him looked to his left; an elderly man who was eerily similar in appearance to him was knelt at his side, and behind him was a line of other individuals. All of them, including himself, were dressed in tattered rags that barely covered skin. Smudges of dirt were evident on their cheeks, and blisters bloomed on fingers and palms. Villagers, he assessed, and most of them farmers. The older man, however, had more of a warrior's physique. He wasn't thin, but instead harbored muscle and much of it.

That man was his father, but his name had eluded Rhydian, and it irked him so.

"Son," His father spoke, a calloused hand placed at his shoulder with a firm grip, "I want you to know how much I love you. Even if this tyrant—"

"I grow imp-p-patient of this! Bring f-f-forth the t-traitor! Each moment of my time you w-w-w-waste earns each of you more lashings. B-bring another of the peasants to me. I-I will m-m-make an example!" A man who talked in an embarrassing stutter bellowed from Rhydian's front, and both his father and he looked to see a man dressed in royal garments pacing across the corpses of villagers murdered at his hand. Rage he felt back then boiled as much as it did currently at the sight of such a scene, but as he had in the past— Rhydian restrained himself from any rash actions. One wrong move would have murdered him along with the other people whom he had suffered alongside with.

Two of the knights that towered above them sauntered forth to grab a young girl— she looked no older than the age of sixteen. Pretty in the face, with beautiful brown hair and a lithe frame likely from malnutrition. She kicked and screamed, pleading for help and for the knights to release her.

"Prince John! Please! N-no! I don't want to die!" The girl sobbed, but everyone had frozen in place when the man beside Rhydian stood tall and shouted.

"Let her go, Prince. It.." He held back his words as if there was so much more he wanted to say, and with a longing look he gazed back towards his son; but he pressed on with his decision. A warrior never looked back. "... It was me. There.. there is no need to shed anymore blood."

He looked towards the origin of the voice, and what a grim shock it had been. It was his father; a man who stepped up to take the place of a defenseless woman. Even though death threatened him for such a decision— he put others before himself.

"Father, you can't—" Whatever words the Rhydian in the past wanted to say were shortened as a flurry of arrows launched from all angles. One after the other, they pierced his flesh. As quickly as he had risen, he fell with his life cruelly ripped from him.

"T-T-Tyrion Garefs. The f-f-famed knight that s-served my father so d-d-diligently came to an unt-t-timely end at my hand for betrayal." Prince John let forth a laugh, his round belly jiggling with glee. "How amusing. G-Grab his b-b-boy. We m-m-make an example of t-traitors to the throne in the m-morrow."

"You bastard!" Rhydian of youth cried out, and finally the stoic restraint he held shattered. He launched himself forward with the intent of slaughtering the Prince then and there. Revenge seemed far more precious than life at the time, and the pain he felt in his heart was the fuel that propelled him forward. Yet the archer hadn't even made it a fraction of the way before an arrow drilled into his knee, and he tumbled. A single knight approached from the side and raised a metal foot above his face. There was nothing he could do, or could've done.

The foot came down, and his vision went black.

____________________________________________
​

He awoke with a newfound pain in his heart— that of loss. Loss that he never knew he felt till now. It was the same agonizing feeling he felt at the loss of Miranda and Haygriff. Family that he bonded with. Family that he bled with. All torn away from him by the talons of death, and ripped to shreds just out of reach for him to intervene. He scorned the world— both his past and that of Isorropia. At every corner misery followed him and snagged any hope of happiness and acceptance he'd ever known. It was as if he were destined for a life of misery, while he carried on fighting with a heavier heart than the day before.

The sound of a flames crackling startled him at first, but the realization that it was merely a campfire eased his nerves rather quickly. Those that were ensnared in the forest's grasp with him were now laid about sporadically around the hearth. As were the corpses of the ones who called themselves the Agents, and already the stench of the dead began to waft and irritate his nose. The first one to wake aside from him was the pactborn— one who was barely clothed in much of anything. One had also had his arm cruelly torn apart from his body, but at the very least it had been reformed and mended true. Anger seethed from his very figure, and such was made true when he marched towards the white-haired boy and delivered a swift kick into their stomach. A grunt and groan followed, along with the demon's crude words.

Childish, Rhydian thought, and he sat up fully to rise to his feet. He felt his back only to realize Calcolo was slung over his shoulder, and he checked his quiver to see that it was still full of the arrows he'd yet to use. The archer glanced over the rest of the company— two individuals with horns protruding from their heads, a pale woman with a lithe frame, and a man who looked well into his years. All of them were sound asleep for now, and to be honest— he hoped they stayed that way. He didn't need to become acquainted with them. Not now, and hopefully, not ever.

He sauntered forward and maneuvered through the amount of corpses. Eyes glistened with focus, searching their remains for armor still intact to replace the set the Bunny had shredded with his strike. Luckily, he found one, and gathered it in one hand. Rhydian continued to search, and eventually he found a steel dagger among the corpses, and surprisingly— his silver blade he thought he lost in the forest. It seems whatever had taken him out of the forest wasn't fond of having anything inorganic such as weaponry littering the environment.

Respectable, but in truth, he thought it amusing too.

He slid his sword back into its scabbard, and did the same for his newly acquired dagger. The archer walked back towards the fire— though he lifted his cloak to switch the iron he wore for the one looted.

The dead had no such use for things anymore, right? Perhaps it'd be wise for him to gather what he could and sell in the next town he found himself in.

A thought that crossed his mind, but such worries came later. There was another test to his survival now.

That was the inexperienced party he found himself intertwined with.

____________________________________________

TheImmortalDeity LokiPokie Lo Mayn HTCOR NyxNightmare Eldritch Goat​

 

[Lo Mayn]

Berlin A. Malkuth​

“Screams and projection”​

The shock of the sharp pain of a blade unleashed throughout Berlin’s leg, pressuring the pactborn to holler out. Enemies, swift and powerful, ready to kill, advanced on the team. Berlin and Camila, thrown to the floor, awaited as a man approached. Camila outreached for Berlin as an enemy’s blade sought to connect with flesh before a rumbling brought a halt. Loud sounds of chaos reverberated as bodies were flung, distorted beings spoke, and as enemies turned to dust. In those moments of adrenaline and pain, Berlin outreached for Camila before blackness.

Soon, as he faded from all things in existence, the deafening fear of the forest vanished and was replaced by crackles and snaps. Old familiar crimson burned towards the bright horizon, meanwhile an inferno raged to either side of the busy blood-stained cobblestone road. Smoke, dazzling brown in the light, thick and heavy, reached to the night sky above.
Where am I? Berlin begged the question when his attention fell to a squelch beneath his feet and the stench of burnt pork roast. His eyes dropped to the floor. Disgust welled within his being.

With each stumbling step, Berlin caught the edges of blackened armor or melted flesh, a body here and a body there until stopped by a large corpse. The roadblock weighed several hundred pounds, and whilst alive, it would be the star gelding within its unit. Berlin raised a hand to feel its singed body. Who had done this? He questioned. Akin to heartbreak, it shattered Berlin. Animals, no they did not deserve this fate. Innocent. They were always innocent, even when manipulated and twisted. Even while they were tools. If only that could be said about every tamed beast, perhaps the weight of the dead would no longer punish the out-of-control. The sight of the freshly dead turned and twisted his stomach.

Speak. Berlin demanded. Do something. Neither a finger twitch nor blink came by his own control. They belonged to the man he resided within. The man he once was. This is a memory. Berlin stepped away as screams ripped through the heavy air. Down the street, a tower collapsed, and from its ruins, people ran. Flames alit their bodies, they were fireflies. Berlin raised his hand. Magic swelled within his palm, and in a crash, a cannonball-sized fireball shot into the crowd. An explosion of dust and sparks rattled the town with a shockwave. If there was anyone flirting with life before, they were rejected now. Berlin trembled within his mind, and soon, he went silent.

Behind him, an old knight, bloodied but still could move, pushed a woman forward. “Run!” The knight commanded before turning his blade towards Berlin. The pact born’s head crept around to face the heroic man. In a hurry, the knight pushed forward, Berlin knew he was only trying to buy time. “Die, Demon, Die!” He yelled as he brought his longsword down. But it never connected. A sharp hiss radiated from Berlin’s palm as the knight incinerated, armor, flesh, and all. Flash, he was gone.

The woman, who carried a soot-covered baby, attempted to dash away when her limping leg betrayed her. Please. Let them go. His body laughed. Please. Berlin appeared alongside the fallen woman. He tried to look away, but there was nowhere to turn. Instead, chained to the front of his mind, he felt every hair, blood vein, and bone burned away. She scrambled to cover her baby, crying, “No! Please. Please-” When the smoke settled, all that remained was ash. And in the aftermath, a silence graced them. Shallow footsteps approached, followed by a slow clap.

“Excellent,” the grave voice spoke, “my Berlin.” Berlin turned as the memory shattered, grabbing Berlin by his shoulders and shoving him into reality. The long fall met a mighty crash.

Berlin remained on the floor as a quiet sob gathered in his throat and he forced his eyes closed. “I killed them... I killed them... I killed them all…” He mumbled at a frantic pace, “And I laughed. By Gods, No. That’s not me- I would never. That was a monster. That was a demon. I. I wasn’t. I wasn’t in control... I killed them.” The words weighed heavier and heavier, and heavier still.

“Get up,” Hatch demanded followed by a swift kick into Berlin’s stomach, “you fucking pansy.”

Demon. Another kick came. Berlin rolled over onto his back. His eyes flashed open as another kick flew into his side. As quick as spark igniting gas, embers exploded from Berlin’s palm. In between a strike, Hatch had no time to block as the fireball greeted his chest. Berlin shot to his feet as the dust blew around him. His hands wrought into quaking fists, and tears teased his eyes, “Haven’t you hurt enough?” he declared, his tone cruel and depressed.

Mentioned/Interacted: HATCH TheImmortalDeity

 

[Eldritch Goat]

Shibala'Negi

"A Glimpse of Home."

One moment, Shibala was standing tall, despite her wound, ready to fling another strike at Alyssa, the next moment everything had gone black, she didn’t even have time to process what had hit her before darkness overtook her mind. Silence was all that reverberated within her skull, but after a short time, Shibala came to.

For what felt like an hour, she lay there, her pale figure dwarfed by the oncoming shadow that surrounded her. Was she dead? Or was this something else? Her eyes were open, yet she may as well have been blind. Struggling to restrain her nerves, panic sought to reign over Shibala’s very being, the girl leaping up to peer around her surroundings, already desperate for a way out. Yet just as she had jumped to the worst possible conclusion, a sound reached her ears, the faint crackling of fire, a pyre without malice, tamed and hospitable.

The faint sound was enough for the girl to snatch hold of her senses, and soon enough she was upright and facing the source. The darkness receded to reveal a somehow familiar scene, a young girl asleep in her tiny bed, while a fireplace crackled in the next room. Orange light flooded into the small child’s room, shedding light on her features. Pale rose locks, snow white skin, the tiny stubs of her horns only just setting in and upon her porcelain face, three eyes were shut tight in slumber. This was a memory, a memory of Shibala’s own childhood.

Shibala’s old room itself didn’t look that well off, the walls betraying the home to be but a simple log cabin, but it looked...peaceful, homey. Just as she was beginning to feel homesick, something within the memory moved, a man, his face shrouded in shadow had entered the child’s room. His presence seemed ominous at first, but soon he came close to the slumbering goat girl’s face, his lips moved yet the sound couldn’t pierce the darkness that was smothering Shibala. The scene was fading and soon enough another presence made itself known.

“Wihtred...If only he was born sooner, he may well have become your real father.”

With what felt like a thousand voices, all tuned into one shoddy frequency, another presence had unveiled itself. The figure’s porcelain lips did move as it spoke, as though it wore a mask of snowy flesh, it’s crimson hair flowed like water, yet had the glossy texture of freshly skinned muscle, the horns that reached upward, their true length veiled by shadow, reminded Shibala of her own and the small grooves on her face…

But before Shibala could come to any conclusions, the creature spoke once more, this time striding closer to her.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you everything yet, there will be time to catch up in the future. For your sake, be more wary of the mortals you assign your trust to…”

Shibala had so many questions, but before she even had a chance to open her mouth, a black furred claw had found itself pressed against her lips and soon enough, the golden eyes of Shibala’s mother were smothered by darkness once again.

Darkness returned to block out Shibala’s vision and with it came a great, primordial chill, as though Winter itself had laid it’s claws upon her shoulders. The sensation was short however, as reality came crashing back into sight, the familiar sounds of bickering filling her ears. So death hadn’t come for her, what she had just witnessed may well have been...some form of memory, a memory followed by a rather one-sided audience with the shrouded figure of her mother. Shibala’s memory was shot full of holes, but seeing herself as a child came as a relief, she wasn’t some monster and seemed to have lived somewhat peacefully alongside her father.

Shibala brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose, her hairless brow furrowing as the two bickerers came into view, Berlin and Hatch. The big one continued to serve his role as a big, braindead bully rather well, while Berlin, well only served to disappoint as per usual. But some twinge of empathy beckoned for her to call out to Hatch, albeit half-heartedly.

“Pick on someone else, you braindead cretin.”

The realisation soon came to pass that what she felt wasn’t empathy, but just disguised irritation, she wanted everyone and everything to shut up so she could ponder on what she saw, but the two clowns of the party had to keep squabbling like children.


Mentioned: Hatch TheImmortalDeity , Berlin Lo Mayn​

 

[NyxNightmare]

[class=Notes] // Forward slashes are comments and do no show up in the final design, these are to help you find everything easily and explain some code as well. These comments must be with in a class or script tags in order to be hidden, from what I know// // Long URls are images # followed by letter and numbers are Hex codes or color codes.// // This code does not show breaks unless is shows the
code When typing responses to rps, be aware that when you press enter it will not show that you did. You'll have to use the
tags// [/class] [class=Lines] border-top:2px SOLID #680b0a; margin-bottom:8px; margin-Top:5px; margin-Left:12px; //This is the line dividers in the code, the tiny ones.// [/class]

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Camila | Interacting: Hunk of a Hutch TheImmortalDeity Fireboy Lo Mayn | Mentioned: |
[div class="Lines"]

Spoiler: The Father

Spoiler: Saffron

Spoiler: Azriel

​

Darkness consumed Camila's field of vision. Was she dead for the second time? A circle of light formed in the middle of the black space, growing with each passing second. Guess not. Akin to the first vision she had, this one took place in another study. A rather handsome, vampiric man in his possible 40's stood before her. Although his muscular body would lead someone to believe he was some barbaric warrior, his skin rivaled a porcelain doll kept in a display cabinet. Dark brown hair that mimicked the pattern of a lion's mane fell just below his waist. The moonlight shining through the window pane gave it a purple tint.

The man's gruff voice filled the spacious room, sending a shiver through Camila. She couldn't quite place the accent on it. "My dear Camila, such a fierce and beautiful woman you've become. You've surpassed your elder siblings in all of the trials. It must be relieving to hear that you are the prime candidate to take my place as a ruler of our clan." Somehow, as uplifting as the man's words were, his demeanor suggested otherwise. Even after reading her uneasy expression, the older man didn't falter in delivering the unpleasant news. "However, this childish stalemate between you and Prince Rune has carried on long enough."

Camila huffed in dismay. "I can defeat him in another deca-" Her cheek met with a sharp slap that sent her tumbling across the floor. The shock from the impact left the woman speechless for a retort. For a moment, Camila felt a sensation often foreign to her. Fear.

"Another decade? Dear, dear, Camila. Would you rather see my army become a laughing stock?" His long nails ran through a few strands of Camila's hair. "I trusted you with the militia after your impeccable performance in the trials. Please don't make me regret the decision. Marry the man. Gain control from the inside." Retreating from her, the man signaled for her to leave. "That is all."

"Yes, father." Frustration and anxiousness boiled under Camila's skin, yet she dared not speak against him. My throat feels tight. Turning away from him, she left hastily out the door, thrilled to escape her father's prison stare.

Advancing down the hallway in what appeared to be a castle of sorts, Camila was shoulder checked by a taller woman. Another vampire. Not bothering to shoot her a glare, Camila spoke in an even tone, "Saffron. Mind your step. Clumsy behavior subtracts from your beauty. Any more deductions, and you'll be hideous. The saggy, hot water bags on your chest already deal too much damage."

Saffron returned her insult with a small smile. "Shouldn't you worry about yourself? Your cheek is bruising. Are you no longer father's favorite? A pity."
Before Camila could defend herself, another figure entered the vicinity. The black and turquoise garments the vampiric male wore demanded attention. Immediately, Saffron distanced herself. Although the new Camila didn't recognize this man, the old one did. The name left her lips in a whisper. "Azriel."

"Are my sisters quarreling again? Saffron, I've warned you about bullying Camila. Make yourself scarce before I turn you to ash." With a voice etched with velvet threads, any being would swoon before him regardless of the context of his words. Azriel watched Saffron scoff and disappear from the scene before continuing his mission. Camila attempted to slide by him, only to be shoved back against the wall. KABEDON. Only, Camila's heart didn't race. Instead, it hardened. "The only person allowed to bully you is me. I'm your flesh and blood, unlike those other sluts, pining after father's attention with nothing but talk. You and I, we're fighters. It's only right that I am the one to tear you down." Azriel drew a dagger from his belt and made an effort to thrust it into Camila's neck. Before the tip of the weapon could kiss the woman's skin, shadowy, four-legged creatures rose from the ground and sunk their teeth into Azriel's clothes, flinging him backward. Their bodies resembled mutated wolves, and their heads were exposed down to the bone.

Camila straightened her back and tossed Azriel a look of disgust. "Are you mocking me with such a weak attack? Surely you don't expect to seize the throne in that pathetic manner, brother? Ugh, what was that earlier? Pinning your sister to the wall, do you have a sister complex? How repulsive. Peirce yourself with a thousand knives."

The tension thickened between the two. Azriel grinned wickedly, drawing out a large spear from the harness on his back. "Such vulgar beauty as always. Let me take care of you as a big brother should." _ _ _

The memory ended promptly after Azriel's words, pulling Camila back to her rightful plane of existence. NO! I was going to kick his ass!!! Jolting awake, the vampiress caressed her sore limbs. How long had slumber taken her? Were they peacefully out of the woods? Peacefully was a stretch, as she came to witness Berlin explode irrationally. Did a vision befall him, too? Camila hesitantly lifted her fingertips to her cheek. The stinging sensation from the dream was absent. If they were memories, Camila had to wonder if her siblings remained dead or alive after her death.

Berlin illuminated Hatch's chest with his flames. Camila feverishly searched for her stick to join in on the action, but to no avail. Whatever supplies that old geezer Leon gave her belonged to the Lost Woods now. Camila placed herself between Hatch and berlin, her demoting gaze settling upon Hatch's frame. "Kick my servant again, and I'll shove my next stick so far up your ass it comes out of your eye socket." Peeking over at the white-haired pact born, Camila couldn't deny her sadistic nature. Berlin's crying face was surprisingly satisfying to witness. His AMETHYST EYES glistened as the tears threatened to fall. Ah, how beautiful. [div class="Lines"][/div] Original Code by AgWordSmith (You are a goddess) [/div]

 

[HTCOR]

Sonos​

Droplets of water flicked across his face. An interrogation cell. Pleasant. A pause as the metallic taste slowly entered his mouth. Sonos would passively look at the entity in front of him, as the wound on his head dripped crimson essence onto his face. He'd been in a scene like this before, but this time it was him who was caught, instead of being the captor. Blood whisked into his skin, slashing through the thin leathers like it was tissue paper.

The noble one in front of him stepped forth, wearing their fine leathers and clothes, as bloody rends were ripped through their body- made by a shortsword, with a few daggers sticking through their legs and shoulders. A brief moment as the memory glazed and burst forwards- hints of agony and fury spiking through. "HEMSHURST!" A pulp of a body, numerous candlesticks impaled into it. The memory blurred again.

"The starting count is two, Domycles von Hemshurst."

That line stuck out to Sonos. Then the memory reignited in full- allowing him to relive what he thought earlier, an entity that was once man, now beyond, and much lesser for it. It used to be a man, something that he could call someone respectable, but now…

Now, it was nothing more than an abomination against nature. Bones, reformed into limbs for the beast, slammed into the marble. They slowly shifted and molded, becoming something akin to hands, if one were generous. To those of the uninitiated, like the three behind him, they fled. Laughing and wailing into the darkened halls of the fortress, they would never be seen again- minds shattered by the horrific sight in front of the lone Paladin. A blade rose- a white butterfly sword, plain in nature, yet holding the might of a fallen deity. And so, the entity charged for Sonos-

"You thought yourself above man. You thought yourself able to be something more." A slash, the butterfly blade cleaving through a limb, as the paladin burst forwards. "Potential is your best bet, and you merely lost it by becoming this." A backwards slash, as the limb of meat and bone slammed through the space where Sonos once was. His mind buzzed, eyes itching at this- his body starting to move swifter as his wounds mended themselves, drawing blood from the eldritch entity in front of him- and revitalizing himself with it's very essence. He was just as bad as they were, yet his purpose was far different- his body a temple for the deity who made him so, theirs a bastardization of it. Perhaps he could be argued to be the true variant of them- yet he cared not, as marrow was shattered with a chandelier. A hammer was pulled off the ground, as he snarled- the great mallet slamming into his foe's face.

At least, what passed for one- it's form shattering, bones cracking and screeching in the night air. A moment's pause, before he broke away- allowing the newfound allyto step in.

The Paladin was no fool. The Indomitable burst forwards, his speed unlike the Paladin's- yet his strength was undeniable. Every blow of his shook the building, as the Paladin would harry and rip apart the flesh of the lesser one, the Potential of the Indomitable and Paladin shredding the Royal to it's knees. Domcyles Von Hemshurst fell- along with the memory.


[ ABILITY RANK ACHIEVED. ]

Sonos snapped away- his head suddenly blurring with new information, new allies- his breath back and sturdy. He would glance at the two fighting, before making his way over to Shibala- offering a hand to help her up to her feet. "We can't stay here long, obviously but...let's gather materials from this place. Plenty of steel to outfit ourselves with, to say the least. I figure that we could get a decent price for what's here...and we need to talk to the one that the Agents were targeting." He'd give a small nod of his head in Rhydian's direction- who, at the time, was looting a dagger off one of the Agents.

"Gather Silen. I'll split the trio fighting for now, and if you can- see about talking to the other party members at the moment. We need to work together, to say the least." Sonos would plant his feet when Shibala pulled on him. "That way, we can sort ourselves out to ensure that whatever just happened didn't affect us too severely, past the fact that our wounds are fully healed..." He'd trail off- after he pulled up the woman, he would give her a brief smile- and make his way over towards the bickering duo. "Oi! Brawler, Mage!" He'd snarl out, allowing the duo to focus fire on him before anything else.

"The Mage had his right to flee at that point- we were hopelessly outgunned against the Agents. Brawler, harass him later since we don't know what the hell we'll encounter out here. If you want to encounter another thing like that monster and we're not at full strength, I'm certain we'll have a bitch of a time. Understand? We're only what, copper rank? So take a deep breath and let's sort our differences- also remember to thrice damned loot the corpses here for their steel...and gather the hero tags and put them into a satchel. We'll return them to the Guild in the Leven Kingdom capital. And you, prissy Princess, if you want to try and shove that stick up anyone, I'll show you how to break it in half." He'd kick up a catalyst off the ground- one capped with steel, and shunt it into the vampire's hands. "Use that instead of the shattered twig you've got."

Interacting: NyxNightmare TheImmortalDeity Lo Mayn

 

[LokiPokie]

Silen
(thank you nyx for the character portrait)
​

Through clamped eyelids, a heavy light pressed against Silen’s sight. It was bright, but somehow cold, and sterile. He wanted to shrink away from its persistent beam, but he was frozen there, exposed like film. Despite his aversion to the image, an inverted shadow, the stain on his conscience bled copiously into his vision. Its form waxed more towards clarity as he hesitated though, and the weight of the punctured picture only grew alongside its transparency, so, reluctantly, he released his resistance to the inevitable recognition of a hand, led by an arm, and, at its crux, the body. He could see it laid there, still, unsettlingly static. There was no doubt of death’s pale reflection in that figure, but, when he really looked, something seemed to remain yet. Nothing should have, or has ever, remained. He tried to scream, again and again to no avail. Instead, his voice rippled across the prior silence with an unwillingly calm hum. It was no idle tune either, but a well content song. When his nerves fired to run, he only hovered intolerably closer to the preserved idol of terror, matching its embodied glare with an unblinking scrutiny that soldered a starker impression in his retina with every taken step. Then, he spoke.

“He has killed the man, the wretched thing.
“He failed, his purpose left unfulfilled,
“As is the flaw of all flesh to...-”

Just as he felt his eyes would surely sear past future function, Silen finally looked away as he monologued in another direction. Even with the awful length of time he had spent staring at the infernal object, he could not describe it beyond a corporeal shape and its horrible luminescence. Whatever, or apparently whoever, it was could only be discerned by the man Silen possessed in this dream. After all, this was only another fever dream since his concussion, which, with time, would hopefully end as it always did with a strange man beside him or a fire roasting beneath him. He could already smell the burning meat greeting his waking mind. A majestic hero had come to save him from his nightmare with a breaker’s feast. No, that last part sounded as though it was from another conversation.

“-too much of a risk,” said a new voice, a woman.

“What of it? Are you afraid that my associates will be poor company for one with your level of devotion?”

“You’re an immature opportunist, incapable of seeing a world outside his power fantasy. I doubt you even trust yourself.”

With that much said, she left, leaving him to laugh awkwardly to himself and the glowing object. While Silen was left unsure of what spurred her sharp retaliation, her words made his skin crawl. Further than dissociation, he was repulsed by the body he inhabited. It was alarming to think that his mind could even conjure up this sort of interaction, though he was somehow aware that there was truth in everything he witnessed. Still, he could not understand why the people of his dreams were so unrecognizable. There had definitely been someone in front of him. He had gone so far as to exchange dialogue with her, and yet he had no memory of her identity or appearance. As he thought this, her very voice receded into obscurity, leaving only the vaguest impression of a character.

“Damned witch.”

There was something uncanny about this vision that left him completely dissatisfied. A better word may be disturbed. Through the entire experience, he felt more powerless than he did in life already, and how he behaved was always so contrary to his usual self. When he dwelled on that, he recalled the faint memory of a similar dream he had earlier on in his journey with Sonos and Shibala, but its details were intangible as he reached across his mind for them. Fading fast, he struggled in the spot he slept to keep a hold of some matter he had reflected on, but the sounds of others moving about would tether him from further pursuit. In his waking daze, a worm managed to wriggle over his face, reminding him of his last presenting memory.

“A HERO! A HERO’S TOUCH IS UPON ME!”

 

[TheImmortalDeity]

Hatch

​

Another kick shot into Berlin’s abdomen, Hatch’s toes curling under his ribs with an uncanny force behind it. Why is this dogshit still alive, anyway? he thought as he wound up for another strike. Mindlessly, he aimed to continue the relentless bashing, unfazed by the helpless groans that Berlin made. It was a surprise to Hatch when the sparkle of flames combusted in front of him, not expecting there to be any fight left in the magician. With great force, the explosion shot him backward, not having time to raise his defenses as he suddenly lost his footing.

He was floored, dumbstruck as his back collided with the dirt, the air forced out of his lungs. He coughed a few times, the familiar smell of singed hair filling his nose. As he picked himself up, the excitement was visible in the countenance of the malicious soldier. The reaction Berlin gave was unanticipated, but it was what Hatch wanted. As he shot to a standing position, Hatch cracked his knuckles. Berlin had turned away from him in anguish, expecting them to put off the fight for a later time due to all the attention they had drawn to themselves. Instead, Hatch rushed past Camila and went straight for Berlin in a blind rage as the group’s words fell on deaf ears, his eager fist colliding with their cheek as it went off with a pop.

“Where was all that bravado earlier, you wimp!?”

Even though he faltered slightly, the mage didn’t fall. Hatch recognized a glimpse of wickedness coming from them before they, too, lurched at him. With a raised hand, Berlin dragged his palm across Hatch’s face, leaving a streak of red along his jaw. Through tears, the man was frustrated, sick of being harassed. He then grabbed at Hatch, trying to wrestle him to the ground in a floundered attempt. Did they think they had any chance of overpowering him?

A heavy shove shrugged the caster off him as Berlin’s feet scraped against the dirt. The struggle in Berlin’s actions reflected a piece of Hatch that he never wanted to recognize about himself; weakness. Was this how disappointing he looked to others? Did that man with the bunny face see such a pitiful display as he struck him down? His speculation fueled his malice. Having a running start, he headed for Berlin to clash again.

Quickly, Berlin had raised his hand to eye level, the sense of cornered prey radiating from him. As his fingers became encased in heat, a fireball left his touch, hurled at Hatch without remorse. The barbarian didn’t hesitate. As his brows scrunched forward, he arced his arm back as his many muscles tensed up. In an undeterred effort, he punched the magic with all his might, the focused energy dispelled from the wicked impact.

The skin all along his arm was scorched, reaching up to his shoulder. It was burned a deep red, a sizzling hiss coming from the wound. Hatch kept running. As Berlin stared in shock at his determination, the large man pounced on them, pushing them both to the ground. Hatch’s knees were on either of Berlin’s arms, keeping him pinned as the two locked eyes. Then Hatch struck him in the temple with his good arm.

Ferociously, Hatch battered down Berlin with one hand. Wicked in nature, he had devolved to no more than a beast as blood stained his unyielding fist. He still saw himself in Berlin, powerless and frail. He wished to beat it into submission, to rid himself of those cowardly flaws. Fingers pried at the air as the slightest shimmer of sparks had started to form in Berlin’s grip. They held as the punches rained down, but soon after, with a defeated drop, the embers subsided. In erratic breaths, Hatch stopped, wondering why there was no retaliation. As he did so, the answer became clear.

Laying before him was a face covered in bruises, puffed in agony as blood dripped from their nose and mouth. Yet, beyond that, there was a face of abandonment. Uncaring eyes staring off into the distance, waiting for the assault to be over. They had the chance to fight back, to continue to rip at each other with tooth and nail, but this man had decided to give up. It was no longer a fight. Berlin had no will.

“So that’s your response, huh?” Hatch muttered as he dismounted the other, satisfied with the outcome. He went to walk past them before stopping short to turn his head, his voice raised. “You are no pactborn. There’s not a shred of pride in that flimsy excuse of morals you cling to. Try to run again and it won’t be the enemy that gets to you first, you spineless pushover. The same goes for the rest of the trash here. Keep coddling each other like weaklings do, but don’t involve me in that shit. Get in my way and I’ll fucking kill you all the same.”

NyxNightmare HTCOR Lo Mayn Eldritch Goat youngmanrhys LokiPokie

 

[youngmanrhys]

Rhydian Garefs


One step followed another, the sound of grass crunching beneath the weight of his boot would've perhaps been
deafening had the others not begun to wake. He'd hoped that most of them would remain in a slumber; that exhaustion would continue to bite at their eyelids and grant him the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. To gather the inventory of fallen men and his own bearings and stow away into the night. Rhydian hadn't been eager to associate himself with anyone else— not after Miranda and Haygriff and how their lives became forfeit due to the ramblings of a coward. A coward who abandoned him for dead, and scorned the very ones who idolized him for the leader they thought he was. Anger gripped his heart and fueled thoughts of sorrow and rage at his mere name, Oda Nobunaga. He was the only one strong enough among them to contest against a man like The Bunny; yet he valued his own life more than that of his comrades. A man who held such principles was already dead in the archer's eyes. If not by his own weakness, then by his arrow that'd eventually would wedge into flesh.

The whispering words of the older man caught the attention of Rhydian, and in response to the mere mention of him, he returned a narrowed gaze. Eyes that were hazel like a forest floor, but the animosity within his pupils ran deep. Distance, something that members of the company desired to close with him while the archer thought the opposite. Most of them hadn't even lasted a mere second in the fight against the Agents— and that hadn't even included the assassin. Nay, most of them had struggled to stand their ground against the will of meager men, and their lack of unity likely led to their downfall long before the enemy reached them. Something he could assess from the squabbling that arose to be louder than he'd hoped for. Irritation coupled alongside grief and sorrow, for the frustration at their idiocy only compromised his own survival.

A fervent desire for his deceased comrades birthed from his heart, a feeling that had been suppressed ever since he watched them fall. Rhydian shattered his gaze with the human man, as if refusing to let him or any other catch a glimpse of the dread that haunted him. His right palm raised, fingers tugging at the top of his hood to cast a darker shadow over where eyes would've been seen. A tear, singular, streamed down his cheek and soaked into the bandana wrapped around the lower half of his face. Why? Why had he been too weak to prevent his friends— no, his family from an easily avoidable death? Why was he not able to sway the minds of his comrades from their rash decisions? Had he been stronger— had he been more persistent, then perhaps they might've lived now. He would've shared the moonless night hand-in-hand with Miranda, and shared a pint of ale with brothers who had saved his life time and time again; just as he had theirs.

Another emotion was hidden among his grief. It wasn't anger, but betrayal. Oda had forsaken them to a fate that he imagined even the most skilled of men would struggle to find hope within. Rhydian couldn't fathom the reasons why— not after the memories they all had shared. The countless battles each of them had prevailed through, and the trust that formed between them all. A bond Rhydian thought unbreakable, but it was so easily shattered by a terrifying menace who disguised himself in the mask of a rodent.

There were far too many questions, and yet, the answers to them were far from his reach. With a single wipe of his finger, he wiped the evidence of his tears away from his face. A bit more of fidgeting adjusted his new, light armor-set in place over his chest. A plate that was flexible enough to allow him room to both breathe and maintain agility— he had never understood how knights like Haygriff were able to clad themselves in heavy, rather raucous attire.

"A HERO! A HERO'S TOUCH IS UPON ME!"

A statement that would've been amusing if it wasn't for what happened thereafter. The sound of blows being traded resonated through the night air, and by the time he had turned to acknowledge its origin he fell privy to the sight of the large pactborn in tattered clothing thrusting blows into the cheek of the white-haired mage. A mage who refused to fight back— be it out of respect for his comrade, or his lack of ability to contest against a behemoth of a warrior. Callous, that one was, and how bold his talk had been when he had been no better than the rest of them— and one of the ones to nearly die hopelessly with the belief he was more than he actually was.

Rhydian, at first, ignored his words. The prideful talk of an ignoramus was of no used to him. Especially one who, from what he had seen, barely pulled his weight in battle. What good was strength if he didn't have the strength or intellect to truly use it? A pactborn that relied far too much on his ego. A pactborn that, had he not covered his guard from before, would've been beyond saving. He sauntered towards the campfire, along the way he acquired arrows to refill his quiver— some lesser, wooden shafts, but nonetheless were enough to puncture a head if it came down to it. The archer settled by the fire for a moment to pull his gloves off, and let the bare skin of his palms be warmed by the flickering flames.

That is until he heard foolish words from the garrulous man.

"... The same goes for the rest of the trash here. Keep coddling each other like weaklings do, but don't involve me in that shit. Get in my way and I'll fucking kill you all the same."

Rhydian scoffed, and that soon evolved into light laughter. One that earned him the attention of the others present. It was the first they'd heard him speak— and for some, the first they had even noticed his presence. He thought to keep silence at first, but with gazes still lingering towards him, he broke it, if only temporarily.

"... Bold, proud words from a man who barely held his own in the battle before. The only one here that I saw that didn't have their face buried in the dirt was the horned woman over there." The archer pulled his gloves back over his palms, then rose to his full, tall height, and adjusted the bow slung over his shoulder. "Don't speak to anyone here as if you're better than them. You're not. Look at the tag that dangles from your neck, and the insecurity that leaves your lips with every syllable. You're just as weak, if not, weaker than everyone else here. Quit talking so smug, and be grateful you still have comrades alive and well. Comrades that were willing to fight at your side despite your piss-poor attitude. How big of a child are you?"

Rhydian's voice was profound, and the deep tones that were laced along every word struck their ears as if it were the string of a bass. None could see his face, but the confidence in which he carried himself in had been enough to give surety to his words. A sigh left him, and with a few strides, he stopped at the side of the one who'd been beaten to a pulp. He knelt, and offered his hand— yet the two simply locked eyes. A look of which he couldn't tell was of hatred or of pain. He stared at the beaten face of a broken man; one who had a memory too, and that memory had been heartbreaking for him to witness; an assessment told of him by the tears that stained his cheeks. Rhydian wasn't one to console or coddle, but the archer gripped the edge of his cloak and tore off a sizable piece of the cloth. He pressed it to the mage's chest, then nodded. "Wipe yourself clean, and," he turned, look cast over the rest of the company and rose to his feet, "if any of you hold a cleric's gift for mending. Heal his wounds.

".. You all are comrades. You are all you have— it irritates me so to see you all bickering as if you were children. This world isn't your own domain, no matter who you were or who you think you are. If you aren't careful, you'll die. If you burn down bridges before you cross them, you'll die. Know that now, and tread through Isoroppia with caution."

He then locked eyes into the leer of the pactborn pulsating with muscle, and without any fear, spoke, "Or you'll die an early death. Take these words from a stranger, or ignore them."

Their arguments struck a nerve within him, and it was likely because he had lost everyone he had known such a short time ago. Those he surrounded himself currently took that for granted, and that to Rhydian was unacceptable.

He had said his piece, and his opinion had been known. A voice of caution in the back of his mind told him he had spoken too much— but what did he care? He'd never see them again.

Rhydian kept a watchful eye towards his back, wary of both monsters and perhaps a retaliation from some of the more emotionally unstable warriors— but his feet kept a steady pace.

A pace that was leading him towards that kingdom.

____________________________________________

Lo Mayn LokiPokie TheImmortalDeity HTCOR Eldritch Goat NyxNightmare​

 

[HTCOR]

Sonos​

Sonos would, after allowing the 'Priestess' to have her catalyst, gesture to the fallen Mage. "Help him, if you can. He needs at least one bone reset including his nose, and I'm going to need a mending touch- if you've got one- for this. Tell me now, if you can't. Mending bones isn't something I can do on my own, but I can shift the bones to at least mend properly." A sigh, as the Archer spoke- his irritation raising for a moment, before it descended. Grief made people act odd, to say the least.

A deep breath, before he glanced back at the Pale Priestess. "I never got your name, ma'am." There was a undercurrent of venom for an odd reason, as he yanked a knife- forged from steel- from a corpse. He seemed fairly disgruntled to have even asked her- a bit of aggression as he stripped the corpse of it's knife scabbard.

After waiting for her brief response, he would glance over at the Pactborn standing there, being grump incarnate. "Anything else you wish to say?" He'd ask with a voice lacking emotion. "Or would you rather step back, and let the professionals do their work?" The answer came in a form of satisfied silence, to which Sonos grunted once in discontent, before turning towards the surroundings.

Fire from the wreckage crackled in the background, the sounds of animals drifted back into existence- even a few curious critters could be seen along the treeline. His attention drifted along them for a moment, pausing for a brief half-second on each living creature that was there, before finally returning his attention to the Mage. His eyes were filled with a small piece of pity- those kind of wounds were exactly what he had earlier, and it was none the less painful to know that the Mage wouldn't be in good condition for a while if the Priestess couldn't heal him in full.

A sigh escaped him, before he glanced over at Shibala and Silen- visually confirming their condition in comparison to the Mage's- they seemed relatively alright- before he would make his way over to the bloodied fellow.


Interacting: TheImmortalDeity NyxNightmare
Mentioned: Lo Mayn youngmanrhys LokiPokie Eldritch Goat

 

[Eldritch Goat]

Shibala'Negi

After taking Sonos’ hand and getting back on her feet, she pushed her ruminations about her vision to the back of her mind so she could instead focus on waking Silen. Silen was a...strange boy, but he was ultimately harmless in Shibala’s eyes and for the most part he seemed quite adept at keeping himself out of any fighting, so he didn’t feel like baggage. Shibala’s pale fingers were only centimetres away from gripping the goat boy’s forearm and giving him a firm yank upward, before he let out his sudden outburst right next to her. Needless to say she was a little shook, at first thinking he was still injured somehow, but no, Silen was just being...weird as per usual. She made some attempt to silence him, lifting him to his feet and pushing her fingers to his lips, but his little outburst had already caught everyone’s attention and had somehow pried an...irritating fit of laughter from Rhydian, who then saw fit to give a little speech.

Perhaps in his own little head he thought he was complimenting Shibala when he mentioned her, but her opinion of the man hardly changed, she didn’t know him at all and he seemed rather useless from her point of view, all he really did was clean up the small fry, only to be beaten in an instant when an actually competent foe faced him. Once Rhydian was done she helped Silen up and asked him to stay by Sonos. Silen had his uses, but his eccentricity often came off more as childishness, that along with his height and their rather similar features, made Shibala feel like some kind of step-mother to him...which felt rather odd.

With Silen dealt with, she could turn her attention and likely her ire, towards the braindead bully and his cowardly prey. Sonos had already said his piece to Hatch, but Shibala had her own bone to pick with him, if they were to become allies, this brute needed to stop trying to snap the mage in half, but her intentions weren’t out of any like or respect for Berlin, these two seemed more like tools, tools that had yet to prove their worth to her.

Shibala made her approach, whistling for the brute's attention before piercing his personal space and glaring up at him. Despite the height difference she held her ground but manage to keep herself from directly insulting the man for now.

“Put a leash on it. Keep beating on the mage like that and he won’t be of any use to anyone.”

The horned girl glanced over in Berlin’s direction as she spoke, all three eyes lacking emotion, glazed over and uncaring for his whatever state he might've been in. She had no reason to care, these two had done nothing but irritate her, if Hatch saw her request as a challenge then he’d likely get a better fight out of Shibala than he’d ever get picking on Berlin, but he likely wouldn’t come out of it with his eyes intact.

TheImmortalDeity NyxNightmare HTCOR Lo Mayn youngmanrhys LokiPokie ​

 

[LokiPokie]

Silen
​

Have you ever thought about how it would feel to wake up to the face of a beautiful girl? I think that everyone has, and I can get why. See, I’m not picky, but after having the worst nightmare of my entire life, my first conscious moment was being nearly strangled to death by a three-eyed, four-horned, screaming pink-haired people eater! I was traumatized. Yet it was somehow familiar… Mother?

Just as this thought passed through Silen’s mind, so too did it peek through his lips. In a moment that would surely pave way for the strangest interactions of their future cooperation, Silen called Shibala his mother. This was not the lowest moment of his humble life, but it was surely the steepest fall in a long time. Something in her expression, surprise or disgust, made him sorry to be her poor excuse for a teammate. As she awkwardly sent him to Sonos, he knew that his fate as a reputable hero, a hero like the cool masked man from before, was a fate now forfeit. Surely, he thought, no other member of their party had suffered as much on this day as himself.

That was until he saw the state Berlin was in. From one look, it was clear that the man was defeated in both body and soul. To think that, only a few seconds ago- That I was the only one hurt? It was more difficult to look at the broken pactborn now than it was to hide the worm from earlier in his mouth. After all, it would have been awkward to have a worm crawling over one’s mouth when talking to someone, and it wasn’t like he knew it was a worm at the time. No, no, he had mistaken it for the finger of that dreamy hero up until he felt how it wriggled when he… This was definitely not making his case any better. It was grossly self-centered to consider just one’s own pain, or one’s own pride, in light of the lives they only held onto by the mercy of… ~Him~. Truly, everyone could learn a little lesson from the worm in Silen’s mouth. The situation may have been precarious, dark and slimy, but there is strength in even the smallest resistance. If the most that can be done is merely live, then so be it. In spite of the despair, they might be capable of no more than merely squirming in their fleshy prison, but, like a worm, their presence is an act of rebellion in every wiggly way. The worm was revolution, and it was hope. Silen knew what he had to do to reignite Berlin’s dignity. As he walked with Sonos into the young pactborn’s field of vision, he kneeled down in front of him. With a solid line of eye contact, he pulled the worm from his mouth and into his palm, offering it to Berlin.

“This is you,” he said, tearing up. “This is you.”

 

[Lo Mayn]

Berlin A. Malkuth​

"Reflection"​

Berlin thought afterward, that within the barreling moments of a fight, distractions, voices, and bodies moving could obviously lead to stray hits landing without preparation. The crowd of Camila, Sonos, Shibala, and Silen had gathered, unknowingly hiding Hatch with their presence. Berlin hadn’t seen Hatch coming through the crowd, he was too embarrassed by his outburst and the attention it had gathered which drove him to look away. He hadn’t believed Hatch would continue, perhaps, it could have ended right there. But when the hit came, it set Berlin over the edge. When the fist connected, Berlin was not sure whether it was his bones or Hatch’s power that created the popping sound that followed.

“Where was all that bravado earlier, you wimp!?” Hatch lashed.

At that moment, a sinister glare corrupted Berlin’s face, the type of glare that looked like a bull readying itself to kill, filled with utter rage and hatred.

“Where was this strength when your damned arm was cut?” Berlin said.

Berlin’s anger fueled him as he slapped Hatch’s face, the clap of skin and skin would be felt by on-lookers, meanwhile frustrated tears streaked down Berlin’s cheek. He growled and launched. Open hands pushed against Hatch, but the pact born, a sturdy monster of pure muscle, enjoyed the contact- It was Hatch’s favorite game. And Berlin knew this well, but he could not resist.

It took only one shove from Hatch to send Berlin sliding then stumbling back. Miniature weak explosions puffed from Berlin, as he watched the distaste grow in Hatch’s eyes. Berlin asked himself, What did Hatch expect to see? Berlin only knew how he saw the man. Disgraceful. Weak. Out of control. Whatever existed within Hatch could only be the darkest recesses of a man, sins and vices must run rampant like blood within his veins, Berlin thought, and he could not stand it. Hatch had to face reality by his own hands. The beast of man took the first charge.

Within three steps Hatch would be upon him with a heavy raised fist. Berlin’s explosions grew within his hand to a loose flame before molding into a ball as the hand came eye level and shot. Hatch reacted quickly, shouting with his body his determination and anguish. With a dragged step, he leaned back before launching a fist into the fireball. No blast came, rather the force was lost as the flames engulfed Hatch’s arm. But. He did not stop there. Hatch’s next step landed. And as Berlin finally understood the heart within the pact born, Hatch leaped onto Berlin. The cool tough earth did not shake nor even crumble under the two’s weight, rather Berlin took the full force and nearly cried out but he held his tongue as the first punch came.

Berlin’s nose shattered upon impact, rocking his head to the side. Again, flames danced amongst Berlin’s fingertips. It would be so easy to blow this man straight off of him, ridding Berlin of this weight on his chest. But as Berlin righted his head and another fist struck his lip, the question grew. How could this weight leave him, truly? Similar to a fist which shocked Berlin’s nervous system came the shock of his ideals. Berlin recognized the monster within Hatch, but he could not pin it down. Who did he see in Hatch’s body and actions? The screams from Berlin’s memories shot to mind as did seeing his reflection in the blood. Was Berlin himself any different? His head smacked against the ground from the force of another hit. The warmth of Berlin’s mother was long gone in a twist of irony. “Berlin, my little demon.” Berlin wondered, why did everything have to end with fire? Berlin’s gaze focused on a tree, still alive and green, in the distance. His palms fell with no retaliation. Let the fists rain. There would be no burning today. Yet, to Berlin’s surprise, the hits ended.

“So that’s your response, huh?” A defeated Hatch questioned.
Through hacked spits and coughs of blood, Berlin’s words came clear. “I am not you.”
“You are no pact born,” Hatch spat, “There’s not a shred of pride in that flimsy excuse of morals you cling to.”
“I never asked,” Gasped Berlin, “To be one.”
“Try to run again and it won’t be the enemy that gets to you first, you spineless pushover…”
“So, it shall be.”

The rest of Hatch’s words became a blur akin to Berlin’s sight as Berlin pulled himself into the fetal position. Each inhale elicited a groan and a claw at his torso, and every other exhale triggered a cough, an out spilling of blood. None of his cries, however, hid the sound of boots approaching.

A man of considerable strength despite his lean form stepped close. Berlin had heard small nothings spoken by someone unfamiliar, Berlin guessed that voice belonged to this man. Whatever this man’s words were felt as though they betrayed the sentimentality of his outstretched palm and the disconsolate quality to his gaze. Under the pressure of his pain, Berlin’s mind was filled with anguish. This man had been in the same situation as them, yet he held onto an air of interminable confidence. It had been very easy for Berlin to think that he could hate this man, who perhaps could and would always look down on them. Berlin refused the hand, trying to use his actions to scream, "can’t you see I’m in pain?" The thumping in Berlin’s head grew to real devastating pain, as though the already existing hurt, a quick-pace banging on two bongos before was not to be considered real in the face of the skull-splitting earthquakes that rocked him. He could not take the attention, and following Rhydian came Silen with a worm.

If Berlin were to describe his attitude towards Silen in phallic terms, he would’ve originally found the half-man half-bovine creature semi-erect, however now, he found Silen indescribably flaccid. Berlin was uninterested and at that moment, Berlin, who rolled over onto his back, forgot all about the archer and cow creature, and cried out, “Camila… Please.”

Interacted: TheImmortalDeity NyxNightmare LokiPokie youngmanrhys / Mentions: HTCOR Eldritch Goat

 

[NyxNightmare]

[class=Notes] // Forward slashes are comments and do no show up in the final design, these are to help you find everything easily and explain some code as well. These comments must be with in a class or script tags in order to be hidden, from what I know// // Long URls are images # followed by letter and numbers are Hex codes or color codes.// // This code does not show breaks unless is shows the
code When typing responses to rps, be aware that when you press enter it will not show that you did. You'll have to use the
tags// [/class]

[class=Notes] Above is the background Color and border. The base of the code if you will Below vvv is the border for the Image [/class]

Camila I Interacting: Sonos HTCOR Berlin Lo Mayn Silen LokiPokie I Mentioned: Hatch TheImmortalDeity Rhydian youngmanrhys Shibala Eldritch Goat I

Hatch brushed right past Camila as if she were a mere flea. And, maybe she was, given the massive size difference between the two heroes. Her blood boiled, the steam threatening to scald whoever chose to wrong her next. Berlin's predicament was lost to her as a gruff voice made its way to molest her ears. Prissy Princess? I'm nothing less than a QUEEN. Camila's onslaught of insults was delayed by the laughter of a stranger. Who was this man? Another human. Perhaps he would make for a scrumptious (for Doug) snack. Better than the human who just shoved another useless stick into her hands and called her prissy. But alas, she spoke too soon.

The man had created a campfire out of nowhere. Camila blinked her eyes twice in disbelief. This human was blessed with creation magic? No, no. It must have always been there. However, she could only now feel the rays of warmth on her skin. A campfire in broad daylight? I might lose some brain cells drinking from a campfire magician like that. The woman had barely noticed the time of day since awakening from her nightmare. She was positive it was nearing sunset when the group made their way into the cryptic woods. Yet, here it was, bright as a day could ever be. Perhaps within the forest existed its own plane of time? Or, did one of their enemies fancy time manipulation? Whatever the cause, it didn't feel like morning. The vampiric women still felt every bit as sleep-deprived.

The aura of annoyance seeped through her skin once again as the human stranger directed her heal Berlin. That was once. The other human beside her only further entertained the idea. That was twice. Twice she had been practically ordered to heal the poor mage by HUMANS. Her brows furrowed at the notion. And when prompted for her name, she gave a faux smile, not bothering to hide the tension on her face. "I thought you already decided that on your own when you called me prissy princess. But it's Camila, named after the religious servant of the almighty themself." Dropping her act, she steadily walked over to the already surrounded half-demon on the ground.

Camila was thankful for the she-demon's taunts toward Hatch. At least then, Berlin would be out of harm's way. She should have felt more sympathetic to her protector, but she couldn't be. Only pity flooded her gaze. He was such a fragile creature. That's it, cry more. Cry until-
The vampire's thought was interrupted by the soyboy. Sauntering up with a worm in his palm, he proceeded to proclaim its existence on the same wavelength as Berlin. "What." Was all that could escape Camila's lips. She had never truly been at a loss for words. IS he the worm? Oh, my God. He IS the worm??? No. This could not do. He would have to toughen up. "Please isn't enough in a cruel world such as this." Her words were cold, but she knelt down beside him anyway. Camila watched the exhausted and pained expression on Berlin's face. His white hair reminded her of her brother. And, for a brief moment, she was ready to sock him a good one. Bringing her hand up to his forehead, a soft light emerged from her palm. "Think of this as a mercy for not leaving me behind earlier. I've clotted the blood and dulled the pain for now. It'll return later. A real man needs some scars, hmm?" Camila could heal all of Berlin's physical wounds, but not the one that plagued him most. The wounds in his mind were untouchable, even for someone as magnificent and gifted as herself.

Having aided Berlin at all tired her further. Choosing to spare her servant, she turned to chomp on the nearest piece of meat to recharge. Silen. Her fangs sank into the very arm he used to hold the worm up.

Code by AgWordSmith

 

[TheImmortalDeity]

Hatch

​

As the morning sun cast its rays on Hatch's skin, a sense of accomplishment washed over him. The annoying tick of his vexation had subsided from the depths of his being, replaced by an overwhelming sense of superiority. As he watched the mage squirm in pain, Hatch found it impossible to hide the glee that sauntered over his features. While it was shameful to see another one of his kind portray such a feeble act, he felt that the message he gave them was crystal clear. They had been disowned, no longer seen as kin in the eyes of the burly figure. His honor as a pactborn was no longer at risk of being tarnished by the shortcomings of one such as them. Not anymore.

His joyous mood didn't last long. From the corner of his periphery, a man seemed to materialize from thin air. They adorned an assortment of gadgets and gizmos all along their body, but to Hatch, it looked like some twigs and an oversized wooden clothing hanger at best. At first, the fighter thought nothing of them, mistaking them for a peasant from a nearby village. Then they spoke. At first, Hatch was astonished that a lower lifeform had the gall to speak in front of him, but as they continued to rattle on, it dawned on him that the man had attended the battle within the woods.

There was no recollection of them from what Hatch recalled. He guessed they were too insignificant to have made any memorable impact on him. They had much to say, but similar to the wind between them, it all blew past Hatch without a second thought. Another buzzkill to ruin the fun, Hatch thought, drowning their voice out. He was not in the mood to listen about the importance of friendship, the mere thought giving the pactborn secondhand embarrassment. The only remarkable thing that Hatch took from Rhydian was how they were capable of keeping a straight face after admitting how powerless they were without support from those stronger than them. Such was the mindset of lowly humans that were forced to rely on items rather than their inner strength to survive.

As the archer began to walk away, Hatch simply clicked his tongue, happy to be rid of such a bothersome individual. It was then that Sonos caught his attention.

"Anything else you wish to say? Or would you rather step back, and let the professionals do their work?"

In all honesty, Hatch never pinned the apple thrower as the caring type. He remembered Berlin and him being at each other's throats before entering the woods, so what brought up this change of heart? It didn't matter. Not saying anything, Hatch took a step back, allowing them to tend to the mage. There was a moment where Hatch, once again, was able to bask in his handiwork, the spluttering Berlin now begging for Camila. Then the demonic goat woman approached him. They had been in this same position before, with her eyeing him down and telling him what to do. This time, however, he didn't feel any resentment towards her. He was relieved to see someone with some backbone, unlike Berlin.

"You act as if he was useful up to this point. If he can't take a small beating like this, then he was never meant to be on the battlefield." He went to raise his burned arm but then hesitated, lowering it and bringing up his other, untouched, hand. Playfully, he flicked her forehead, right between the triangle that her three eyes created. This woman, despite her otherworldly form, had a similar air that reminded Hatch of himself. Even if she wasn't nearly as splendid as he was, there was no harm in keeping someone like them around. "It's decided, then," Hatch said, not knowing which eye to look her in. "From now on, I permit you to join my fan group, the 'Hatchlings'. You get the privilege of watching me beat the crap out of everything and be privy to all of my glorious accomplishments firsthand. Not everyone gets this chance of a lifetime. You must feel so lucky."

A pat on the head sealed the deal, Hatch being wary not to touch her horns. He didn't know where they had been. He planned to introduce her to the rest of his self-proclaimed worshippers, but as his eyes wandered over to Camila, anger filled his gaze. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING BITING MY GOURMET MEAL, BRITTANY." Stomping over with his meaty legs, a colossal hand curled around the entirety of Camila's head, his damaged one placed on Silen's forearm while he forcefully ripped her godforsaken teeth from his prey's body. With a shove, he grunted, a snarl in his voice. "You go around sucking every damn thing you see, you whore! Don't you understand the first thing about a proper meal, you dumb bitch?"

Silen dangled loosely in Hatch's grasp, raised enough to the point where his hooves were unable to touch the ground below him. In some deranged form of retaliation, he began to wiggle in the air like a worm, saying "Look, for I, too, can be a hero!"

"Food isn't meant to speak," Hatch muttered, slinging the afro child over his shoulder. He then waved for Shibala. "Oi, you! Bring me some spices! I'll show you what a real cook is all about."

NyxNightmare HTCOR youngmanrhys Lo Mayn Eldritch Goat LokiPokie

 

[youngmanrhys]

Rhydian Garefs



____________________________________________​

The winds that carried in from the north brought a chill to the air, frigid enough to rival the icy coating that already began to take hold over his heart.

Fingers pulled at his mask, lowering the fabric from around lips to rest beneath his jaw– all to feel the fresh breeze touch his skin. Coldness Rhydian welcomed, the astute reminder that he was still alive and able to feel. Anything to rid him of the horrific pain that latched itself to him. Anything to subside the newly gained memories of his comrades being slaughtered before him, obliterated beyond recognition with not a single remnant left over for him to cherish. A fate that would’ve met him had Miranda not sacrificed her entire essence for him– something that even now, he felt undeserving of.

​

Rhydian’s breath was steadied, as was every step that pressed into the gravel path. Aside from the wind’s howl, the crunch of his feet echoed around his ears, and the buzzing of insignificant insects fluttered by his figure. That in itself a reminder he hadn’t bathed since the battle, and the rotting smell of death was etched to his garments. Well, that, and a combination of sweat and dirt.

His unsettled emotions of loss were temporarily quelled by the tranquility of his environment. To the left were the Lost Woods, with verdant trees that almost glistened in the beading sunlight– an appreciated sight when one wasn’t being ambushed and slaughtered by pests in masks. On his right were vast plains where few animals roamed but beauteous flowers prospered. Colors of crimson, gold, and lavender all mixed into one, swaying with the growing wind. Beauty that reminded him of home, even if he couldn’t quite picture what home exactly was.

That tranquility was lost by the raucous bickering of the company he’d left behind. Argument blossomed anew after his departure, and the irksome tone of a half-naked pactborn practically echoed for miles on end. Rhydian first was astonished that his words of wisdom had fallen on deaf ears. A mixture of heroes that all had the unfortunate trait of pride, and the even harsher trait of not knowing when to push it aside. A company that was inferior to his last, a lack of synergy that he witnessed on the battlefield. They hardly lasted a second against the mere Agent riffraff, but all still had the gall to carry themselves with confidence. As if they had nothing to learn, and they were a beacon of combat prowess and knowledge.

Though he couldn’t blame their mindset, even if it was foolish. His beginning days in Isoroppia were nothing but the actions of a halfwit. Hardy belief that he could handle any situation alone, but reality hit him hard when monsters unlike he had ever seen before confronted him. Magic to degrees he had never once seen, and the existence of species as intelligent as he, if not more, outperforming him in ways he didn’t think possible. Haygriff was such an anomaly to him– the first elf he had ever seen, and the most sturdy too. Axel Haygriff had saved him from an imminent death on their second mission together, and from that day forward he learned to work as a unit, and not an individual.

Yet here he was contradicting all that he had learned. He was alone in the wilderness, save for the weight of his sins pressing against him with each step. Calcolo slung over his shoulder, daggers hidden within his apparel, and a silver blade strapped to his waist. Truthfully, he was better off than most– an understanding of the world around him, but his very aura made him a target. Even if he were but a Bronze tag, he was still a revered Hero summoned from his time to this one, and that made him exceptionally dangerous. It made him a target, but a damn deadly one.

Deadly enough to warrant the Agents sending one stronger than the Bunny after him. The woman with platinum hair had slipped away, and as did the blonde woman who nearly devastated the party before with ease. One of them would reach word to the rest of their forces, and he alongside the others that survived would be relentlessly hunted until they rested six feet beneath soil. Oda Nobunaga too, was one of the many targets.

A fiendish man he had once considered a friend. One who sentenced them all to death with his foolish decisions in search for glory– glory that appeased to no one aside from himself. One abandoned Miranda Elsgrove after instructing Rhydian to act under the false promise he’d keep the others safe. One who dared to mouth words of sorrow, as he retreated his blade and disappeared into the Lost Woods. One who left him for dead after all Rhydian had done for him. There was no sadness or sympathy that filled his thoughts when the samurai came to mind, but rather, a fierce contempt.

Oda Nobunaga would die by his hand one day, no matter if he attained Adamantine level and he still held the power of a Bronze. This he swore by his very being.

In the far distance, he lay witness to several buildings tall and grandeur. Path of gravel soon shifted into that of cobblestone, connecting from several differing paths into one. Caravans from merchants would merge onto the lone road, along with other groups of heroes returning from their expeditions, and simple travelers that rode on horse-driven chariots towards the great gated wall. It was the capital of Isoroppia, the prime of life, the home of the King, and the residence of some of the most powerful figures to live in this modern era– as modern as it could be.

The Leven Kingdom.

Rhydian found himself smiling, even if slight, before it was hidden by the reaffirmed position of his mask over his face. The same hand that fixed his attire soon adjusted his bow, and stayed steady on it as he pushed onward. He was almost there. Another hour and he’d be safe within the walls of a city. There he’d lay low, take on simple tasks himself until he grew strong enough to handle stronger ones. It would be a new start for him, one that his comrades didn’t have the chance for.

That single thought struck a nerve. Tears gathered in his eyelids, and his heart twisted a million different directions; the bastard feeling of grief taunting him for enjoying a moment. Enjoyment was a privilege lost to him the instant he failed to save Axel and Miranda. His cherished family that would never get a chance to lay witness to the magnificence he saw, that would never be able to take in the breathtaking view of Isoroppia’s lands untouched by madness and decay, and would never obtain the dreams they fervently spoke of. Dreams that he always dismissed, and that would be remorse never forgotten.

He would live for them, and complete their dreams of peace, magic, and glory that they always wanted. Rhydian Garefs owed that to them,

And he always fulfilled his debts.

____________________________________________

Lo Mayn NyxNightmare TheImmortalDeity Eldritch Goat LokiPokie HTCOR

INTERACTING: None. MENTIONED: All.​

​