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| Delaria; A large town built on the banks of Caedryl Lake. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 24 2013, 12:24 AM (789 Views) | |
| Tasha the Gypsy | Sep 24 2013, 12:24 AM Post #1 |
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Harma glanced around as she entered the busy market of Delaria. The people there were all focused on their on business, ready to pounce on the best bargain they could find. A new shipment had been delivered that day, and the milling crowds were even thicker than usual. Harma knew it was useless to try and make a way through the crowds, but she had to reach her destination by the appointed time, so she slipped into a back alley and melted into the shadows.
Edited by Amaurea, Apr 6 2014, 05:03 PM.
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| Amaurea | Sep 24 2013, 12:51 AM Post #2 |
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Andolla
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The day was warm as always. Alnar hung like a large glaring eye, peering down on the scorching planet below. It wasn't too uncomfortable for the telekinetic, shrouded in lead woven white robes, steely gray eyes protected by dark tinted glasses. Leaning against a sun heated cliff face, Malachi silently meditated on his pressing lessons. His students needed to master their control, least they become too powerful, too quickly. The possibility of his charges injuring themselves or others, continued to be a concern of their ever watchful teacher. The test of the rings approached fast, and Malachi hoped his students were ready to pass such a mind taxing trial. Soon, his mind would be at peace, and he could return to the capital of Calvador with a clear motive and resolved stature. But something happened first. Temporal space shifted and the rock behind Malachi rippled, splitting apart, molecule by molecule. A hungry sort of silver glow sprung forth from the cliff and devoured the unsuspecting Calvadorian, because, even though he could read the mind of most mortals... the mind of nature was a completely different story. ... Unyielding stone pavement met the back of Malachi's shaven head. His lurid silver blue eyes gazed in confusion up at the brilliant blue sky. No stars shone over head. No blistering heat brushed his cheek. No scalding sand flew about him. This world felt dead to him for but a moment. A shadow lay half hazardly across his body, cast by some tall structure unfamiliar to him, and a myriad of smells assaulted his sense. The sounds too, seamed louder than normal, almost painful to his ears. Slowly, attempting to find balance, the Calvadorian stood to his feet and peered around. Certainly he was in some populated area, having a populous able to vocalize their language. That obviously meant he wasn't on his homeworld any longer. The question.... where was he? |
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"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares" | |
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| Captain_Riposte | Sep 24 2013, 02:31 AM Post #3 |
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Melchior of Altenkirche navigated his way through the crowd filling the Delarian market square. He stopped with a grunt as a child darted in front of his path, followed by the pursuing mother. He had traveled through Delaria before, but then crowds had not been an issue, as Melchior had marched in a column of soldiers on the way to war. This was his second time walking the planked streets of the lake town; both times a musket rested on his shoulder, and a firing rest tapped the street in cadence with his measured steps. Because of his musket he did not have to muscle through the crowd. People kept a respectable distance, spoke in the ears of their companions. For the traveler in their midst was a pyrogenesist. He ignored the fear, admiration, and reverence that whispered through the crowd. It came with his field; power, dignity, mistrust, and if one was not careful, charges of forbidden arts. Melchior averted his attention to the architecture around him and read the shop signs. Then a figure darted into an alley. Melchior's instincts, borne from trials and soldiering, went on the alert. The figure disappeared quickly, but Melchior thought he discerned the figure of a woman. The woman or man could have used the alley to beat the throng of people clogging the streets. Or the figure could have slipped in the alley from or to some mischief. Melchior followed. Edited by Captain_Riposte, Sep 30 2013, 12:13 AM.
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| "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4 | |
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| Tasha the Gypsy | Sep 24 2013, 01:26 PM Post #4 |
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Harma reached the end of the alley and turned the corner. Her sharp eyes immediately picked out a figure of a man also coming down the alley, just before her view was cut off by the corner of a building. Being a thief made her suspicious of every circumstance, so her mind quickly jumped to the possibility that she was being followed. From his garb Harma could tell he wasn't from Delaria, which meant that he would have a hard time finding his way around the city. With a mischievous smile, Harma thought to herself, "If this fellow is following me, I'll soon find out, and lead him a merry chase over the city. I'll have just enough time to confuse him before I have to meet Retaan. By the time I've finished with this curious stranger, he'll be so lost it'll take him an hour just to find someone to ask directions from." She smiled again at the thought, then set off at a smart pace, just fast enough to keep ahead of the stranger, but not fast enough to lose him. Edited by Tasha the Gypsy, Sep 30 2013, 01:05 AM.
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| Amaurea | Sep 27 2013, 04:22 PM Post #5 |
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Andolla
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The minds of this place, so chaotic and loud, just like their voices. It was difficult, at least for the stranger, how people could be so full of words both inside and out. If they could speak with their tongues, why did they phrase so much with their minds. The dichotomy truly fascinated Malachi, and he came to realize that, what was spoken with the mouth had little to do with the thoughts these people kept tucked away in their minds. Indeed, some spoken sentiments were completely opposite from the mental ones. It was a foreign concept to the Calvadorian. Blinking suddenly, his mind became aware of eyes upon his person, recognition, or lack there of, and a strange sort of ... not confusion, but curiosity? As if perfectly on cue, the white robed man turned in a practiced pivot, briefly making eye contact with the woman. But this reminded him that his eyes were still behind shades. And by the time he'd removed them, slipping them into an inner robe pocket, the woman was walking away, quickly. The weight of his robes began to pull at him, and with a sigh, Malachi removed the lead woven fabric, rolling it up quickly and putting it under his arm. Below that was a lighter material, of brown and shimmering bronze thread. These too were robe like, but nothing as thick as the white protective garb. With a flick of his telekinetic mind his brown hood was up, covering his head, and his person moved silently toward the female presence. Perhaps she could tell him where he was. But yet another mind entered his perception. This one proved more difficult to make out. It seemed that this other had seen the woman also, and like himself, was fallowing her. Malachi sensed a hardness, a sharp edge to this other man's mind, and he didn't really like it. Suspicion held this man's consciousness like a dangerous dictator and if left unchecked, Malachi knew, it could only lead to harm. Who would get hurt in the end, was anyone's guess, but Malachi had determined that, it wouldn't be the woman. And so, his pursuit of her became more brisk and urgent than before. After all, he couldn't call out to her, or tell her she was being followed. Connecting with these people's minds might be dangerous, if not frightening for them. So, right now, the silent telekinetic almost protectively followed his adopted charge. |
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"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares" | |
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| Captain_Riposte | Sep 29 2013, 02:02 AM Post #6 |
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Melchior followed the figure out of the alley but on reaching the street he scanned the crowd. The one he followed made it out alley safely. He scanned the crowd and identified the figure again. Then Melchior shook his head, jerking a half-smile in mockery of himself. Pursuing further would be foolish. He did not know for sure that the object of his pursuit was up to no good and if the person really was a cutpurse it would be difficult to prove. His "escort mission" was done. He began to go back to the street he had been previously traveling but then stopped. A fascinating figure crossed his path, what looked like some sort of priest carrying his robe train in his hands. Melchior watched him a moment, amused. The strange man walked with purpose. Melchior looked down the street to which he was hurrying and he was going in the direction of the figure he had originally followed. And it seemed that he was looking at the figure down the street. And the figure seemed in a hurry when it darted into that alley, as if avoiding trouble. Melchior shook his head at his own folly. It was not likely that the strange man carrying his own robe skirts was following the agile figure. But his conscience had to be sure, no matter how outlandish the thought. He quickened his pace. Edited by Captain_Riposte, Sep 29 2013, 02:10 AM.
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| "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4 | |
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| Tasha the Gypsy | Sep 29 2013, 02:23 AM Post #7 |
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Harma had noticed a person in a white robe as she started down the alley, and the strange sight had made her stop for a few seconds, but remembering the man whom she thought was following her, she continued on. The alley opened into a street nearer the docks, and the poorer inhabitants of Delaria presented a much smaller crowd than Harma had originally slipped away from in market square. As she weaved in and out of the people skillfully, she chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. Her sharp eyes immediately found the man by the musket he carried. Muskets had been rare since the war ended, and seeing anyone carrying one was hard to miss. "Still there, eh?" she thought to herself again, "Take one more turn, and if he's still behind you, you'll know he's following you." As she turned down a slightly more broad street, Harma made a small whistling sound, listening for an answer. None came, and with a slightly troubled look, she continued on at a brisk walk. What Harma had failed to notice when she had glanced behind was the figure, once in white but now clothed in brown with his white robe on his arm, also following her. Edited by Tasha the Gypsy, Sep 29 2013, 02:24 AM.
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| Amaurea | Sep 29 2013, 03:38 PM Post #8 |
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Andolla
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The girl turned again, glancing behind her and peering, not at Malachi, but past him, to some point beyond. For a brief moment, the Calvadorian was confused, and then, her aim made itself known to him, within her mind. She had looked at the man who carried the very visible weapon- the man who he knew was fallowing the woman in the first place. And now it was certain in his mind. The girl was attempting to out run...or walk, the musket wielding man, and he, Malachi was caught in the middle. At the peak of this discovery, Malachi found himself suddenly in an ocean, not only of people's bodies, but of their speech and thoughts. The dizzying sensation threatened to overwhelm him, and he found himself gripped by a feeling of vertigo. Squinting his eyes, and creasing his brow, the practiced telepath centered himself and continued, without missing a stride. Perhaps, after a few more minutes, he should turn and face their pursuer head on. At least that might give the girl time to slip away, and perhaps Malachi could find out just what was happening here. With the strange smell of sea salt in the air, and the people bustling around him, Malachi only caught wisps of thoughts pertaining to him, partly due to his odd attire, which he found on no other being. It almost made him self conscious, but such things only distracted his mind from what he knew he must do. And so, without further hesitation, save to spare one last fleeting glance at the girl he was attempting to protect, the Calvadorian turned graceful on his heel at the end of the street and found the eyes the pyrogenesist. And then he recalled that the minds of this world were closed. Speaking to these people in a manner he was accustom to would be dangerous. There was nothing to do but give an immovable impression and back it up with his telekinetic arts, should the need arise. So he stood there, eyes never wavering from the other's and arms folded across his chest. This gunmen would not reach his target. |
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"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares" | |
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| Captain_Riposte | Sep 29 2013, 10:31 PM Post #9 |
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With a musket on his shoulder, Melchior walked freely through the crowd though his long strides were at times made short for lack of space. Then the robed man stopped. Melchior stopped. The two men saw eye to eye. Melchior had dismissed the notion that eyes were windows to the soul when conquering the University; scheming statesmen, grinning street artists, and shrewd scholars knew how to play the masque, and Melchior had seen it. He defined mankind as the sum of two parts: one part puppet and one part master. The puppet was the outward face of a man, the disguise of the inner man pulling the strings. The inner man knew his own plot and and played the crowd, often thinking himself in control of the stage when a thousand other puppeteers maneuvered their self-designed figures in accordance with another plot. War dashed his theory. As magical as the gun seemed to society, the reality was it had limits, and the fighting remained in hideously close quarters. He had seen the eyes of men in their final moments and their eyes and their actions were deeper than any detached treatise on the human condition. The eyes of the robed man said everything, and nothing. He was as a ship lost at sea but with resolution as his compass and resolve as his helm; a strong strong wind blew in his sails and the captain kept a steady gaze without looking back. And yet... Melchior broke from his thoughts as he became aware that he was standing in the middle of the street. He started walking forward again, this time directly toward the robed man that stood before him as still, silent, and solid as a schulpture with his sandaled feet planted and his arms crossed over the span of his chest. Melchior couldn't tell if the man meant good or evil. But he did know that there was no ignoring him. Slipping his musket from his shoulder and planting the stock solidly on the plank-walk, Melchior mustered a smile. "Good afternoon. I am Melchior of Altenkirche. How may I be of service?" Edited by Captain_Riposte, Sep 29 2013, 10:32 PM.
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| "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4 | |
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| Tasha the Gypsy | Sep 30 2013, 12:01 AM Post #10 |
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As Harma rounded the corner of the street, she glanced behind again. Seeing the man with the musket standing, staring at another man in the crowd made her stop short with curiosity. She wanted to find out what was going on, and being a thief she was a master of disguises. A quick look around, she saw exactly what she needed; a lit candle, a pile of dust, some old rags in the dust pile. and a piece of charred wood.... A few minutes later and finished with her disguise, Harma was completely unrecognizable as an old woman hobbling down the street toward the two men, trying to get within hearing distance without being too noticeable. |
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| Amaurea | Sep 30 2013, 12:45 AM Post #11 |
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Andolla
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Melchior of Altenkirche. The first seemed to be the man's name. Perhaps the second was a place of origin, because of his form of introduction. And, his polite nature certainly threw the telepath for a loop. For a moment, Malachi just stood there, with no motion or flux of his eyes. After a few seconds of pondering how to respond to a verbal question nonverbally, Malachi arched an eyebrow, and extended his hand out to the side, indicating the crowd and the woman both men seemed to be following. Tilting his head, he gave a very plain, questioning look. Though, with this man possibly being a threat to either himself, or the girl, perhaps it would be best to simply speak to the gunman telepathically. If it frightened him, then Malachi would make certain his pursuing of the girl would end. If it did not frighten him, Malachi had other means of making his point. Guns never worried a telekinetic anyway. So, with a pause and a softening of his tanned expression, he allowed his consciousness to press lightly, yet firmly against Melchior's mind. Malachi's voice though subtle, was also brimming with a telepathic strength that dared the universe to challenge it. <<What is your business with the woman you are trailing?>> Short, simple. One might say Calvadorians were only conversational...when they needed to be. He continued to mentally track the girl, noting that her mind seemed more active now, as if she were working up some sort of plan, perhaps attempting to find the best approach of escaping. What ever the case, he'd keep his mental eye on her until she was, indeed, safely away. Even still, his eyes never left Melchior. Edited by Amaurea, Sep 30 2013, 12:56 AM.
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"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares" | |
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| star-dreamer | Sep 30 2013, 01:02 AM Post #12 |
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Caellahn stood at the end of the street, watching the people mingle and shove and push each other about, kicking up clouds of dust in their wakes. Aeigneis hadn't returned yet. He'd sent the hawk to find the recipient of his message, and likely she wouldn't return for several hours, with so many people to search through in one city. Aeigneis was used to the bustle by now, but Caellahn felt conspicuous. The deep blue cloak hanging from his shoulders set him apart as a royal messenger -- an ambassador from the foreign city of Marratow -- but his drawn hood and veil drew suspicious glances from the passersby. Likely none of them knew what a messenger of Marratow looked like, and almost certainly none of them cared. They might care more if they new of his Gift. He pushed the thought aside. How could they? Hawks were used often enough for messages and hunting... what was one more man with a hawk on his shoulder? Besides, perhaps here was different. Perhaps his Gift didn't matter in this city... this part of the country was strange to him. For now, that was to his advantage. |
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| Captain_Riposte | Sep 30 2013, 01:12 AM Post #13 |
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A voice spoke through Melchior's head, <<What is your business with the woman you are trailing?>> The words came like a thought, and Melchior half wondered if he imagined it. By a look in the eyes of the man before him eliminated all doubt--the robed man spoke directly to his mind. A knot tied in his stomach at the unnatural sensation. He heard tales of some of the Gifted Ones wielding mental powers of communication, but he had never experienced it for himself. The Gifted tended to be peaceable, so Melchior reasoned that chances were not likely that this man intended evil. Still. . . I thought she might be in danger, Melchior said aloud. |
| "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4 | |
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| Amaurea | Sep 30 2013, 02:13 AM Post #14 |
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Andolla
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The man continued to stand unwavering. That meant these people's minds weren't as frail as he first thought. Perhaps telepathic communication would be a useable tactic here. The prospect brought a quick smile to his face. Speaking in a way he was use to would be much easier than gesturing with his hands. Furthermore, understanding that the man meant the girl no harm made the Calvadorian physically relax his tightened broad shoulders. The smile replaced itself with a more permanent one as his mind relaxed into a common rhythm. Once more, the Telekinetic reached for the gunman's mind, just as gently, yet just as powerfully. <<I thank you for putting my fears to rest. It seams we both were of the same mind and motivation.>> Figuring that, sense they were no longer on hostile terms, Malachi best introduce himself also. Lowering his arms from his chest, he brought tow fingers to his temple and bowed his head slightly, respectfully. <<I am called Malachi, a teacher of the telekinetic arts. It is an honor to meet you.>> And now, that he knew the woman was no longer in any danger from either of them, perhaps he could find out where he was. Though too much contact with one mind, this quickly might have strange effects, especially if the person wasn't use to it. An odd, yet quick sheepish look overcame the normally confidant Calvadorian as he, once more, gently brushed Melchior's mind. <<Might I ask, where we are? I am a newcomer and quite unfamiliar with this place.>> His expression clearly stated that Malachi wasn't use to being lost. On Calvador, it was very difficult to loose one's dirrection. |
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"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares" | |
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| Tasha the Gypsy | Sep 30 2013, 11:00 PM Post #15 |
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Harma's sharp ears were listening for what the man with the musket was saying as she pretended to be looking at some apples. She chanced a quick look at him and the man he was standing in front of. He was staring hard at the other man. Harma gave an involuntary start as she recognized the other as the man in white who had caught her attention not long ago. Her attention was distracted for a few moments by a fisher woman who was pushing past. "I thought she might be in danger." Harma heard the man with the musket say. He seemed to be speaking to the man in front of him, but the other made no response, and they continued to stare at each other. Harma blinked. She was puzzled; was this man crazy, or was she? |
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| Captain_Riposte | Oct 2 2013, 01:53 AM Post #16 |
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What a strange man, Melchior thought to himself. Clearly he was far from home, perhaps with a poor knowleage of geography as Melchior knew of but one lake-town on all the maps he'd studied and all the roads he travelled. Yet the one called Malachi was no idiot; not only did he have a rare gift that was known only to legend and rumour, he also "spoke" clearly and pleasantly. Melchior wanted to know him better. The fresh cup of knowleage touched his lips, and he wanted to drink deep. He bowed with the sweep of his ostrich-plumed hat. "I am Melchior of Altenkirche, at your service." Melchior stood erect and replaced his hat."As to where we are-- and here Melchior swept his hand in an exhibitionary gesture-- "this is Delaria, a town built over Caedryl Lake. It is independent of the surrounding kingdoms, with its own republican government. The span of the lake and all the way up to the surrounding mountains is Delarian territory." Edited by Captain_Riposte, Oct 2 2013, 01:55 AM.
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| "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4 | |
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| Tasha the Gypsy | Oct 4 2013, 02:01 PM Post #17 |
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Harma was absorbed by the scene she saw unfolding in front of her, but suddenly she noticed the shadows getting longer. She had to hurry or she would be later for her meeting with Retaan. Still keeping up her disguise as an old woman, she hobbled back up the street until she was out of sight, then she quickly removed the rags and wax. Throwing a dark cloak over her shoulders, she headed through more back alleys, always moving closer and closer to the waterfront. |
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| Amaurea | Oct 5 2013, 03:20 PM Post #18 |
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Andolla
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Good, now he was getting somewhere. Information was always a nice thing to have when one was on a strange world. So, apparently there were surrounding kingdoms, though, this place was separate from them. Malachi took a look around once more, and noted that the man before him was the only one carrying a firearm. Malachi couldn't decide weather the firearm in a setting like this was out of place, or weather the fact that there wasn't more people carrying them was out of place. Blinking the thoughts away, the Calvadorian motioned toward Melchior's weapon with a curious expression on his face. <<And what do you do here?>> Turning slightly, he lifted his hands and lowered his hood. The breeze dancing across the lake felt new and refreshing to the Calvadorian. It was, indeed, different from either being in the sweltering heat, or cooped up within a metal dome. The open expanse of this place both shocked and pleasantly surprised him. |
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"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares" | |
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| star-dreamer | Oct 12 2013, 05:05 AM Post #19 |
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I've found her. Caellahn leaned back against his wall, trying to appear as common-place as possible. What would people think if they knew he could talk to a bird? He didn't rightfully know, and he certainly didn't want to find out. Is she here in the city? he asked over their mental link, or outside it? She's here, came the reply, just as Aegneis flew into view overhead. Not far, either. She runs an herb shop in the lower district. Not a nice place, that, but it's only a short walk from here. Her shop is on a street marked "Ratchers Way". Is that all you could find? Aegneis screeched overhead, and Caellahn could here the contempt in her voice. Well, I can't expect you to understand the detailed processes involved in a job like this. Do you know how many streets I had to cross reference, and how many people I had to identify before I could find the right one? And you all look pretty much the same from up here, bustling around like ants before a rainstorm. It's easy to get you all mixed up. But of course, you wouldn't understand something like that... not without wings, you wouldn't. And oh, that's right, I'm the only one with wings around here. Caellahn chuckled to himself and stepped away from the building, holding out his right arm for Aegneis to set down on. She landed and ruffled her feathers, refusing to look at him. Aw, come on now, he crooned. You know I didn't mean anything by it. It'd take me much longer than it takes you to find half the subjects we're assigned to. Where would I be without you, eh? She turned a piercing eye on him. Very very lost, came the reply. This time he laughed out loud. Very lost indeed. Edited by star-dreamer, Oct 12 2013, 05:07 AM.
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| Captain_Riposte | Oct 28 2013, 07:02 PM Post #20 |
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Melchior laughed. "The question is not so much what I do here, but what will I do. I am curious that you have never heard tell of my little toy. It is, alas, a repellant of many friends, but more will be carrying these in coming days." He lifted his musket to let the stranger get a better look. The long polygonal steel barrel once shone with the blued reflections of the surroundings its wielder traveled in, but extensive marching and use dulled the surface to a dull phantom grey. Foliate etchings ran along the oaken gunstock until the formed the image of a stag fleeing a wolf on the hooked end past where the wielder gripped the weapon. A scrolled lever, meandering beneath the stock like an iron ribbon frozen in time, served as the trigger. Melchior pulled this demonstrably, and an ornate clamp shaped like a vine stooped down to dip the tip of a long, coiling cord into a small pan against a steel plate. "This cord is called a coal," he explained, "in combat, both ends are smoldering and this pan will be primed with powder, and once the burning coal hits the powder, it creates enough of a burning blast to force the bullet from the barrel and to the enemy." He held up his staff, crowned with a curved fork. I lay the barrel along this rest so that I can better aim and brace for impact." He patted the gun affectionately. She sure kicks like a mule when she breathes fire!" Street travelers stared at Melchior as they passed, expressions ranging from fearful to contemptuous to admiration. "Unfortunately there are those that are not so fond of this. But there are enough in distant parts where I seek employment as a soldier or as a scholar of the mysteries of this new science. How about you? What brings you to these lands?" |
| "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4 | |
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