Fantasy Magic ☆ is Dead

[Saccharine Cyanide]

Elysia -



once a land of magic and wonders beyond imagination, the country is now under the iron grip of an authoritarian military regime. Mages, once gods among men, have been all but eradicated in the name of revolution. The survivors are hunted down like stray dogs by the deadly secret police known as the Peaceguard. Meanwhile, a betrayed and broken king clings to the vestiges of the power he once possessed. It could be that the age of magic and kings has come to an end. But - it's not going down without a fight.

 

[One Mean Ghost]

Every city has its secrets. In this particular bustling town, a prominent trade hub and the capitol, Highmere, there are countless secrets. Every day, underhanded deals take place behind closed doors, and the very lives of people are bought, sold and traded like livestock. It is one of the cities that rose to prosperity rapidly following the so called 'Death of Magic'. Why did it rise to prosperity so quickly? Some attribute it to the fact that this particular city was a favorite for merchants, and after the mages, and by extension their taxes, were eliminated, it rocketed into prosperity to become one of the gems of the New Empire. Others attribute it to its unique districts, each of which catered to a different type of individual, which attracted a far more diverse group of residents than other cities. This led to great strides in architecture, engineering, science, and philosophy as individuals from vastly different walks of life were thrown into the same pot.


Regardless of the reasons for its prosperity, this city was the shining example of what could be accomplished without magic. At least on the surface. As mentioned before, every city has its secrets. Of course, if all of these secrets were to be laid out now, this story would be more of a documentary, and far less entertaining. For that reason, these secrets will be left alone for now, but I'll tease you with one secret, just to get you curious.


In the Entertainment District, there are, as you would expect, theaters, museums, gambling halls, and other such establishments one would seek out for a good time. Most of these establishments had big signs advertising them that could be seen from well down the road with little issue. With all of these places clamoring for attention, it was hard to fathom that other businesses could exist here besides what was on the surface.


Of course, the locals knew better. At least the females did. From the Entertainment District's main thoroughfare, a few turns on some off roads and one turn into a dark alleyway led you to a single metal door in the wall at the end of a dead end. If you knock exactly six times, a slot will slide open, and you will be asked for a password. If you happen to know this week's password is 'Bad Romance', the door will open and you will find yourself looking at a rather imposing gentleman behind the door who will direct you down the stairs.


You see, one of the things quite heavily frowned upon in this city is the human form. Art involving it is highly censored, and, well, as expected it has led to some pent up frustrations. That is why 'The Naked Truth' came into existence. Of course, it's no secret that there are dozens of "Gentlemen's Clubs" scattered throughout the entertainment district, many of them frequented by the very people behind the censorship themselves. What makes 'The Naked Truth' unique is that it is the only "Ladies Club" in the city.


You read that correctly. 'The Naked Truth' is an establishment in which the only men allowed are the workers.


Upon descending the stairs, the smell of sweat and alcohol immediately hits the nostrils, mixed with other scents like perfume. A raised stage against one wall features the various "Exotic Performers" as each takes their turn on the stage. Against the other two walls are bars set up, with shirtless waiters distributing drinks to the various tables scattered around the middle. The lights are dimmed just about everywhere except the stage, but it is still readily apparent that these women come from all walks of life. Some are rather poor, others are incredibly affluent, taking a day away from their husbands to enjoy the eyecandy they wish was waiting for them back home.


Suddenly, above the sound of music that seems to never end, a chant has started among the ladies gathered. It's a stage name, likely one of the more popular performers. This particular performer had something of a following. Several ladies would only come in on the days and times where he was scheduled to perform, which explained why there was only standing room only right now. As the chant grew louder, the name could faintly be understood..


King...


Of course, he wasn't actually a King by any stretch of the imagination, but in terms of eye candy, he was most definitely King. The stagelight focused on him as he walked out onto the stage, a long, regal cape obscuring all but his head, with long hair tied back into a warrior-esque half ponytail and a crown upon his head. Almost from the moment he appeared, the chant began anew with cries of "take it off!" echoing in the dim light. The sound grew almost deafening until at last, his hands rose up and untied the cape, letting it fall away from his shoulders to reveal everything short of the family jewels.


His build was muscular, powerful, to the eyes of the crowd virtually flawless. Even though his body held some scars, for the women here that just added to the allure. It gave him an element of danger. Some women, the ones who were likely dragged here by their more adventurous friends, fainted on sight of him. Others clamored to the edge of the stage, cheering so loud the music could just barely be heard.


And then the actual show began.


Most of his movements were in his hips, moving in perfect time to the music as the women cheered on his every move, eyes completely and utterly glued to his form. Every so often, a daring woman would reach up and touch him, just to cry out and faint from the touch. This, rumors had it, was just the after effect of touching pure perfection. They didn't have a clue what it really was.


His set ran long, as it always did. More often than not he would perform an encore, and an encore for the encore before he was able to slip offstage. By then, money littered the stage to the point designated sweepers had to clear the money off the stage before the next performer could go on.


Behind the stage, Dante sighed to himself as he sat in his dressing room, staring at the mirror. "Another day, another small fortune" he chuckled softly. "And another fresh dose of energy.." he looked at the palm of his hand, feeling the energy he had stolen flowing through him already. This was the real reason why the mage had taken on this line of work. Sure, it was easy and it paid handsomely, but the true reason he had taken it up was because these women willingly gave him their energy, and kept coming back to do it again and again. All things considered, it was the perfect arrangement. He had more than enough energy to handle anything that came his way without ever needing to tap into his own reserves.


He stood up from his seat, taking a swig of water before he dressed himself in his street clothes, last but not least pulling on his black, fingerless gloves. Now dressed, just about everything from the neck down, save his fingertips, were covered to prevent him from accidentally stealing anyone's energy. A knock came at the door, and Dante smirked to himself as he opened it. An older woman smirked up at him, blowing a puff of smoke from a long pipe as she looked up at him.


"Well Mr. King, you did it again. You packed the house and made me a small fortune. As always, here's your cut, with a bonus, since your regulars pretty much paid for all the renovations" She remarked, handing him a rather large pouch filled with the day's pay. He graciously took it with a nod.


"Thank you as always Mistress Caroline. I'll see you next week" He remarked, tucking the money into a pouch inside of his coat. As this was the last day before the weekend, he wouldn't be coming in again until the week started up. Many of his regulars were married, and as such would sneak out when their husbands were away working. Doing shows on the weekend wouldn't bring in nearly as many regulars, and meant lower payouts. So, he generally just worked during the week, and took the weekends off for himself.


With a polite bow, he left his employer behind, walking up the stairs to the special 'performer's entrance' that only employees knew of. It took him out in a different alley, allowing him to escape the facility without being pursued by his more rabid fans. He cautiously looked out of the alleyway, making sure no ladies from 'The Naked Truth' were around, before he stepped out, melding himself into the crowd as he made his way out of the Entertainment District to head to the Shopping District. Unfortunately for him, they were on opposite sides of the city, meaning he had to pass through the Central District, where announcements, hangings, and other boring things took place. For a mage in disguise, it was a place to be avoided as the Peaceguard generally had a strong presence there to protect the nobles who frequented it.


Of course, to go out of your way to avoid it was the fastest way to be accused of being a mage, so that left Dante with little real option. So, for the moment, he had to pass the Central District. It was quite a pain to have to fear for your life just to buy groceries. Hopefully someday he'd be able to change that, but for now, he needed to bide his time. One person couldn't change a nation, after all...


As he walked, he looked to the various buildings he passed by. Even outside of the Shopping district, there were still shops to be found, after all. He didn't know what, exactly, he was looking for, but he had a gut feeling something big was going to happen today. Something that would start a change.. Though what that would be, he didn't have the foggiest idea..

 

[ChiaRoseKuro]

Pallas Katsaros :: Peaceguard




Highmere: the hub of commerce, industry and politics in a land sworn off magic and the archaic, heady with power and heady with self-importance. A normal day saw thousands of its people, whether workers or travellers or other such individuals, milling around and doing what they did. It may not be the cleanest-looking place-- indeed, if Pallas had anything to say about it, she would be more inclined to think it one of the filthiest, on account of the smoke spewing forth like intangible demons of hell-- but it was a place, the place she had called home and life for a good number of years now, and even the faint memories of windswept plains and a decrepit wooden house filled with threadbare smiles and not much else were threatening to fade from her mind altogether. It didn't really matter if they faded or not in the end, though; after all, the memories back there, when her life was consisted of swinging a sword around in between swinging a scythe and other such things, were not ones she treasured anyway.


But memories of here, of standing by as people spat in her general direction or hurried their children along after one quick, terrified glance in her direction... Pallas didn't know if she'd forget them, too, were she to move on elsewhere. Being part of the Peaceguard had been an honour, and it still was; the ceremonial military garb she washed and ironed to within an inch of its life, donned proudly whenever she marched out Blackgate on official duty, and the belief that she was doing her part for the nation, for the king and for his people were just two of the many things she treasured about her job. Making her parents proud, too, was an absolute honour; if she never forgot the way they screamed and cried at her acceptance (yes, even her father, the generally stoic man that he was-- she'd bet he shed more tears than her mother and brother combined the day she'd packed her meagre belongings and left for the capital) then it was, in all probability, expected. Yet when she was standing here, watching the pinched faces of the crowd swimming before her, she couldn't help but wonder if her job really required seeing things she didn't want to see.


The fear. The terror. The abject confusion and disgust and--


Stop it, the firm voice in the back of Pallas' head intoned, the voice that always quelled the little insecurities that the small child, the little girl who never quite saw that stabbing terribly-made straw scarecrows would ever feel quite the same as stabbing a warm, pliant body, less substantial but for the weight of a single transient soul. It was a voice that had grown with the callouses on her hand and the rigid frown so commonly seen on her face in every place but that of her bed, when she smushed her face into the pillow and allowed it to fall into something else, and it was a voice that, like all her other well-honed instincts, always won in the end. Shoving those thoughtless musings into a part of her mind that promptly ejected them, she stood up straighter and tried not to smile at the slightly less frigid Good; now stay focused and do your job right, that echoed in her mind. It would be no good to show anything positive to those watching, after all, not when there was something morbid going on behind her.


Pallas had been told that there was an execution she was to guard; who the executionee was and what crime they committed had not been shared with her, though, being deemed unimportant information. Even if she were to hear a familiar name, like that of her parents or the old uncle who always brought their mail twice a week (was he bald, or did he have whiskers? She could hardly remember anymore), compassion or sympathy would be a sure sign of treason. No, it was better that she did not know a name, and better yet that she did not have to watch the proceedings. Watching a life being taken before her eyes was not something she was unfamiliar with, but watching it in a controlled climate like this was... different. Whether it was a good or bad sort of different was something she needn't find out, and so she didn't.


Her job was simple enough, in Pallas' opinion, notwithstanding any extenuating circumstances that might appear; keep the crowd from surging forward, patrol the area for any signs of mischief-making when one wasn't guarding the crowd or the gallows, and stay vigilant. Currently, she was stationed with a Peaceguard she'd... befriended? Acquainted herself with? mere weeks after she'd been accepted into their ranks, and not being alone before a sea of faces was a small but not insignificant comfort. Goodness knew if Elina's thoughts were as tumultuous as hers, but it was hard to tell when her companion looked as she always did: sharp, alert and ever intense. It made her wonder if risking conversation was really a good idea, given the circumstances.


But nothing was really happening-- had happened, for that matter, despite public executions being quick and spectacular affairs primed to incite no small amount of fear and the impression of the King's and his cabinet's absolute authority-- and Pallas was uncharacteristically unsettled. It seemed a normal enough day, really, and the execution wasn't for anyone famous (if she remembered what scant information she'd been told rightly), but... her hands wouldn't keep still, and her mind refused to empty itself. Unconsciously frowning a little deeper, she snuck a glance in the general direction of where executionees would generally march from, and found it wanting of any such people.


It wasn't suspense, but whatever it was did a great job of making Pallas feel like she wasn't herself.


So, for want of anything better to do, Pallas turned to Elina and softly cleared her throat, before she asked, "Any sign of unrest, comrade Elina?"


( I'll make a banner for Pallas later. maybe. )

 

[Auricula]

Elina Dalca :: Peaceguard




The crowd was stifling, the chattering voices buzzing about in her head. Even the slightest brush against her set off sparks of irritation though her stoic expression wouldn't have clued anyone in on that.. If Elina hadn't known any better, she daresay she was having a hangover. But as it was, she knew today was an important day and refrained from any drinking. It was simply the fact that being out here in her Peaceguard uniform unsettled her. She was used to hiding her presence and slinking in shadows, not featured prominently in her eye-catching uniform. But a job was a job and she had styled herself appropriately to hide as much of her features as possible.


Casually adjusting her cap and pulling it down just a little lower to conceal her hard crimson eyes, Elina surveyed her surroundings. So far, so good, no commotion had occurred. She expected something to happen sooner or later though, what with the public execution that was due.


She continued her patrol with Pallas and observed the citizens around them wryly. Most preferred staying out of their way but she received a rough push on occasion. She didn't let that bother her. Not everyone looked upon the Peaceguards kindly. Which only just reminded her of her parents back home and how much they revered the Peaceguards. It would be startling had she not grown used to it. A small part of her still wished Larisa had continued with training.


Semi-checked out, Elina barely heard Pallas' question amid her clamouring thoughts and loud chatter of the populace. Her gaze flicked to her partner immediately. It was pleasing they were together. Their styles of fighting complemented each other.


"Comrade Elina?" she arched an eyebrow. "I already told you to just call me Elina, Pallas. None so far, however. But be on the alert. Events such as this never go without interference." Be it idiots or people who actually knew what they were doing.


And honestly, she could deal with some action. It had been too long (re: a few days) since she saw silver sinking into red.

 

[Dragon Slayer Arcos]

Shayne McAllistaer: Capital City


Shayne was in the capital for business. He had been ordered to forge several sets of armor for the Peace Guard, and it had taken nearly a week to finish just one set. Of course, no one had specified why the armor was required, since most resistance had been destroyed a while back. Even now, he felt twitchy when it came to being this close to the capital city. Peace Guards were everywhere, he somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt them watching him. Of course, he was just being paranoid, the PG were watching everyone. The city was especially crowded due to the fact there was to be a public execution today of some poor mage that had been caught.


The reality of their world really pissed Shayne off, he had been raised in a time when magic was despised and hated. His family had always worked to nurture Shayne's magic and sense of pride in his ability, but the world outside didn't work that way. He could still hear the screams of his family being murdered by PG that fateful night. Shayne shook his head as he returned to the present. He was crowded, something he detested, and people were murmuring all around him. Some were excited to see another Mage die, some felt like this was wrong, but only said so in hushed tones. Scanning the crowd, he saw something that made his blood boil. A pair of male Peace Guards were harassing a young man. The Peace Guards looked like they were simply lower level grunts, barely out of training. They were shoving the young man, laughing as the guy didn't resist. No one around them said anything.


Grinding his teeth, Shayne tried to turn away. He didn't need to draw attention to himself, not here of all places. That was until he saw the young man pushed to the ground. Growling, Shayne made his way through the crowd, pushing people out of his way with little regard for their comments. Finally he made it to the pair of Peace Guards just as one put his foot on the head of the downed young man. "Have you learned respect yet, boy?" said the one humiliating the kid.


"Seems you haven't," Was all Shayne said before punching the Peace Guard grunt in the jaw with a solid crack, sending him sideways a few steps. Shayne knew he had made a mistake, but he really didn't give a shit. These Grunts were trash, picking on someone for the sake of feeling superior. Shayne reacted as the other Grunt struck out with a steel baton. Shayne let his right arm flow, moving along the trail of the incoming weapon, and grasped the wrist of the Grunt before he made contact. Deflecting the blow with one hand, Shayne struck out with the other, aiming for the solar plexus. A solid strike to that region bent the Grunt low just as Shayne's knee came up, the audible clack of his teeth slamming together could be heard over the din of chatter around them. That was followed by Shayne nimbly spinning around, his right leg shooting out into a vicious roadhouse kick that slammed into the head of the other Grunt as he came in for a sneak attack, laying him flat on the ground. "Next time, I won't go easy on you if I see you pulling this shit again." Shayne said, even as the crowd around him stared dumbfounded.


@Oreocookies @HeartsAbyss @One Mean Ghost

 

[One Mean Ghost]

Of course, you could never just fight a couple of Peaceguards... Not in this city. If one got hit, you suddenly had a platoon descending like enraged ants upon your position.


As Dante walked, he caught sight of a couple of Peaceguard officers 'exercising their authority' on some poor guy that likely had just accidentally bumped into them in the crowded streets. Dante heaved a sigh, shaking his head as his long hair, still tied back in a half ponytail swished with the movements. "I swear, the least they could do is reign in these newbies. The higher ups want to fix their image but these goons keep going right around and screwing it up for them" He murmured to himself as he started through the crowd towards the scene. Now, he didn't much care for any of the Peaceguard, given what they had done to his parents. However, he had enough sense to know that not all Peaceguard were evil. After all, there was propaganda for days about how just and righteous the Peaceguard was and how it 'protected' people from the tyranny of mages. Many genuinely good people joined because they legitimately thought it was a good organization.


However, as a whole, Dante still viewed Peaceguards as nothing but a group designed to commit genocide on a national scale. As much as he wanted to take it down, one mage didn't stand a chance against their whole force. That didn't stop him from knowing when was a good time to check them, and now was an excellent time. Hundreds of witnesses could attest that these two were acting out of bounds, so if he were intervene he would have popular support. In a city dictated by the people's views, popular support could amount to a 'get out of hanging free' card to an extent. Obviously, there had to be some tact involved. You couldn't just waltz in and start beating the living shit out of them. Because of course at that point the Peaceguard can argue that the person intervening crossed the line himself and....


Who the fuck was that?


Dante's eye twitched a little as a single individual confronted the Peaceguards and proceeded to quite soundly beat the living shit out of them. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Clearly the concept of 'tact' was lost on this guy. As the fight concluded, Dante counted down on his fingers. '3....2.....1....'


He could hear the foot stomps of the massive armored man long before he could see him towering over most of the crowed. The sight of him immediately made one wonder just what his mother must have fed him to grow a person whose height almost eclipsed eight feet. Following closely behind him, much like ducks in a line, were a few more Peaceguard officers, whose primary job it seemed was to keep people from getting too close to the big guy.


Dante shook his head. "Somehow... I'm know I'm going to regret this..." He weaved through the crowd, managing to put himself between the upstart and the approaching Giant. He held up his gloved hands, showing that he wasn't intent on fighting. "Gentlemen, Gentlemen.. Before we let things get out of hand in a crowded street, can't we settle this like grown adults instead of punch-happy children?" he inquired with a soft smile as he looked up at the armored giant.


The giant just growled a massive, unarmored hand grabbing the front of Dante's jacket as if to lift him off the ground, but in a flash, Dante's hand grasped the giant's twisting it just so that the giant's thumb was towards the ground, and his pinky was towards the sky. From there, he slowly pushed, twisting the man's wrist so his pinky started to point towards his nose, causing the man to drop to one knee to relieve the pressure. "Now, now... there was no need for that..." Dante shook his head, many in the crowd gasping at how easily Dante brought the brute to his knees.


They had no way of knowing that Dante was slowly sapping the man's energy from his exposed fingertips contacting the man's wrist... That simple process made the man's arm weak enough for Dante to manipulate with ease. Though, it wasn't draining energy fast enough for the man to even realize what was going on. It really just looked like he was incredibly strong. Such people did exist, after all, and his well toned body structure was incredibly evident, even through his clothes.


"Gentlemen... If I may be so bold... I understand you all have a very important job to do, and I understand it must be a touch humiliating to watch some of your own get the tar beaten out of them by some guy on the street. However, I would like to ask that you consider for a moment the actions they were taking." he began, still keeping the giant on his knees from the wrist lock. "They were clearly abusing their power, as anyone in this crowd could attest" he gestured to the gathered crowd that had fallen eerily silent.


"To that end, they were presenting a very, very negative image of the entire Peaceguard through their actions. Unfortunately, the actions of a few reflect on the whole. Of course, if you punish the person responsible for stopping them, it will look like the Peaceguard outright condones the abuse of power by their members, and I'm sure the Peaceguard we all know and love isn't a group that condones flagrant abuses of power, especially without adequate cause. At least, that's the message the Supreme Commander is trying to put forth, is it not?" He raised an eyebrow, watching the uncertain glances between the Peaceguard members that had accompanied the giant. Dante was making quite sure his voice was heard, so everyone in the crowd knew exactly what he was saying, and at this point, silencing him would run very much afoul of popular opinion.


"So, if I may offer a humble suggestion, I would advise letting this man go free with a warning that he should not act as such in the future. From there, I would collect your men and give them a very, very stern talking to about their conduct. Normally I'd say punishment on top of that would be good, but given that they were summarily beaten in public, I think they've suffered enough. So all that remains is to address their conduct and identify ways to correct it. I think such actions is what we would all hope for from the Peaceguard, wouldn't you agree?" Dante smiled warmly, watching as the Peaceguard members before him reluctantly nodded.


That, for those still reading up to this point, is tact. Dante positively abhorred senseless violence. To him, fighting should only come as a last resort when diplomatic negotiations had failed. Of course, when such a time came, he was more than ready to dispense the appropriate ass-whippings. Thankfully, it seemed the crowd, along with his words and his demonstration were enough to quell what likely was about to be a rather dangerous situation.


With the situation calmed, Dante released the Giant's wrist and helped him up to his feet. "Sorry about that, big guy. I hope there's no hard feelings?" He turned and walked away, letting the Peaceguardsmen collect their fallen brothers as he approached the upstart that caused all of this. "I gotta say, it's been a long time since I've seen someone outright take it to some of the less-savory members of the Peaceguard. Do you have a name, stranger?" Dante asked, tilting his head curiously as he watched the fighter curiously. Surely he could not be someone that lived in the Capitol. Those that lived here full time were seldom prone to putting themselves out there like that, especially in such a violent way. It usually had a backlash, after all...


For now, it was time to learn about this one. Call it intuition, but Dante had a feeling there was something different about this one....


@Arvis90

 

[Dragon Slayer Arcos]

Shayne McAllistaer: Capital City


Shayne knew there would be trouble for his actions. In his aggressive temperament however, he wanted to keep on beating the crap out of anyone the Peace Guard coughed up. He didn't over estimate his skills, but he had trained for the majority of his life, and had confidence that training could pull him through. When he heard the approach of more Peace Guard soldier, he turned to ready himself for the oncoming threat. What was when a very attractive man intervened, interposing himself between the advancing hostile force and himself. Rather quickly, the other man subdued the hostile force with a show of appeal to the general public.


Shayne didn't miss the very minute flux of magic somewhere close to him. He couldn't pinpoint where the source of magic power was coming from, but he silently cursed whomever was stupid enough to use magic of any sort with the Peace Guard on the alert. When the situation had resolved, very much thanks to the stranger that had stepped into the fray, the unknown man turned to him. "Those bastards are supposed to protect us, not abuse us for their own merriment." Shayne said, a foul taste in his mouth as he said protect but he couldn't betray his real feelings.


When the man asked where he was from, Shayne simply shrugged, "That's not important." However, feeling like he should say something, Shayne continued. "Thanks...uh...for the help I guess." With that he extended his hand out to the man in gratitude. "Name's Shayne. And for the record, if you had gotten assaulted, it would have been your own fault."


@One Mean Ghost

 

[One Mean Ghost]

"Shayne huh? My name is Dante, Dante de la Cruz" He introduced himself, glancing down at Shayne's extended hand before his own clasped around Shayne's forearm in a modified handshake. Of course, to some, this was just a warrior greeting, done to ensure there were no concealed weapons. No one ever suspected that the reason Dante defaulted to this was really to keep from accidentally draining some of the guy's energy. Unlike most mages, his power didn't have an off switch. At least not the absorption part.


It was readily evident that Dante was quite strong. His grip showed that much. It made tricks like what he did to the giant believable as something possible without magic. He laughed when Shayne suggested he could be assaulted. "Oh, I know it would have been my fault if they tried to hurt me. I can assure you, however, that I can very much handle myself. I am more than just talk, after all" he remarked with a bit of a smirk.


"So, Shayne... What brings you to the Capitol? I assume you have business here? Or did you come all this way just to break faces?" he asked chuckling softly as he released Shayne's wrist.


By now, the silent crowds had resumed conversations and went about their business. Now that the fighting was over, little attention was paid to the two who had stood up to the Peaceguard. Hopefully, that would be the last they'd hear on the matter. In the meantime, Dante wondered what poor idiot was being hanged for allegedly 'being a mage' now. Despite the trials, it was still little more than a witch hunt. It was rare that the Peaceguard could actually prove someone was a mage unless they showed their abilities in public, which no smart mage ever did.


Dante was probably the sole exception. The only reason he could get away with using his magic in public is because, unlike other magics, his was nearly impossible to detect and track unless he used it as a projectile. He could put energy into his physical attacks, but it would hardly be detected by even an adept tracker, as the minute residual magic affect would only flare up for a fraction of a second as he made contact before vanishing. Even still, there would be no visible signs that he had used magic, so really it would be his word against that of his accuser. Given his gift with words, his word usually carried quite far.


It was a gift he honed with his Sensei. As a master of illusions, she had imparted upon him the gift of using nonviolent means to accomplish his goals. He had never once been able to win a debate with that woman. Even when he was right, she'd somehow twist it around so at the end he still felt like he was wrong. He wasn't quite as skilled as she was, but against most, his gift of gab carried him quite far.

 

[BlightGiver]

Franco Griy: Highmere





Highmere, the capital city of Elysia. Known to every citizen as the center of growth, economics, technological advancements, and politics. Many view the city as a beautiful place where they can live and prosper under the safety of the government and their soldiers-the PeaceGuard. Feared by mages and the degenerates of Highmere, they had an iron grip on the city. Those that got into scruffles with the soldiers, often found themselves being accused of using magic. Most of the time, they get thrown into prison and rot for the rest of their lives. Those that ended up inlucky, however, were put to death, often in public. One such public execution is happening today and the citizens know who is pulling the plug.


"Another execution. Wasn't there one just a couple of weeks ago?" a tall, dark figure asked himself as he traversed the forgotten streets of the Lower District. The loud sounds of his footsteps echoed off the walls of the decrepit, forgotten buildings that made up most of the Lower District. Shattered, dusty windows rattled from the vibrations, scaring away the pitiful rodents infesting the buildings.


Now, the Lower District was located adjacent to the harbors and factories of Highmere. The harbors brought many things with them: money, goods, new ideas; all of which went to the districts of Highmere. All except the Lower District. In a time not forgotten, the Lower District used to be the hub of production, inhabited by the many workers of the factories and harbors. But once the Mages were thrown out of power, that changed. Once outside imports were allowed, many new technologies and ways of life flooded into Highmere. More factories were built for new products, more people had jobs and (favored by the citizens) wages went up. Those that used to be forced to work the dirty hazardous jobs now were able to live farther away from what they despised. A whole new standard of living was opened to them; they reached for it full heartedly.


As more and more citizens moved further away from their jobs, the property value of the Lower District started to drop. Most people sold their homes before the value dropped too much and left as fast as they could. This depreciation only continued until most of the house in the Lower District were abandoned. With so few people living their, the government stopped sending civil services to the Lower District. No more doctors, no more carpenters, no more police to stop crime. In a matter of decades, the Lower District became a den of filth and crime. Many times, conversations of revolt arose in the shadows of the Lower District. Word travels far in Highmere though, leading to these revolts being snuffed out immediately.


Despite the state of the Lower District, quite a few citizens still live there. A large number of which are degenerates that can't hold a steady job for whatever reason. Many PeaceGuard live here as well. On the surface, joining the PeaceGuard seems like a good idea; the pay is high and you get a good reputation. But, the PeaceGuard doesn't take care of housing expenses. The soldiers have to use their wages to buy their own places to live. And yes, even though their salary is rather high, it just isn't enough to properly maintain your own home and buy necessities for yourself. The PeaceGuard soldiers that have families found this especially difficult, having to take other jobs just to survive. At some point, talk of the Lower District was brought to the soldiers attention; a place where the homes cost next to nothing, any PeaceGuard soldier can easily afford to live there. Decent numbers of PG soldiers moved there to have a steady living, one of which was Franco.


Known throughout the nation as the "Reaper of the PeaceGuard", Franco had quite a reputation to his name. His large, forboding appearance struck fear into the hearts of many citizens and veteran mages. Whenever the government had a new convict to execute, Franco was the go-to guy to put them to death. He always wore a hood outside to hide away his somewhat disturbing face. Being a burn victim, he was left with horrible scars making him look more monster than human (which isn't what he exactly likes). Nonetheless, his reputation preceded him, even now as he walks, yet again, to the higher districts to take care of another execution.


"At some point, they'll get tired of sentencing people to death, right?" he wondered. After a rather long walk, Highmere's executioner found himself at an entrance a large plaza. All of the executions are done here; and once again, most of Highmere's citizens have gathered to watch the event. The overall uproar of people talking and arguing was silenced somewhat. The boisterous citizens heard the telltale footsteps of the dread Reaper. They always turn their heads at the sound and watch Franco intently as he walks up to the execution platform.


Franco passed by the few PG guarding the platform and watching out for commotions in the crowd. At the top of the platform was always the tools for various executions. Usually gallows and guillotines, although there have been a few tanks for drowning and burning convicts. Today was simple though and just a gallow complete with noose and trapdoor waited there. Franco breathed a sigh of relief; since this execution would be a quick one, he could go home and rest early. He got into position and stood facing the crowd. Very soon, the convict would be brought out, have his/her crimes read to the public then be put in the noose. "So what poor sod will I be killing today?" he said out loud. Those in the front of the crowd that heard him, turned away to avoid trouble; not like there wasn't trouble already happening. Despite it being towards the back of the plaza, Franco could see a couple PeaceGuard getting into a fight with a few citizens. It eventually was broken up, but not until one gentleman was grabbed. "I'll probably be seeing at least one of those guys up here soon." Franco said. He sighed deeply and looked away.


@One Mean Ghost @Arvis90 @Oreocookies @HeartsAbyss

 

[ChiaRoseKuro]

Pallas Katsaros :: Peaceguard




Pallas had never been very adept at reading other people, let alone conversing with them; emotions were hard to grasp in her own mind, much less another individual's, and the thought of looking at people's faces for anything other than politeness' sake was a little daunting for her, to say the least. Glancing askance at Elina as they stuck to their rigid patrol, she quickly averted her eyes when she saw a sliver of crimson peeking out at her. Eye contact was necessary for conversation, her parents had always told her, for maintaining eye contact conveyed interest and a personal investment in the proceedings, but she could honestly go without seeing another pair of eyes bore into her for the rest of her life. If she were to be blunt and ever so slightly rude, she would compare her fellow Peaceguard's gaze to a snake's, the sort she'd see when a lamb bleated in terror somewhere in their paddock and she was sent to investigate the going-ons, and it was honestly a relief that she had progressed to the level of speaking amiably without having to gaze into her eyes each and every time. Not for the first or last time did she thank whatever nameless deity for her good fortune in gaining Elina as an ally.


A twist of Pallas' lips were all that showed at Elina's chastisement, but anyone who knew her well enough would be able to read it for the wry amusement it was. "With all due respect, comr-- Elina," she murmured quietly, just above the steady rumble and chatter of the restless crowd, "it would be best to act professional when we are underneath public scrutiny." With a small hum at her comment regarding the chances of civil unrest-- it was as though high-profile activities were a magnet for civil unrest, though she couldn't exactly fault the populace for attempting to take advantage of the situation in advocating their own agendas-- she nodded to confirm that she'd heard her partner's comment, before she scanned the crowd anew. A whisper had risen in the crowd, a whisper of "look there" and "did you see that?", and she didn't like it in the slightest.


Turning her head in the general direction only strengthened that conviction.


Now, though Pallas held no great love for riotous civilians, the root cause of most civil unrest and a good proportion of the reasons behind any displays of violence on the Peaceguards' part, it didn't mean she condoned any overt displays of public discipline, especially when it involved excessive violence and a good deal of bloodiness not becoming to her and the moderate majority of their crew. Watching in mild distaste behind a blank veneer, she observed the offender-- of what, she wasn't sure, but she was optimistic enough to believe that they were definitely an offender of some sort-- being beaten by a pair of Peaceguards she knew to be newer recruits.


It was common for country bumpkins to exert their power as soon as they got it; indeed, she'd confused a good number of the city-slickers when she'd conducted herself in the proper manner, as taught by the tutors her parents had pretty much gone broken hiring for her. Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, as it were), most non-Highmere residents keen on getting their children behind Blackgate's imposing walls resorted to conditioning them towards excessive physical training, believing that it would be enough to get them in. Obviously, they were partially correct on the matter-- one did often require above-average stamina or strength or fighting prowess or some other tactically advantageous skill to make it into the Peaceguard's ranks-- but... sometimes, she wondered whether mental aptitude was necessary, too. Observing these simpletons engaged in ruining her, and every other hard-working civil servants', reputation only made her wonder all the more.


That didn't mean Pallas could or would turn a blind eye if someone assaulted her colleagues, though, however inept the latter happened to be-- which was probably why she gave a sort of funny start when a random bystander practically decked one of them. Her brief for the upcoming execution had been relatively straightforward-- quell any and all undesired activity within her patrol area, ensure the crowd were left with no doubt of the King's supremacy, and prevent anything from impeding or otherwise complicating the execution-- but the area in which this current disturbance was happening wasn't under her jurisdiction. And yet, she couldn't help thinking, as her hand twitched ever so slightly by her side, my colleagues do not appear competent enough to quell this disturbance. Would the risk of abandoning my post for this disturbance negate the detrimental consequences should Elina face her own issues with the crowd?


Thankfully, though, Pallas' choice was taken from her when another squadron of Peaceguards stormed in, only to settle down from a rather intriguing display from yet another nosy bystander. Though it was clear that the issue had been thoroughly dealt with, the scene left a bad taste in her mouth; two of her colleagues, unprofessional as they were, had been soundly trounced before a crowd, while another had been humiliated by a man not even close to his size. That must be some serious strength training that man's doing, she pondered with no small amount of suspicion, eyeing his muscles from the gaps she was given in the milling crowd and then dismissing him without a second thought. If he was taking something strange, if he was a magician and his brand of magic involved sapping people's strength... it wasn't something she understood, and it was far better to keep the peace and bide her time than march up and cause a disturbance, like what had happened earlier with those two men.


So, with a mild sigh that barely ghosted past her lips, Pallas turned her back to the dying fuss and inclined her head at the executioner-- a rather unnerving colleague whose appearance, despite her best attempts at professionalism and common human courtesy, still managed to unnerve something deep within herself-- before she turned back to Elina and dryly uttered, "Well, co-- Elina, it seems as though we'll soon have an execution on our hands."


Anything more foreboding or overtly referencing that particularly nasty incident would have to wait for later, when there weren't various pairs of ears that could pick up on her words and relay them to who knows where.

 

[Auricula]

Elina Dalca :: Peaceguard




"Professional," Elina echoed, the word slipping past her lips tonelessly, but the wicked curve of her lips suggested some form of disdain towards it. She silenced the part of her which wanted to mock that. No longer was she a reckless child who heeded close to no orders. It was a miracle she didn't get kicked out from the Peaceguard.


Her ears perked up when she heard slightly more discernible muttering. She hadn't expected something to happen mere seconds after her words of caution. If she could predict a few more events, she could probably take up being a diviner. She entertained those errant thoughts while looking for the commotion and her gaze landed on it soon enough.


An extraordinarily lovely smile blossomed on Elina's face as she watched the beating unfold. Then she remembered where she was and her smile vanished.


"How uncouth," she remarked in a low voice to Pallas. Admittedly, she could hardly criticise the Peaceguards for their power trip since she was rather prone to it herself. But at least she did it where no one could see her. It was rather disappointing to see just how many meatheads were present in the Peaceguard though.


A light sigh left Elina and she readied to intervene when she saw someone else enter the fray. She paused and continued observing, eyes narrowing. The events transpired quickly and her gaze zeroed in on the two strangers particularly on the more muscular one. She didn't mind particularly much the trashing her brutish colleagues were shown but that wasn't the issue at the forefront of her mind. She was focused on the man who had brought down one of the Peaceguards easily.


"How peculiar," she voiced aloud, but keeping her voice low enough for only Pallas to hear.


Having stalked many a magician over the years, Elina was rather sensitive to anything seemingly a little too out of the ordinary. Still, she could hardly act without any hard evidence and there was the chance she was wrong. Conflicted on how best to act, she resorted to weighing the pros and cons before settling on a decision.


Her hand fell away from a stiletto sword. Focusing on Pallas once more, she followed the younger woman's gaze and found herself looking at Franco. Elina blinked before turning away. The executioner's appearance was something that took some time getting used to but she was barely affected by it anymore.


"Soon," Elina agreed. "Let's finish another round of patrol."


She filed the two men away in a corner of her mind. Anything more she wanted to tell Pallas about would have to wait till they were alone.


@HeartsAbyss @One Mean Ghost @Arvis90 @BlightGiver

 

[ChiaRoseKuro]

Pallas Katsaros :: Peaceguard




How did Pallas know that Elina would treat her comments on professionalism with disdain? It was simple, really; despite being acquainted (or befriended, depending on how one saw things) with her fellow patroller for a good number of years, the only thing she'd really learnt about her was that they were just about as similar as the sun and the moon, which was to say that they weren't similar at all. Where she was flashy, her long-standing comrade was silent; where she was respectful, the other was not. Even so, it wouldn't have taken a genius to realize that Elina was hardly the demure figure she herself strove to portray herself as-- just one look at her piercing eyes or the little bloodthirsty grin she always got in the moments before their opponents faced their deaths at a wicked flash of a deadly stiletto was enough to banish any thoughts of that. Yet she still couldn't help herself from shaking her head ever so slightly at the mocking smile she could see just faintly out of the corner of her eye; it may have been delivered tonelessly, but that single echo had spoken volumes on just one of the many subjects she and Elina had diametrically opposite views on.


Another one of those subjects, though, were public disputes. Pallas hadn't needed to look to know that her fellow patroller had perked up quite considerably (to her, at least; to the crowd, she was merely alert, doing her duties in the way the Peaceguard were rumoured to never do properly) at the sight of a possible bloodbath, and the telltale hand straying towards her weaponry had only confirmed it. Back in her hometown, anyone who so much as groused at the King and his reign in public were left very lonely very quickly, nobody being willing to have so much as a fleeting second of eye-contact with someone deemed a traitor in just about everyone's mind-- yet here, someone who raised their hands against the very people professing to serve as the King's right hand were met with curiosity, amusement and (dare she say) silent approval. Even after years of adapting to life in Highmere, it was as though she were falling down a never-ending rabbit hole with a million openings and bits of furniture scattered throughout it; just as she thought she'd reach the ground and someplace stable and level, something else flew up or opened up beside her to impede her path to understanding. It was, to put things bluntly, quite frustrating.


So when Elina had muttered her own misgivings to Pallas... well, to say she was surprised would barely do justice to the sudden influx of emotion she'd felt at that. Having parents who hated magic and, as an extension of that, anything intangible and illogical in nature did things to believing one's gut instincts, especially when one's gut tended to only make itself known when one was hungry or had a wonky premonition, so knowing someone other than her thought this suspicious was definitely comforting. She would definitely need to discuss things with Elina later; hash out the details, ponder over the various non-magical ways one could bend someone's wrist back in a rather unnatural position with nothing but mere strength, strength that shouldn't have affected the hulking colleague she was sure possessed a lot more power than the random bystander... the list went on and on, and her head was threatening to spin with it all.


Predictably, it was at this moment in time that Pallas' reminiscing ended, and she was abruptly brought back by the sounds of jeering and hissing so common to a public executionee making their ignoble way to the gallows.


Stumbling ever so slightly in her once-measured pace, Pallas managed to catch herself and straighten up in time to catch a rather distressed-looking civilian from plunging into the clearance zone, where the executionee and his solemn retinue of officials and other important witnesses to the execution marched steadily forth. Shaggy hair and bloodshot eyes; most probably a drunkard, then, and someone who was more prone to express their true feelings than if they were without drink and with their faculties intact. Making a note of the man's appearance, and blocking his stench from her nose, she filed the information away for a later recommendation (of an arrest, obviously; drunkards and possible hobos didn't exactly warrant medallions, now, did they?) and stood stoically beside Elina as she held the crowd back, before she gazed unseeingly ahead and plunged back into her memories again.


Scuffles, a drunken would-be rescue or last-ditch attempt at a morbid meet-and-greet; this was no ordinary textbook-perfect execution, and Pallas was starting to get hives from thinking about what could and would go wrong. For all her pragmatism and belief in her comrades, something wasn't sitting right-- and for all her parents' attempts at quashing her gut feelings, for all her conditioning towards science and cold, hard facts, she was disinclined to ignoring her gut, but... well.


It was, Pallas thought a little guiltily, a good thing that her parents weren't here to pick her brain right now.


( yes my brain is dead and yes, I'll rewrite this tomorrow if it makes no sense orz )


@Oreocookies

 

[Dragon Slayer Arcos]

Shayne McAllistaer - Capital City


Shayne was slightly impressed by the other man's strong grip around his forearm, which set his skin on fire from the manliness of the hold. That heat rapidly rushed up to Shayne's face, turning it red and Shayne turned his gaze away from the man and let the grip break. Shayne coughed and tried to hide his sudden discomfort. He turned back to the man, his face now back to normal. "Um, nice to meet you." Shayne said lamely, his deep voice a bit higher than he would have liked, and mentally slapped himself over this bullshit.


"I was commissioned to forge some armor for the Peaceguard. Why, I have no idea. Otherwise I certainly wouldn't be here for this." Shayne said motioning to the gallows. What he really wanted to do was destroy the structure. But he couldn't risk it. He might be a prodigy with his magic, but he couldn't overcome the whole Peaceguard battalion that was stationed in the capital city currently, especially without his sword. Sadly, he had to keep his temper in check, and pray for the poor soul that was about to destroyed. He didn't know of the victim was a mage or not, but all it seemed to sentence someone to death or imprisonment was a claim they were a mage.


"Why are you here on this fine day?" Shayne asked the man, sarcastically.


@One Mean Ghost

 

[sorrow made you]

It was such a busy day today in Highmere… or at least… it seemed busy. Was it always this busy? Uriellys couldn’t recall. It seemed like a beautiful day. You know, minus the execution that was just about to occur. That was probably a damper on a lot of people’s day. However, the short male didn’t let the situation bother him at all. He didn’t know the poor guy that was soon to be hanged. Or.. at least… he didn’t think he knew him.


Like a ghost among the living, Urie slipped through the crowd, not even drawing attention as he pushed passed people in attempts to be able to see over people’s heads. He wanted to see… at least see if the person that was to be hanged was a mage. If they were, what kind of ability did they have? Would Urie be able to see? He wondered if he could borrow the person’s memories… if only he could encounter them before their timely death. Though, before he could make his way from the back to the stage, something caught the corner of his golden eyes.


“Hm?” The small sound vibrated in his throat as he watched one male stick up for some common fellow. Why were those guards beating him up like that? And why.. Ouch, that looked like it stung. Urie visibly winced at the punch to the Peaceguard’s face. But then another male came onto the scene. He seemed so charismatic, it almost made Urie envious. Wait, what was he doing to that giant? Did he just make him kneel down? What kind of power did he have? Eyes settled on the long dark haired male for a long moment, then slowly narrowed. He couldn’t be the only one that felt there was something odd about him. But then again, it would take a mage to know a mage, wouldn’t it?


Before Urie could act upon impulse and head over to the two males, his attention was drawn back to the platform where now stood a hooded figure. Well didn’t he look intimidating? Curiosity sprang up once more, and the small male decided to fade back into the crowd. What could be hiding under that hood of his? Little did Urie know that the male was the renowned ‘Reaper of the Peaceguard.’ Maybe he did know? He probably just forgot. Either way, there was something alluring about the figure. Maybe it was how he stood. His posture expressed his unamusement. He spoke up, but Urie wasn’t close enough to hear clearly. Though, it was obvious that he was calling out to the crowd. Who was going to be punished today?


Urie continued to head to the front. Maybe something very interesting would happen.

 

[BlightGiver]

Franco Griy: Executioner


The executionee was cuffed at the hands (not like there was much he could do in this situation; cuffed or not). A pair of heavily armored PeaceGuard stood at both sides of the poor fellow. They both guided him to the towering object of his demise. The man gave a nervous burp; which one of the guards found to be a little hilarious. Franco just stood and watched the convict get taken to right underneath the noose.





"No need to worry." Franco stepped up to the gallow and grabbed hold of the noose. "This is one size fits all." Franco's hood covered the upper portion of his face; which meant the executionee could see his goofy smile as he made that abhorrent joke. The look of disdain on the man's face was ever more visible. Not only was he about to be put to death, but will be embarrassed till his very last seconds of life.





One highly decorated individual walked up the back ramp of the platform to reach its summit. Whoever she was, her attire displayed multiple medals; clearly from some spontaneous acts of valor or great achievement she performed in the past. A book rested in her right hand as well. Franco had seen this very book at every execution he performed. It was known as the "Book of Truth" in the alcohol induced stupors of PeaceGuard residences in the Lower District. All accusations and evidence (the word is used very loosely) of the executionee's crimes are listed in chronological order. It was highly rumored that these accounts of nefarious activity are all just fabricated and the criminals were mostly innocent. Perhaps it was a way for the Supreme Commander to enforce the authority and power of the PG to the citizens of Highmere. Or even worse, a sort of new military campaign to snuff out degenerates and low-lifes to even further clean up the streets of the capital. Such rumors weren't considered a problem by the higher officials; so the PeaceGuard continues to act like it always does.


Nonetheless, Franco knew that with the appearance of this probably important officer, it was now time to help the executionee "get comfortable" in the device that would finish him. He lowered the coarse rope around the neck of the sad looking man. "If it makes you feel any better, it's quick and painless. Trust me, I do this a lot." Franco told the "settled in" criminal. Although it would seem that Franco's "reassurance" only made the lad more frightened; quite obviously, since his legs started shaking.


The official, currently the makeshift announcer, stood in front of the convict and read him his crimes. Franco overheard as usual; completely unsurprised by most of it. Monotonous riffraff about loitering, thievery, assault, etc. Yet there was one thing that struck to him as odd. He'd probably mull over it at a later point; so he got into position at the trapdoor release lever. The official finished and did various vocal exercises to prep for addressing the large crowd in the plaza. "She's certainly taking her sweet ole time." Franco was getting a tad agitated; he hated when these perfectionist officials take longer than he likes.

 

[One Mean Ghost]

"Yes.. I suppose the gallows do put a damper on an otherwise nice day..." Dante shook his head, his hair swishing rather majestically as he did so. "So you're a blacksmith then? You must do amazing work for the Peaceguard to call you in from out of town." He remarked tilting his head curiously.


"Why are you here on this fine day?"


"As it happens, I"m on my way to the shopping district to pick up some things. I just got off work and, unfortunately, the fastest way to the shopping district is right through here... I didn't know there was a hanging today or frankly I'd have avoided it. I don't much care for public executions..." He sighed, glancing up at the poor bastard being read his crimes. No doubt a vast majority of them were completely and utterly fake. Not like there was anything Dante could do about it though. It was one thing to diffuse a situation as it was happening, but this man had already gone through a 'trial' and had all of his chances past. Doing anything now would only land Dante a spot next to him with a noose around his own neck.


No, there was nothing that could be done. Not with all the Peaceguard present...


"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't much care to stick around here.. I'll be on my way then. Safe travels" He bowed politely to Shayne before he turned to weave through the crowds. He could feel so many pairs of eyes on him from what he did. But there was a reason he did it the way he did. That particular joint lock he used on the giant was one that could be very much done without magic. So, if he needed to demonstrate and prove he wasn't a mage, he could easily repeat the stunt without magic. After all, Dante wasn't stupid enough to do something he couldn't explain with so many Peaceguard around.


For now, he wanted to be on his way. He already felt like he had attracted more than enough of the wrong kind of attention. Two female PeaceGuards in particular seemed to be watching him quite closely. Either, by some chance, they had been to one of his shows, or they were suspicious. Either way, it was safer for him to make himself scarce. Of course, he betrayed no sense of urgency in his movements. He looked like was just another man(albeit apparently handsome as all hell), going about his business with his hands tucked in his pockets.


He could only hope none of the Peaceguard tried to follow him....


Then again, the two girls were rather cute....

 

[Auricula]

Elina Dalca :: Peaceguard




Elina watched the man she had her eye on walk away. She couldn't say it was unusual for people to not want to watch public executions. After all, not everyone was fond of such a gory display. For a moment, she entertained going after him but she had other priorities right now. She would definitely keep an eye out for him if she saw him again, though.


Returning her attention to the job at hand, Elina saw that the execution had begun. The crowd behind her and Pallas surged forward but she held steady. Crimson eyes flicked about looking for any potential disrupters. Knowing there were other Peaceguards to hold the line, and fuelled by her uneasiness, Elina turned to Pallas and said, "I'll be heading elsewhere. You can follow me if you want."


Not bothering to wait for Pallas' response, she entered the crowd but still kept close to the clearance zone. The droning from above declaring what sort of crimes the prisoner had done started. Elina weaved her way over till she was in front of the gallows if a little off to the side. People normally tried breaking through from where she just stationed herself.


Keeping one hand on a sword, she waited for any sign of interruption. Perhaps she was being overly sensitive but she felt as though someone was coming closer.


@HeartsAbyss

 

[sorrow made you]

The man finally made his way onto the stage and words were exchanged between the executioner and executionee. What were they saying? And why use a rope? Wouldn’t that hurt? What if the man’s neck didn’t snap? It would be such a long and painful process… So many questions and not close enough to ask them. Urie had to get closer, he just had to!


And so, the white haired male continued to filter through the crowd. The encounter he had witnessed between the two male civilians and the peaceguards had completely left his thoughts (and soon would leave his memory), and all that he knew right then and there was that a man was about to die in a way that could potentially be painful. Or so he was told. Pain was something he wasn’t aware of. The scars and remnants of burns all over his hands and arms were proof enough. Even now, he could have easily gained a few cuts and bruises while pushing through people and never would have noticed.


Soon, Urie came close enough to the gallows to where he could see the steps. However, a woman seemed to be guarding it. Several men and women were in the area with similar uniforms. All had weapons. And all looked serious. They were… they were important, weren’t they? There was a sternness in the woman’s eyes, though she seemed somewhat dejected. Was she not having fun? Maybe this wasn’t meant to be fun…


Well whatever her reason for standing there was, Urie would have to wait to find out. Right now, he wanted to talk to that Reaper man and the man with a scratchy noose around his neck. He stepped forward, now emerging from the crowd so he could head toward the gallows, preparing to pass the woman.


@Oreocookies

 

[Auricula]

Elina Dalca :: Peaceguard




As it turned out, her gut was right. Elina entertained the thoughts of her guts spilling out for a few morbid seconds before turning to face the stranger. She gave him a quick once over, determined he was not currently a threat, and stepped in front of him. Keeping her hand on her sword, she hoped that told him she wouldn't hesitate to attack if he pulled anything funny.


"You can't pass," she told him unblinkingly.


Studying him closely but not so closely she was blind to her surroundings, it appeared as though his eyes bore no ill will. Still, she wasn't about to judge someone based off the feel she got from them. But she had to wonder: what was this person doing? There didn't seem to any caution to him and she was fairly certain that if he wanted her dead, he would have attacked her already (though that would be pretty suicidal too).


But she didn't let any of her thoughts show on her face, schooling her features to be stoic.


@CRiTiCAL ERR0R

 

[ChiaRoseKuro]

Pallas Katsaros :: Peaceguard




Conversations between two troublemakers, conversations between nameless, faceless crowd members, conversations between the execution's stars and conversations between one's heart and mind; humans were social beings, that much was obvious enough, but Pallas was starting to be of the opinion that a little less socializing and a little more tranquility would probably be a lot better for her sanity. It was practically impossible to catch the intentions and moods of the people in her immediate vicinity, let alone the vast seething mass she and a handful of her colleagues were supposed to keep at bay, and not for the first or last time did she wistfully imagine a situation where the Peaceguards weren't practically swamped by the general public. But dreams were dreams and reality was reality-- she could no more conjure up experienced comrades in arms than she could sprout a pair of wings and fly into the unknown-- and, with a muted sigh, she banished her disgruntled thoughts and yelled at another person attempting to slip past her arm.


What was about this executionee that seemed to be riling up the crowd so much? Granted, Pallas had been told just about nothing in regards to said executionee and giving a quick once-over to the shivering, shaking man (or was he a boy? He couldn't have been much older than her, she'd warrant) as he ascended the stairs to his final moments of life didn't give her much beyond fleeting superficial impressions, but... there had been that scuffle earlier, and there had been at least two people who'd actively tried to break protocol and surge into the executionee's path. Any fool could see that the public weren't exactly keen on fraternizing with or capturing the attention of the Peaceguards, but this... this was beyond foolhardy, and the more she tried to puzzle it out the more her thoughts writhed unhelpfully in her mind. If her brain could be expressed as a ball of yarn, it would've been tangled beyond hope by now.


Yet it was clear that Pallas wasn't the only one who had rather large misgivings about it all; off to her side, Elina's eyes were flickering rapidly between indistinguishable faces in the crowd and the gallows, almost as though she was planning to do something that she knew she wouldn't like, and on the gallows themselves she could see the day's executioner muttering to himself every now and again (or to the now visibly shaking executionee beside him-- it was hard to tell when one was experiencing sensory overload). Before she could so much as squeak her misgivings to her current crowd-control partner, she was left with an explanation that was no explanation at all and Elina's back forging its way towards the gallows. For a single crazy moment, she debated simply leaving the crowd to surge forth and accompany her... acquaintance? friend??? she really needed to clear that up with herself someday... in guarding the gallows out of a simple impulsive feeling, but duty trumped comfort and she stayed put, albeit unwillingly. The Peaceguards were stretched thin enough as it was; there was no need for her to contribute towards critical shortages in maintaining that all-important clearance zone.


Just as Pallas had thought this, though, a sudden gap in the crowd showed the two troublemakers from earlier parting ways, right behind a very timely platoon of Peaceguards marching from god-knew-where for assistance's sake. It was abundantly clear that these weren't the green recruits filled with heady rushes of power; these Peaceguards moved with purpose and a rigid determination, stonily parting everyone before them so effortlessly that she was almost convinced she could see an electrical field separating them and the restless crowd. Nodding in greeting to them as one slid into Elina's empty place and the others effortlessly swelled in other, less controlled, areas, she chanced another glance at the strangely powerful troublemaker from earlier and saw that, much to her suspicion, he was moving... away from the execution.


Now why would that be?


"Pardon me," Pallas said to the stoic Peaceguard beside her, before she slipped past the crowd and jostled her way towards the muscular man she'd witnessed earlier. Unlike her colleagues, who had their numbers and their more intimidating auras on their side, her smaller build and waifish appearance did nothing to intimidate the people clamouring around her. Yes, some people cast unpleasant glances at her uniform as she ducked beneath sweaty shirt sleeves and slid around grime-caked bodies, but what were glances when what she needed was more physical movement? By the time she managed to push through a good majority of the crowd, she was almost destitute to find that her meticulously-pressed jacket was looking far less meticulous and pressed than it had been almost ten minutes prior, when she'd still been following orders.


But now was no time for self pity, not when Pallas had willingly left her post for something that she sincerely hoped was worth her insubordination. No, now was the time for action, for employing stealth she didn't possess as she desperately tried to blend in with the crowd and follow this odd individual.


Or, at least, that was the plan. How it'd go would be completely up to the mercy of her quarry's awareness-- not to mention the possibility of being sighted by another Peaceguard who might accuse her of slacking off. Or the crowd's thickness or thinness at any given time, and whether they'd shield her from his view should he casually turn around, or--


If only, Pallas lamented to herself, the odds were in my favour...


@One Mean Ghost

 

[One Mean Ghost]

Fortunately for Pallas, it would seem the odds were indeed in her favor... Something to delay her quarry was rapidly approaching, and soon stopped in front of him. It was a rather unkempt looking man, who reeked of booze, and it was quite evident he had not bathed in some weeks. Dante tilted his head curiously as the man seemed to size up Dante, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other.


"Yer him ain't yeh?... That pigfucking prick they call the King o' Hearts?" The man growled, his fidgeting growing more restless as one hand kept reaching behind him for some odd reason.


"That's a stage name I go by, yes, though I assure you that first part is a complete lie and whoever told you that is spreading very malicious rumors... Do you have some business with me, sir?" Dante asked politely, raising an eyebrow at the man as he stood where he was, making no motion to move towards or away from the man.


"Damn right I do... Everythin' was goin' jus perfect.. My wife was a hot piece o' ass, she done what she was told and brought home my drinkin' money... But then.. then she went an saw one of yer "performances"" the man made air quotes, rolling his eyes with a snarl as he continued. "An' now she don't give me my money no more. Says she's got somethin' better to spend it on than beer. Says, she says she's leavin' me to find a real man, yeh done fucked up everythin'!" the man snapped as Dante shook his head.


"Sir, from the sound of it, your marriage was a farce to begin with. Frankly, She's better off without you if all you did was make her work so you could get hammered." Dante crossed his arms over his chest.


The man stormed forward, suddenly grabbing onto Dante's collar as he pulled a hand back.


Unlike the giant from before, this man was wearing work gloves. Though why, no one could guess, as it was quite obvious he drank too much to work anywhere.... Just as before, Dante grabbed the man's wrist, turning it so the thumb was towards the ground and the pinky towards the sky before pushing it so the man's pinky slowly turned towards his nose, causing the man to drop to his knees to relieve the pressure.


"Now.... I don't see any good reason for you to put your hands on me..." Dante remarked shaking his head as he held the man at his mercy with the wrist lock. Since Pallas was closer now, she could likely see that this was a rather common wrist lock. One that was even taught to Peaceguards, though many of them didn't pay much mind to the hand to hand portion of their combat training, favoring weapons instead as soon as they could. Few actually kept up with things like joint locks after making the ranks.


This particular wrist lock didn't try to work against the muscles in the arm, instead, it worked against the rotation joints, which were far weaker and easier to manipulate. Done properly, it could be executed on just about anyone with very little effort.


The man snarled, his free hand reaching behind him once more. There was a flash of silver, followed by a rather sickening snap as Dante pushed the wrist forward the rest of the way, snapping the man's wrist and causing the man to cry out in pain as he swung the knife wildly, trying to cut Dante where he stood. Clearly, his drunken stupor made him moderately immune to pain-compliance techniques....


Instead, he yanked the man's arm across his body, blocking the man's stabbing attempts as he made his arms collide and the man, clearly drunk, spun around so his back was exposed. With just a single quick strike to the side of the man's neck, he fell to the ground in a heap, a subtle snoring indicating that he had been knocked very much unconscious. Once again, it was a hand to hand technique that was quite common, though very seldom used so effectively.


Of course, Dante could quite easily leave the man in the middle of the road to get trampled, but he was nicer than that. He grabbed the man by the back of the collar and dragged him off to a nearby alley and propped him up against the wall out of the way. "Nothing to see here, carry on" Dante called, well aware that some of the crowd had turned to watch the rather noisy confrontation.


Somehow, no matter how much he wanted to remain low key, something always had to put him on the radar... He sighed to himself, straightening his coat as he made an attempt at leaving once more. Out of the corner of his eye though, he caught sight of the telltale Peaceguard uniform. He got the feeling he wasn't going to get to go grocery shopping anytime soon...


Some days, you just can't win...

 

[ChiaRoseKuro]

Pallas Katsaros :: Peaceguard




A penchant for flashy moves and lots of hollering (and sidestepping, and unnecessarily large swings, and-- yeah, you get the picture) during her attacks had given Pallas much greater stamina than a life of reaping and sowing would ever give her, but that didn't mean she wasn't struggling with catching up to her quarry. For one, no amount of training would ever make up for her spindly legs-- she'd tried, really hard at that, and all she ever got were foot cramps and Charley Horses to show for it-- and for another, her quarry was a lot faster than she was, and she was just about to despair and give it up as a bad deal when a rather familiar face stepped in front of the man she'd been following. What's going on? a small part of her mind wondered, amidst all the agonizing over her quickening breath and stuttering pace. There he'd been, pushing up against her arms not a quarter of an hour ago... and now he was staggering in front of a man she was keen on apprehending? This guy was seriously looking to get into trouble, if his indistinct yet loud slurring and all that fidgeting was anything to go by.


...And, judging from the scream he gave at the wrist lock (was that deliberate? Pallas didn't know if she wanted to shake her head at this guy or simply write him off as unimaginative), the drunken fellow found just that.


Wincing a little at the neck hit her quarry had given the now-unconscious man, Pallas shook off the memories of hours upon hours upon hours of agony over her unarmed combat training before and during her time in the Peaceguards-- seriously, if she never got to feel a headlock or experience a dislocated limb again then she could die happy-- and stifled her sympathy, before she quirked a brow at her quarry's next actions. Dragging him to an alleyway, where he was less likely to be discovered and treated? Leaving a man (who, admittedly, had acted in a most idiotic manner, but was still as deserving of common human kindness as any other injured individual) to wake up alone, hungover and in pain? She couldn't profess to have very much sympathy for him if she ignored her own experiences with bruises and other such wounds-- honestly, what about a drunken and very much unmindful drunk would make her feel sorry for him?-- but any human didn't deserve the fate he'd be left to if she simply ignored him... and, well, she really didn't think knocking him out would've been the best solution if she had been in her quarry's place.


But what was Pallas to do? On the one hand, she needed to apprehend her quarry before he got away-- but on the other hand, the drunken man needed medical attention (and then some time in a jail cell and an interviewing room, but that would probably come later) and was in no fit condition to get it himself. If she tried to carry him herself, she'd lose the man... and probably collapse beneath the weight and larger build of the unconscious man, despite her own not inconsiderable strength and stamina. If she told someone to carry them, who knew if they would comply? For all her limited optimism, not even the rosiest glasses could eliminate the ill-will most, if not all, Highmere citizens had towards her colleagues and herself, and she wasn't willing to run the risk of having someone disobey her orders and then jeopardize the man's health. Chasing the man and leaving this drunkard be couldn't work either... but maybe...


"Excuse me, citizen," Pallas quickly shouted after her quarry, rushing forward and clutching onto the hem of his sleeve in case he couldn't hear her above the thinning crowd. "Pardon me, but are you really going to leave that man in the alleyway, even if he provoked you first?" Gesturing to the unconscious man and his horribly bent wrist, she added a firm "I may not know the details of his assault or your sentiments towards this man, but I assure you that any person has the right to medical attention-- something that this man won't be able to get himself when he becomes conscious later. It would be best if you helped me convey him to the nearest medical center for treatment." Of course, any intelligent individual would probably realize that she wasn't asking so much as she was ordering him to-- but, she thought wryly, at least she was doing it a little more tactfully than simply beating him into the ground, like her greener comrades had.


There was, of course, considerable risk to her rather hurriedly cobbled strategy; he could refuse her, he could physically overwhelm her, she could be left with no choice but to convey him with force and, honestly, she wasn't sure if there was anyone who could assist her if her swordsmanship and unarmed combat training weren't up to par with this individual's fighting capabilities. But what could Pallas do when she needed to attend to the attacker-turned-victim and keep this two-time troublemaker in her sights?


Well, the more optimistic part of Pallas offered, at least I can observe him for anything suspicious if he agrees and we take this drunkard to receive medical attention.


And that, really, was pretty much all she could hope for right now, short of a miraculous sign from the heavens.


@One Mean Ghost

 

[One Mean Ghost]

Dante turned his head when his sleeve was grabbed. He already suspected who was there, but he needed to confirm it. Yep, it was the little Peaceguard girl... Most mages would panic to have caught the attention of someone in Peaceguard, but Dante didn't seem the least bit put off as he listened to what she had to say. He knew that he had done nothing to incriminate himself as a mage, and given he had quite literally hundreds of witnesses that he had only acted in self defense, it would cause an absolute uproar if she tried to arrest him.


"Honestly, I've never met that man before in my life. Apparently his wife has seen me before though.." he scratched his chin thoughtfully as he considered her words. "I had thought moving him out of the street so he wouldn't get trampled was the best option... Well, I guess I didn't think that one through too well. I'll admit, I was preoccupied trying to remember what I needed to get from the Shopping District "He chuckled softly as he watched her with a light smile. "You're right. I should probably take him to get checked out. Even if it is his own fault his wrist broke when he jerked around like that" He conceded with a shrug.


He raised a hand, lightly patting the top of her hat and ruffling it just a little bit. It wasn't meant as a rude gesture, instead just a playful one, much as an older sibling would do to a younger sibling.. "Thanks for the insight ma'am. I'm sure I'd have gotten home before I realized it myself and I'd have felt like an ass" he bowed respectfully as he walked back over to the man. He moved the man's legs so they were bend with his feet on the ground before hosting him up and carrying him effortlessly in a fireman's carry. "I don't suppose you can make sure people don't get too close his head side, could you? Last thing I want is someone finding out what this idiot had for breakfast. Knowing my bad luck, I'll get blamed and someone will try and fight me over it..." Dante sighed a little bit, seeming to have no real problems handling the sleeping man.


He was strong, that much was readily evident, and he seemed like a genuinely good person. The way he looked at her, he wasn't scared of her, intimidated by her, or even seem to have any dislike in his eyes as he watched her. It was like she was just another person to him. He most certainly didn't act like a troublemaker. After all, he went right along with what she said without any semblance of a fight. Seeing him like this, it was almost hard to believe he had handled the giant and this drunkard so expertly. It was evident he didn't much care for fighting. He ended both conflicts as quickly as possible, both times without drawing blood. When he turned to walk, she could see the long dagger on his back hip that had never been drawn. Had he wanted to, he could have done much worse in both instances, yet he had done only what he had to to end the conflict... Perhaps that was why he was leaving the execution. He just didn't much care for violence....

 

[sorrow made you]

So close yet so far away! The executioner was just out of sight as the woman standing near moved into Urie's path. Hand on the hilt of her sword, her posture was one meant to be threatening--giving a warning. A warning that Urie happened to miss. But upon her telling him that he couldn't pass, gold eyes glanced up at her face.


Now why was that? He just wanted to talk. At least... he thought that's what he wanted to do...


Oh yeah! He did. Definitely. He wanted to talk to the executioner.


But now with the woman in his way and telling him not to pass, what was he to do? Maybe he could talk to the executioner later... but he would be too late, wouldn't he? No, no. He couldn't do that. With Urie's shoulders drooping, he visibly frowned. The mask on his mouth hid the expression on his lips, but his body did not. He then stood up slightly straighter and pointed at the two at the gallows. Then, he brought his hands up to shoulder height, palms facing upward toward the sky.


'Why?', he was asking. The gestures might have been enough for the woman to understand. Or not. Depended on if she could comprehend childish communication. Urie blinked a couple times as he dropped his hands to his side. He needed a better way to speak with the woman...


Writing was a form of communication! Right? Right. Urie then brought up his hands, one flat and the other he mimicked holding a writing object. He could write to her! As soon as he made he gesture, he started to pat himself down. Did he have a notebook and pen on him? He thought he did... maybe not... he forgot...


@Oreocookies

 

[ChiaRoseKuro]

Pallas Katsaros :: Peaceguard




Ah, a lover scorned, was the first wry thought to enter Pallas' mind as the man she'd apprehended vaguely alluded to some sort of affair. She could bet on there being some sort of mild complication, the likes of which one saw in cheesy paperback romances; the woman, bored of her sedentary lifestyle with a faithful but completely uninteresting husband, chases after the exotic, and everything comes to a head when the gallant husband chases after his wayward wife... or something to that extent. Having never seen much of romance out of said cheesy paperback romances (which she'd deny to reading if anyone ever accused her of it) and the rather placid lives her villages' partners had always led, it therefore astounded her to see that dramatic fairytale sequences could, in fact, take place in real life. Albeit with a lot more mess and the gallant husband's descent into drunkenness and bitterness, but that wasn't the important bit here.


No, what interested Pallas more was the blasé way in which her quarry had brushed off the (admittedly idiotic, but still pitiful) drunkard's injuries. Was shopping really more important than a fellow human being's welfare, no matter how terribly said human being had tried to treat you? Sure, on the surface there was nothing untoward about this man, apologizing lightly for his mistakes and acquiescing to her thinly-disguised order with good grace, but beneath his pleasant veneer was a puzzle that simply didn't add up. A knife was far more effective at scaring a person into submission, and yet he'd chosen to display unarmed combat to physically overwhelm his opponents. He was certainly gifted with words, and yet he'd backed them up not by letting reason sink in, but by letting agony cloud his opponent's minds. No, he's not all that he seems, the cold, clinical voice she'd long associated with her most concrete suspicions pondered thoughtfully. One does not simply treat a Peaceguard with such pleasantness when they have been seen in not one, but two altercations. Either he is incredibly naive or he's putting on an act, and I'd eat my hat if it were the former.


Before Pallas could shoot down her instinct's stupid declaration, though, she found that selfsame hat being ground (faintly, but still ground nonetheless) into her head. Suppressing the undignified squawk she wanted to give at the action, she meticulously straightened it with a sharp frown and was relieved to see that her headband, tucked neatly beneath it, had not been shifted out of place too much and that her fringe was still being held out of her eyes. Stiffly bowing to the still-unnamed man, she replied with a clipped "Not to worry, citizen; your intentions were good, but enough experience with drunken individuals weakened by pain has taught me that leaving them to themselves is generally not a very good solution. I apologize for cutting your shopping trip short, but once we attend to him you'll be free to go." Ignoring the evidence of his delayed consciousness as best as she could-- seriously, what sort of person felt regret minutes, if not hours, after they'd done said regret-inducing action? People and their lacking morals these days, honestly-- she gave a curt nod to his suggestion and silently took up a position on the other side of the unconscious drunk, before she gave her quarry a quick once-over.


From what she could tell through the miasmic haze of the drunkard's stench and his haphazardly positioned rags, it was clear that the man was built, in derogatory terms, like the proverbial brick shithouse. Having never really been in contact with people almost a foot taller than herself (seeing as the villagers back where she'd grown up were barely taller than her, if they weren't much shorter), it was... quite the experience... to crane her head upwards whenever she wanted to get a good look at his face. Sure, Elina was tall, but not to the point where she had to tilt her head up much-- and having never spoken much, if at all, to the current presiding executioner, she was thus unaware of the other's even more imposing height. For all intents and purposes, this was the first time she'd been made to feel so small...


And it was something Pallas discovered she didn't like at all.


But what could she do when the man was conducting himself in a faultless (or, at least, outwardly faultless) manner? Pallas could no more arrest him on her suspicions alone as she could tap-dance naked on the gallows, because both actions required her full and willing consent and, in both cases, she was unwilling to give it at all. Call her optimistic or simply overly analytical, but a few suspicions that could very well be misplaced were not evidence enough to convict someone of a crime, no matter how much her instincts screamed against her to yield to their demands. Years of experience had taught her that much, at the very least, and many an innocent person had been jailed on gut instinct alone before she'd learnt from her own and from others' hasty misgivings.


So the best thing to do, really, was to continue observing this individual as they made their way to the nearest medical clinic. Being the generally reticent individual that she was (until duty called, and her mouth spewed out twenty official words when four would do), Pallas was perfectly fine to simply observe this man's body language for the duration of the trip there... but if he offered to talk, well.


Any and all observations would be helpful in the long run, at least. And if he initiated conversation first, there was no way he could say she forced him into conforming to her expectations.


@One Mean Ghost