Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Laetificus]

Fire dances across your eyes as a fleeting vision. There’s a sharp sting crossing your forehead, as you briefly recall the image of a truncheon, and the shadowed figures who delivered it. Slipping in and out of consciousness, you see brief images of swords being raised to kill, fellow villagers running only to find an arrow between their shoulder blades, the sound of blazing fire, timbers buckling, no longer able to support their load. You can feel hands donned in metal gauntlets lifting you to your feet and propping you against a structure of sorts. It takes all your effort to steady yourself, which isn’t aided by the recent indents made to your skull. Your breathing is labored, blood drizzles from your wounds and drips to the earth.

In the darkness, you can only catch silhouettes surrounded by the razed village. You lift your chin up for a moment, and your blurred gaze is met by a strangely familiar face. The bushy eyebrows, rounded cheeks but strong cheek-bones. Shadows draped across his eyes, a solid iron helmet emblazoned with a familiar Psi sign, a trident, bridged his brow. As the growing flames lick the village homes, it casts a flickering light across this villains face, and you can barely make out the faintest smirk through the shadows cast by his hanging forelocks. His eyes are lit up for but a moment, but, it perplexes you when they don’t read of villainous intent, in fact, a kind of… sympathy? Your jaw hangs slack, and you stare at the man before you.

Push.

Surprised, you stare down at the outstretched arm before you. No, maybe not sympathy, you think. You don’t have much time to contemplate this however, as your legs catch on a low wall, which you easily tip over. Your expectations of solid ground are shattered as you continue falling far past where you should’ve landed. The man’s eyes of almost sympathy are your last memory as your head lolls back in free-fall, catching a glimpse of a bucket and pulley system.

Oh.

Water is a surprising substance. Life on earth cannot exist without it; life could not have existed without it. But the sensation of hitting a still body of such a miraculous substance was not unlike colliding with a similarly still slab of granite.

But only a momentary slab of granite.

Soon, you were cradled in a web of disorientation and asphyxiation. But it wouldn’t be that bad, you would pass out in a few minutes anyways.

It’s dark here.

Where am I?

Oh, never-mind.

Light. A blinding one, brighter than any you have experienced before. Your eyelids quiver as you strain to open them. What little sense of touch you have left yields a pounding on your chest. The sensation grows stronger, which you take as a good sign. You gain enough control to open your eyes, and you immediately see the sun, beaming down, powerful, blinding. A man stands over you, shaking you roughly. Through the water still lodged in your ears, you can hear his distorted yelling, trying to wake you up. You move your facial muscles into a weak smile, moving your arm to graze the man’s body with your fingertips.

A couple bouts of violent coughing later, you pass out. 

“Oi, I’m glad that you’re awake.”

Your eyes drift from the open window overlooking a town in the distance, meeting a man, presumably the one who saved you. He was fairly tall, looked tough, probably from working the fields. Short strands of hair jutted out of his head, clearly having been cut clean a few weeks ago. His large brown eyes read of no ill intent, or at least you think they don’t.

“Name’s Landyn,” he says, before stretching a grin across his face. “So, who are you? Are you trained at all? And what was all that business at the village about?”

[Quarr]

"The name's Claes Wickerblade. My father trained me as a butcher and chef, mostly. What did you say about the village? My memory's a little foggy..."

[Jervous]

"I'm Elana, my last name I don't recall, the hit I took was pretty bad. Trained at all? All I can remember about that sort of business was moving throughout the woods, searching and gathering. Maybe I was a herbalist?..I was out of the village at the time of that attack, I just got back there when someone hit me..."

[Digital Hellhound]

"I'm Elana, my last name I don't recall, the hit I took was pretty bad. Trained at all? All I can remember about that sort of business was moving throughout the woods, searching and gathering. Maybe I was a herbalist?..I was out of the village at the time of that attack, I just got back there when someone hit me..."

[maxicaxi]

"The name's Claes Wickerblade. My father trained me as a butcher and chef, mostly. What did you say about the village? My memory's a little foggy..."

[Evergod41]

"Names Yurm'm, I'm a simple pheasant farmer, my village was raided, and by the hands of God I was delivered unto our saving grace."

[Nolor]

"Names Satoshi, I'm a simple ronin, my village was raided, and by the hands of fate I was delivered unto Landyn-dono."

[Armok]

My name is imhotep, I am a Cordeomancer.

[Ottofar]

"Names Satoshi, I'm a simple ronin, my village was raided, and by the hands of fate I was delivered unto Landyn-dono."

[Labs]

"I'm Elana, my last name I don't recall, the hit I took was pretty bad. Trained at all? All I can remember about that sort of business was moving throughout the woods, searching and gathering. Maybe I was a herbalist?..I was out of the village at the time of that attack, I just got back there when someone hit me..."

[maxicaxi]

"Names Satoshi, I'm a simple ronin, my village was raided, and by the hands of fate I was delivered unto Landyn-dono."

i change my mind to this

[Laetificus]

You greet the man with a smile, no harm in that, I guess. Your throat seems sore, much as if you’d managed to swallow a pound of sand. You open your mouth to speak, but your first words come out as a strange squawk followed by coughing. After clearing your throat, you try talking once more.

“The name’s Satoshi Wickerblade.” You’re mildly surprised at your own voice, as if it weren’t quite yours to begin with. “My father trained me as a butcher! Eh, among other things…” You drift off as you’re overcome by clouded memories of the village from which you hailed. It makes you chuckle a little as you reminisce.

“You remembering your village right now?” Landyn’s voice edges with baited concern.

“That was a good village. Not much in it, but good.” A burst of laughter, “you know, I remember my fiancée Elena. We used to work a shop together; she was an herbalist, see, so all the sick people in the village would come see us. Probably didn’t help that I ran a butcher shop next door.”

You smile, “She was always adverse to sorcery.”

Landyn raised an eyebrow, “Are you…?”

You can see that Landyn was mentally summing you up, demonstrating a building uneasiness as he clearly recalls a dreadful experience. 

Silence.

“Hah! As if I would practice such a vulgar art!” The look on your face says it all, as you casually glance around the room. “You asked me if I was trained?”

The answer to your own question arrives by quickly gripping a broom stick which lay at the headboard of the bed. Swinging it over your head, you grasp it in both hands, swinging it with blinding speed and form. You can see Landyn’s face slowly twisting into a look of fear, closing his eyes and bracing for the impact.

His hunched figure eases when he hears you sigh, having not received the likely lethal blow. His eyes cross as they focus to the roughened end of the broomstick which hovered inches from his face.

“I wish that I hadn’t lost that blade.” Your face reads disappointment as you nonchalantly remove the broomstick from before Landyn’s face and smoothly replace it to its spot behind the bed frame. Your view shifts to the still cautious face of Landyn, and you smile as you reassure the man you mean no harm.

Landyn has a sheepish grin on his face as you start speaking of your background, he’s relaxed slightly, enough to resume a casual conversation.

“So, Satoshi Wickerblade, eh? You a traveler?”

“ Ah, I am not, it seems. Two generations ago, my grandfather got exiled, and arrived here. He was a respectable sword smith, and was well versed in… Battoujutsu.” You still loved the feeling of those words across your lips.

“He had a daughter, and she married a man by the name of Claes Wickerblade. Another generation later, I was born. My father was a butcher, who taught me how to read, talk, and the difference between a round and a shank. While my grandfather was still alive, he taught me all he knew of Battoujutsu, which took up the larger portion of my childhood and teenager years. He died when I was 17. As part of his will, he gave me the last blade he crafted, the one he used.”

The room had adopted a rather still element to it.

Your head suddenly aches, and you raise your hand to touch it. There’s a tender spot across your left temple which sends thunderous pain through your head upon your fingers meeting it. Suddenly, you remember the words Landyn greeted you with.

“Ah, so, you mentioned something about the village, Landyn? I noticed you seemed pretty serious, but I apologize, my memory is fairly foggy right now.”

The dread developing on Landyn's face was interrupted by a heavy knock on the front door.


Status: Injured from blow to head. Recent memory loss.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu, can use a sword well.
Inventory: Nothing but the clothes on your back.

[Evergod41]

Wait and see...

[Quarr]

Wield the broomstick menacingly -- stand guard.

[Laetificus]

Boom. Boom. Boom. On the last pound, you quickly bash open the door, taking a stance ready to bring down the broomstick as hard as possible. Before you stood a man dressed in red and white uniform, a psi trident emblazoned across his lapel. He was shaking the hand which he was using to knock on the door. Presumably, the door hit it when you forced it open. He looked less than impressed.

He took out a clipboard, presumably with a list of names on it. “Landyn Grimsmith, you’ve been selected to serve in the Neptune’s Army. Pack your things, go to the barracks in town, the draft leaves at midnight tomorrow.” His eyes flared with contempt. “Don’t be late.”

He thrusts a letter into your chest, before leaving in the direction of the town.

You strut back to find Landyn, and meet him halfway in the kitchen.

“Landyn, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you know anything about a Neptune’s Army?”

Landyn adopted a scowl, “Damned Neptune’s Army. They normally come around here to harass the locals, y’know? But they're not just worthless scumbag soldiers, I know they’re up to something! Just like the last blasted time they came ‘round here.” He continues an angered mumbling for a moment before you reveal the envelope you received and hand it to him.

“Said to give it to you. So?”

 “Eh, it’s an army around these parts. Appointed by his majesty himself, if ye know what I’m saying. Don’t rat me out, but some folk were saying that the Royal Alchemist is the second in Command for'm. Y’see, the day Neptune started recruiting, Darius Judah, the alchemist, vanished. They claimed he succumbed to a terrible accident, but that’s whatever ye take of it.”

You looked out a window in the kitchen overlooking the front street. The man walking away from the house had stopped, and was obviously staring directly at you. You could tell he was looking into your eyes, even at this distance. This confrontation lasted for a mere second, before he pulled a glass vial out of his pocket. Crushing it in his hand, he raised it to his face and muttered a few words. Human flesh turned into dark, satin skin. His back arched, limbs bending in ways that would surely have broken them.  The sickening display turned his clothes to shreds, and eventually he took form as a black, four legged animal. Like a dog the size of a horse, no hair, and skin turned obsidian. It loosed a silent growl in your direction, before shooting off, easily moving at 5 times a human’s sprint.

“Alchemy, y'say? Well, the man who gave me the letter did have that trident on his chest, isn’t psi a symbol for Neptune?”

“On his chest? Normally soldiers have it on their shoulder—Oh no.” A look of panic and fear swept over the man. He fumbled with the letter in his hands and ripped it open “No, no, no, no...”

He quickly lay the paper on the dining table and opened it, his thoughts coming true. He let out a short, angry yell, and pounded his fist onto the table, in a clatter. You remember the words of the recruitment officer. Landyn had his face buried in his arms. You could hear bits and pieces of what he was muttering.

“…why now … we just … a new life…”

A man lay defeated, before you; his prospects of a new life falling through the cracks.
You heard the front door open and, a couple of children avidly talking and playing with each other.

“Sweetie, I’m home!”

A lady with brown, shoulder length hair strode into the kitchen. Her face was lit up, it looked used to smiling.
“Hon—Oh. “ She paused mid-stride upon noticing you, “And who are our guests…?”  You reply by casting your glance towards the floor. She looked back at her husband, who had an air of wholly regret about him.

“May, I—“ He swallowed “I’m so sorry.”

He handed her the recruitment letter. She took it from his hands, immediately knowing what it meant.
“Oh, honey. It’s—It’s alright, dear. It's— We’ll be fine without… without you.” Tears were streaming down her face as she held up her husband’s chin, making his eyes meet hers. The edge of her lips curled into a weak smile.

“Just make sure you get back… to us.”

You realize that the officer never saw Landyn’s face. Your village has been burnt down. All friends and family you had are scattered, or dead. Perhaps relieving him of this burden is the right thing to do. 



Status: Injured from blow to head. Recent memory loss.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu, can use a sword well.
Inventory: Nothing but the clothes on your back.