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| A Single Drop of Blood [Complete]; [P] Jackdaw | |
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| Topic Started: Tue Dec 27, 2011 12:08 am (498 Views) | |
| Priscilla | Tue Dec 27, 2011 12:08 am Post #1 |
 
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”Shh, now… It’ll be okay Gregor… It’s okay…” The young mage did not seem to respond to the soft, shaking voice as Priscilla pressed down on the wound in his gut. She tried to keep a calm face, but there was no hiding the quaver in her voice as she attempted to tend to him. Usually one of her companions would be more than capable of healing the wound, but this was not a normal situation. She dared not raise her head to check and see if the ambushers were still there, suspecting that they were just waiting to fill her full of arrows. The haemokinetic glanced around at the remains of the research group, her features strained and worried. They had traveled to the Istani ruins to search for the remnants of the ancient predecessor to the Academy of Magic. Little was known of the long-lost order of warlocks, but for years it had been suspected that these half-buried structures had once been their seat of power in the desert. Getting permission from the Sultan had taken years of wheedling and a huge number of permits and paperwork, but they had finally succeeded in earning her permission to explore the ruins. Priscilla was one of the dozen Arcane Researchers that had been assigned to the expedition. Of course, they had not expected to be ambushed in the ruins as soon as they arrived. Clearly, details of their journey had been leaked, a matter that she planned on investigating as soon as she returned to Istan City. If she lived through this experience, of course. The young mage gurgled, clawing at the wound in his stomach. Priscilla swallowed a wave of nausea and held his hand down, trying to stem the flow of blood. They had appeared from nowhere, launching a coordinated attack of archers and melee warriors right when the mages were gathered to set up camp. Normally, a group of bandits or outlaws would have to be suicidal to attack a group of trained magicians, but nothing about the ambush had been typical. Their weapons had been coated in some sort of poison that completely blocked their ability to tap into the arcane arts, reducing the expedition to a group of blundering idiots in moments. They had been slaughtered handily. Only Priscilla and Gregor were still alive. She had managed to drag the injured mage behind a fallen pillar within the ruins, but in retrospect that was a poor decision. Now she was trapped in here with a dying man and no hopes of escape. There were at least a dozen men scattered amongst the entrance to the area, each of them armed with a shortbow and a scimitar. Priscilla glanced at the cut on her own arm, mentally praying to whatever deities existed that she was not affected by the venom on the arrow. Technically her abilities were not magical in nature, but rather the innate ability to manipulate her own blood. She wished she could do something to end Gregor’s pain, but she did not know enough about anatomy or healing to help ease his pain. The mage would die soon, like the other ten men and women that had accompanied them. Then it would be only Priscilla Vermillion… and there would be hell to pay. She would kill every single one of the ambushers or she would die trying. Edited by Priscilla, Tue Dec 27, 2011 2:46 am.
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| Jackdaw | Wed Dec 28, 2011 4:35 am Post #2 |
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Taras rose, but it could not bring up everyone. The slums and tent-camps still remained. As of this very day, it had been a year since Jackdaw was violently thrown into this harsh world of the outer city, condemned to die a slow, brutal death at the hands of other humans. Rather than suffering, she flourished. She tore every single day from the hands of those who would punish her for her past crimes. Over time it became clear to her that surviving wasn't just about fending off enemies. To really keep going, she must utterly destroy anyone who stands in her way. Even if it meant hunting them down into the depths of the desert. She had known him by a more common name, but he actually went by the name of Fennec. (Upon hearing this, Jackdaw rolled her eyes and muttered a sarcastic "Cute." at her right-hand Anatoli). He was an expert con and former drug runner originally from Istan City. Once he met up with the woman and joined her small, loose smuggling crew, Fennec was a valuable asset on the road. He was smart, fast with words and real handy with a knife. Then he promptly ran off with valuable goods about two months into his tenure. If there was anything Kiveteles didn't tolerate, it was being stolen from. Jackdaw left her thoughts on the situation and returned her attention back to the sweltering heat. Even though Istan was cooler than usual around this time of year, it was far hotter than the woman was used to. She didn't seem outwardly affected by it, though, beyond the sweat glistening on her forehead and her noticeable lack of a grin. Keeping her back straight atop her massive destrier, which was doing surprisingly well in the heat, she turned to Anatoli. Her right-hand man was a barrel-chested human, middle-aged, with sunken features and an unchanging scowl due to his scars causing permanent nerve damage. He tossed her a sidelong glance as if waiting for her to speak. "Tell me about the Istani people," she said. Her voice was smooth, almost a purr, which was strangely fitting considering her overall bearing. She wore a man's jacket with an extra cloth tied neatly around her waist, with a white blouse beneath it and a flat cap over her shiny black hair that fell in short waves over her shoulders. Combined with the sheer monstrosity that was her horse, she really did give off a sort of highwayman-like feel with none of the charm or excess wealth to go along with it. Anatoli, on the other hand, just looked like a mercenary with nothing to lose. He considered her question for a few seconds before speaking. "They're warlike. All they do is live for battle. The military has much more power than most other places," he answered slowly, turning to keep his gaze forward. "When they set their mind to something, they never stop. Ever. And they have no sense of humor." A smile tugged at the edges of Jackdaw's lips. "They sound like a charming people." Then the road fell to silence once again. For now, it was only her and the old man tracking Fennec into Istan; the rest of the crew was busy with the movement of fairies that happens around this time of year. Eventually they reached a portion of the road that crossed a long field of old stone ruins. Jackdaw absorbed the sight of the carvings: their faded paint, the broken pillars. When they rounded a corner, though, complete carnage filled their view. She urged her horse to a stop. The group of men who had apparently orchestrated this complete slaughter of robed wisemen were prowling around like dogs, their scimitars still in hand. Jackdaw smiled at her right-hand man, shrugged, and urged her horse forward. They approached. She tipped her hat. "Nice day, eh?" One of them finally spoke up after a lot of tense glances. "Could be better, friend." "I see you got a pretty big haul here." Jackdaw casually trotted around the carnage, pretending to give off a combination of amusement and pleased surprise. Then her eyes flicked back to them, a dangerous smile on her face. "A bit unfair to completely outnumber your target, though. Makes you look like cowards, at any rate, and you just don't really get that much loot once it's all divided in the end, you know?" If Anatoli could have spoken right then, he would have mentioned to his ally that the worst possible thing to say to an Istani was to call him a coward. The entire road erupted into violence. Jackdaw reached into her jacket and sent two knives flying. They each punched hard into the chests of two separate men who were running towards her, and they fell limp. She dug her heels hard into the sides of her destrier, sending it flying into the ruins, while Anatoli began his deadly work with a bastard sword. She received a surprise when the beast landed hard on the other side of a fallen pillar. Two more people were hidden in the alcove there, and they wore the robes of the men slaughtered further by the road. Almost certainly the only survivors of the attack, and one of them wasn't looking like he'd hang on for much longer. This situation was getting more and more interesting, and Jackdaw was just dying to hear the story behind the bloodbath. Using one hand to control her enraged horse, Kiveteles tipped her hat at the girl, flashing the readhead a toothy, uneven grin. For now she didn't say anything more, as she didn't wish to reveal the survivors' location to the attackers, but it was good to at least indicate that the ambushers were in the process of being handled. Hopefully. Anatoli wouldn't be able to last much longer against so many skilled warriors. |
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| Priscilla | Wed Dec 28, 2011 7:15 am Post #3 |
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The haemokinetic felt fresh tears brimming up in her eyes as Gregor dragged in one last rattling, strained breath before falling still. She hadn't really known much about the mage. He had only recently finished his thesis about the advanced applications of arcanotechnology, a field she knew absolutely nothing about but no doubt looked impressive on a cover page. Now he was dead, his blood pooling on the cobbles of a long-forgotten ruin in the middle of a desert, all of his personal and academic endeavors dragged to a halt by one well-placed arrow. Priscilla drew in an aching gasp of air, feeling like her chest cavity was about to implode from a combination of sadness, despair, and anger. She angrily dashed away her tears with the palm of one hand, ignoring the streak of blood the gesture left across her cheek. The woman knew that she would only get bloodier soon. Priscilla tilted her head to one side, listening for any indication that the ambushers were closing in for the kill. They had chased her and Gregor behind this pillar almost ten minutes but had made no further attempts to exterminate them. Perhaps they thought the combination of the poison and the arrows would be enough to kill the last two members of the excavation party. Of course, she had other plans in mind. Priscilla sunk both hands into the spreading pool of blood under her comrade's corpse, closing her eyes in concentration. Manipulating the blood of others was more difficult than controlling her own, but it saved her the necessity of cutting open her own skin. She swirled her fingertips in the thick, warm liquid, her brow furrowing as she bent the substance to her will. The change in the blood was subtle at first. It began to creep up her fingers as if gravity had been reversed, coating the digits like a pai of crimson gloves. The red liquid continued to swell around her hands, rapidly forming a globe that completely covered her arm from the wrist down. Priscilla slowly tightened her hands into fists, using the movement to focus her attention on the blood and change its structure into a complex and stable crystal lattice. The end result was a highly compressed matrix structure that exceeded the strength of even forged steel, reaching an absolute hardness of near sixteen hundred on the Mohs scale. The woman opened her eyes, grinning at the dual spheres of hardened blood that covered her hands. "This will do." The whisper was harsh and unforgiving as she turned towards the entrance to the ruins, preparing to launch herself over the structure at her attackers. Priscilla had expected a lot of things to go wrong during her attack, but she had not prepared for a massive destrier to come hopping over the pillar with its rider in tow. She gaped at the intruder, not even bothering to strike out with the crystallized blood. A fierce-looking woman was mounted on the clydesdale, grinning at her lopsidedly with a mischievous expression. The haemokinetic tensed, shooting to her feet with her hands curled in front of her in a boxer's stance. She didn't know where the ambushers had managed to hide a horse among the Istan dunes, but she wasn't going to go down without a fight. However, the woman followed the feral smile by tipping the brim of her hat at the girl, a courteous gesture she would not expect from one of her enemies. She paused, confusion muddling her brain and keeping her from realizing her exposed position. The researcher did not notice when of the mysterious murderers launched an arrow at her. The projectile slamming into the side of her skull with no warning, striking the redhead before she could lunge at the strange woman. Time seemed to slow for Priscilla as she felt the very tip of the arrowhead prick her flesh just above her left temple. However, instead of bursting through her head in a spray of blood and bone there was an odd, hollow clank. Blood gushed out of the small wound, forming a protective shell of crimson around the left side of her face that instantly crystallized into its hardened form. The projectile splintered uselessly, pinwheeling away as Priscilla staggered to the side. Although she had perfected her instincts and haemokinesis to allow for such a defensive maneuver, there was no good way to disperse the force from such a blow. She was sent falling to her knees, her head pounding from the force of the missile. "Son of a corespawned sand snake, that stings!" Priscilla pushed herself to her feet, tasting the rusty twang of fresh blood in the back of her mouth. She dragged her tongue across both rows of teeth to coat them in blood before crystallizing the substance, giving her a diamond-hard mouth guard to prevent her teeth from being knocked out. The blood from the wound in her temple was still coating half of her visage, transforming her features into a gruesome, garish mask. She glared at the mounted woman from the slit in the makeshift armor, her tense stance indicating that she was still prepared to fight the stranger if necessary. She knocked the balls of blood on her hands together, her words sounding stiff and unnatural due to the impromptu moth guard she had fashioned. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way." Edited by Priscilla, Wed Dec 28, 2011 9:00 pm.
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| Jackdaw | Wed Dec 28, 2011 9:24 pm Post #4 |
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Now that was something new. Kiveteles watched her, head tilted quizzically as her mount angrily threw its head and pawed at the ground. The girl was doing some crazy voodoo magic on the blood of the dead man, allowing the substance to crystallize into a tough covering over her fists. The strange magic and the rhythmic movements distracted Jackdaw for just long enough that she didn't have time to warn the girl of the attack. A few stragglers from the group had made their way around the fallen pillar and were already pressing the attack. A knife whirled through the air and dug deep into the assailant's neck, but it was a moment too late; he had already loosed an arrow at the blood-bending girl. She didn't die. Far from it. Half of her face was coated in a grotesque mask of her own blood that shielded her from the attack, even splintering the offending projectile on impact. And now, despite Jackdaw helping her, she was real pissed, growling about getting out of her way. The woman lifted her eyebrows, a bit impressed by her spunk, and kicked her heels into her mount. Her destrier pounded back toward the road where Anatoli was hard at work trying to fend off a huge group of people. Their arrows couldn't pierce the crowd or his scale armor, but he was covered in blood from the occasional scimitar that got through his defenses. His condition was declining rapidly, and that became ever more evident the more Jackdaw attempted to help him out. One more man fell, but it took two more throwing knives -- the last she had stuffed in the inside pockets of her jacket. She tore a longer, more wicked dagger from her almost knee-high boot and deftly lowered herself from her massive horse. It took the hint and charged into the fray, breaking up the crowd that had coalesced around Anatoli by distracting them with powerful kicks and bites. Before she went into battle and risked being sliced to pieces or shot -- thankfully no one was pointing their weapons at her -- Jackdaw looked back to see if the mage girl with the blood magic would join them. |
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| Rin | Wed Dec 28, 2011 11:59 pm Post #5 |
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For several long moments the strange woman stared at her, an eternity in which Priscilla prepared to pull her down from that horse and beat her to a bloody pulp. Luckily, she wheeled the destrier back towards the entrance of the ruins and dug her heels into the horse's flanks, sending the war horse galloping away in a cloud of dust. Now that the imminent threat to her life was gone the researcher realized she could hear the sounds of a fierce battle being waged on the other side of the fallen pillar. Clearly, some group of people had encountered the ambushers and entered the fray. She had no idea who her rescuers were, but at the moment the woman would accept the help of a demon itself if it meant getting out of this situation. She wasted no more time with thought, charging behind the horse towards the fracas. The group of people that had slaughtered her friends were all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing tan cloaks with wide hoods that protected their face from the unrelenting Istani sun. In their midst was a sole man that was whirling and slashing in a desperate attempt to keep the flashing scimitars from ending his life. The mounted woman slid off of her horse, sending the animal barreling into the fray and sending the cloaked assailants flying in every direction. Priscilla grimaced and ran towards the fight as quickly as she could, her arms slightly bent so her fists rested near her hips. As she ran the blood crept across her face, forming a mask of blood that completely hid her features. There was a shout of alarm when the ambushers noticed that one of the excavation team had escaped their attack. Several of the men reached for their bows, sending a wave of projectiles flying towards the haemokinetic. She darted from side to side to make herself a more difficult target, but there was no way of dodging each and every missile. However, as soon as each arrow broke the skin blood surged out of the injury, crystallizing into plates of crustacean-like shell on her figure. Each arrow made her stumble for a few steps and slowed her approach, but she was taking a minimal amount of damage from the ranged attacks. Armor spread across her right shoulder, left hip, and left shin as arrows stuck her there, the crystallized blood slowly spreading to cover more of her body. Her assailants had clearly expected the poison tipping the arrows to render her abilities useless, but they clearly hadn't done their research. Priscilla's gift was hereditary instead of arcane, an ability that every family member of her could use to varying degrees. The woman burst into the fight with a vengeance, lowering her shoulder and charging towards the nearest ambusher. He sneered at the clumsy attack, but he was not expecting the offensive capabilities of her blood manipulating powers. A lance of blood shot up from the shell there, forming a serrated protrusion that jutted up from her shoulder. Priscilla shouted out a wordless challenge of anger as she slammed into the man, her momentum punching the spike of blood straight through his sternum and through his back. The man's mouth opened and closed dumbly as she pulled back from the man, leaving a gaping hole in his abdomen. There was an exultant grin on her face, although it was hidden behind the shell of hardened blood. "That's for Gregor." She swung both fists up in a wide arc, slamming her fists into both sides of his head simultaneously. In a normal match, 'boxing' his ears would have simply dazed the man for a few moments. With her hands covered in a globe of diamond-hard blood, his skull was crushed like an eggshell under an anvil. Blood splashed across Priscilla's body, but wherever it struck the plates of armor it was simply absorbed, strengthening her defenses. She felt another arrow slam into her back, the flash of pain accompanied by a lightheaded sensation as more blood spread outward from the point of impact. She would have to be careful to keep herself in check or risk falling unconscious from blood loss. The woman turned to the next opponent, her hands raised in a defensive position as she danced from foot to foot, looking for a way to close the distance without being struck by the scimitar. |
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| Jackdaw | Thu Dec 29, 2011 1:22 am Post #6 |
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This girl was absolutely... ferocious? Vicious? Jackdaw settled on "violent." It covered well how terrifyingly brutal her fighting style was, sending broken bodies to the ground and spilling blood that only made her stronger. In fact, Kiveteles was impressed; now she not only wanted to learn the story behind this massacre in the desert, but about this young woman as well. Jackdaw honestly loved to learn about people and their backgrounds. Everyone had a different story, some more interesting than others but all quite rich and varied, sprinkled with curious tragedies. Jackdaw had slit a man's throat but had little other reason to continue fighting, as Anatoli was completely exhausted and this mage girl was doing quite a fine job of taking care of the rest. As the last body hit the dusty ground, Jackdaw was leaning against the flank of her horse, cleaning the throwing knives she'd retrieved. Her right-hand man was patching up his own wounds with a kit full of crude bandages. She stowed away the last knife into its pocket in her jacket, then crossed her arms and, smiling curiously, regarded the girl. "Well. Looks like you and your friends got into a bit of trouble here." Jackdaw paused to glance at Anatoli, momentarily frowning at his wounds. Looks like they should've walked on by. Oh well; that man could handle anything. "Call me Jackdaw, he's Anatoli Blue-Eyes. We're enterprising businessmen from Taras. I don't suppose you need a lift anywhere, miss?" |
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| Priscilla | Thu Dec 29, 2011 3:02 am Post #7 |
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Priscilla brought her hand up in a vicious uppercut, the globe of crystallized blood striking the descending scimitar before it could strike her shoulder. She had tested her defensive capabilities in a series of controlled, stepwise experiments and knew that it could deflect such an attack, but she had no means of healing the wound it would leave in her flesh. A small chip of blood fell off of the sphere, but otherwise no damage was done to the super-condensed lattice. She used the brief respite to dance in closer, launching a flurry of quick jabs at the man’s unprotected torso. He grunted as ribs were cracked, the chainmail he wore under his camouflaged clothes provided no defense against her onslaught. The haemokinetic kicked the man’s feet out from under him in a move that would be considered unsporting in the ring, but she felt it was totally justified in these circumstances. He laid prone in the sand, clutching his side and groaning as she turned to her next foe. The men did not seem to have any response for her blood manipulation. Blades and arrows rebounded from her flesh uselessly and bare-handed attacks were met with rough, studded patches that ripped the skin. Priscilla’s martial techniques were not flawless, but her apparent invulnerability made her a terror on the battlefield. She knew that each deflected blow would leave a nasty bruise on her flesh, but it was preferable to being skewered or slain like the rest of her group. When the last body fell to the ground she stood amongst the scattered bodies, breathing heavily. The thick, protective armor had grown to cover almost her entire body by this point in time, encasing her limbs in a layer of crystalline blood. Priscilla sighed and closed her eyes, harnessing her power and drawing the blood back into the various wounds scattered across her body. There was an unusual slurping noise as it was sucked back into her body. The tell-tale signs of anemia faded as the blood re-entered her circulatory system, a healthy flush returning to her cheeks. The arcane researcher glanced at the strange woman as she introduced herself, snorting and tossing her head to get the hair out of her eyes. ”Priscilla Vermillion. Mystical Researcher, First Order. Charmed, of course.” Her voice was still quivering with the aftereffects of adrenaline, her hands shivering. She wrung her fingers together to hide the sign of weakness, walking over to the man whose ribs she had broken. He was still alive, although each breath was clearly a struggle. She turned to look over her shoulder at the woman once more. Although in the shade of the ruins her irises had appeared to be light brown, in the light of day it was revealed they were a deep shade of red. She had yet to meet a ‘business man’ that could throw daggers with pinpoint accuracy or survive an encounter with a dozen armed men, but the strangers had saved her life and she didn’t want to insult her newfound saviors. The woman leaned down, staring at the man’s face. He had a small, simple brand on his right cheek. It was a symbol she had never seen before, a broken circle surrounded by a jagged line. She roughly kicked his side before kneeling down, her eyes burning with anger. ”How’d you know we were here?” The man’s response was nonverbal, hawking a wad of phlegm and blood on her cheek. Priscilla’s response was a tight lipped smile and stabbing two rigid fingers into the nerve cluster in his shoulder. The man gasped at the contact as she pressed her fingertips deep into the muscle, reaching out haemokinetically. Although there was no outward sign of what she had done, the arcane researcher had purposely dropped the temperature of the man’s blood to hypothermia–inducing levels. He screamed out in pain as the icy sensation began to spread down his arm, making the limb shake and shudder. Priscilla stood up from the man as he continued to yell, turning to look at Jackdaw and Anatoli. ”Give me a moment, if you don’t mind. I’d be pleased to accept any assistance you’re willing to offer after I take care of this.” Although there was still an undercurrent of grief in her voice, she did not seem overly bothered by the pain-laden cries of the man writhing in the sand. |
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| Jackdaw | Sun Jan 1, 2012 11:43 pm Post #8 |
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Jackdaw's lips once again curled into a toothy smile in response to Priscilla's words; she nodded to indicate her patience. Silence prevailed for a few seconds before the mage-brawler began interrogating the remaining Istani in her own special way. As she listened, the woman continued cleaning her bloody weapons, occasionally spitting on them to really bring out the shine -- she could polish them properly once she was back home. Anatoli was as stoic and uninteresting as ever. Jackdaw could even feel a tinge of discomfort in his permanently-tense carriage. "You don't like it?" Kiveteles said softly to her right-hand man so that her voice wouldn't interrupt Priscilla's conversation. "They killed all her friends, you know. You should've seen her face. Pure anguish." Near the end of her explanation the smuggler's tone turned wistful and dramatic, more as a way to emphasize the girl's justification than to mock her for it. Jackdaw glanced back at the interrogation just in time to see the nearly fallen man twitching and roaring in pain. It wasn't that she was unphased by the torture, his grimacing and agony -- she wasn't a sociopath, after all -- but she was perfectly fine with it considering the circumstances. It wasn't like she had a moral objection to the action, at least. Anatoli's brow seemed more furrowed than usual. "Are you sure you want to help her?" "But of course!" Jackdaw gave a little flourish of her knife, always dramatic. She stowed the blade in her jacket again so it was well-concealed. "Poor girl is stuck out here, all her little mage friends dead. 'Tis a sad story, my friend. I might do anything I can to help. Won't you?" He gave a noncommittal grunt. Edited by Jackdaw, Sun Jan 1, 2012 11:44 pm.
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| Priscilla | Mon Jan 2, 2012 8:34 pm Post #9 |
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Priscilla turned back to the squirming man, although she stayed alert from any noise of movement from behind her. She didn't trust that Jackdaw woman. She had an unctuous way of smiling that set the researcher's teeth on edge, and she still wasn't sure why they had assisted her. She kneeled down over the man, gripping his shivering arm roughly. The limb was noticably cold to the touch, the flesh unhealthily pale. She tightened her grip slightly, wincing at the accompanying crescendo in the man's scream. "Oh, shut up." Priscilla dug her fingers deeper into the man's arm, mentally willing his blood to return to healthy temperatures. It took almost a minute for the man to regain his breath after he noticed the pain was gone, staring at the redheaded woman with wide, terrified eyes. "How'd you find us? Why did you attack us? Tell me or I'll freeze something you're much more attached to." She glanced down his body pointedly, the cruel edge in her voice making the man's face go white with horror. "No, stop! I talk, I talk!" His Common was rough an accented, clearly flavored with one of the numerous dialects of Istani. She didn't know enough about linguistics to identify his home region from his words, but at least they wouldn't need a translator. "We men are of Broken Chain! We are told you would be here!" There was no missing the malice in his eyes as he glared at the woman. "We kill filthy magic users. Korzul tell us how." Priscilla watched him with a blank expression that was somehow a hundred times more frightening than her earlier anger. "Well, you missed one." This information put the attack in a new light. The Broken Chain was a cult that had been born out of the disaster sparked by a drow matron known as Olis'inth. Psychotic magicians, alchemists, and necromancers from across the land had gathered to perform gruesome experiments on unwilling participants. A group of the slaves that had escaped had blamed the arcane for their torture, banding together and forming the group. Armed with a rare poison that could completely suppress a magician's gifts, they had lashed out at witches and wizards across the realm. This was the first time she had heard of a group of Academy-sanctioned mages being attacked, but it had only been a matter of time. She had no idea who Korzul was, but that information could wait. Only a dozen people could have known their itinerary. The researcher watched the man for a moment longer before standing. She raised her foot, pressing her heel against his sternum and pressing down. She lowered the temperature of his blood once more, this time focusing on his heart. His eyes widened as the icy sensation spread outwards from his chest, expanding through every limb. There was a hard, bitter glint in her eyes as she turned back to her 'saviors,' ignoring the cultist's screams as he gripped his chest. She looked between Jackdaw and Anatoli, making no attempt to hide her suspicions. The woman had cleverly hidden her blade somewhere on her person and was watching her expectantly, while the man's scale armor could be seen through the gashes in his clothing. 'Businessmen' my ass. She considered trying to wheedle her way out of danger, but a rush of exhaustion stopped her. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. It was far more difficult than she would have expected, proving how truly tired she was."I'll be honest. I have... Oh, roughly a dozen gold pieces on me. You could probably take it pretty easily." She indicated the pouch at her waist, a bitter smile curling up her lips. It was clear that if they wanted it, they would have to pry it from her cold, dead fingers. "You could find more from looting the bodies, probably, but that's messy work. On the other hand, I can guarantee the Academy will reward you for returning me to the Istani campus unharmed. You will also have my gratitude, which is a rather priceless commodity." She looked around the scattered corpses of her friends and peers, her smile rapidly fading and being replaced by a desolate look. All the spirit seemed to fade out of her, her voice reflecting her weariness and melancholy. "I'd... really appreciate it." |
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| Jackdaw | Thu Jan 5, 2012 7:33 pm Post #10 |
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Oh, how adorable this little brawler was! All the blood and torture just made her current raggedness even more endearing. Jackdaw's eyebrows tilted upward like she was looking at a particularly pitiful puppy. "Why, I could never say no to that." Kiveteles turned to Anatoli, who was busy stitching up a gash on his arm. "Would you be so kind as to donate your horse to miss Vermillion until we reach the nearest village?" The ex-soldier tied his stitch, glared at Jackdaw and then considered Priscilla herself. Either his sympathy for the girl, his natural chivalric streak or a combination of both prompted him to dismount his horse and motion politely for Priscilla to take it. "Don't worry about forcing him to walk, dear. Anatoli has suffered much, much worse than a simple hike across the desert." Jackdaw gripped the side of her destrier and mounted it. She waited for Priscilla to do the same before beginning a slow trot down the road. Anatoli hung back, giving the two women room to talk while also watching for enemies. Jackdaw continued. "Lucky we arrived. We're on our way to Istan City as well. That is where the Academy of Magic chapter is, correct? Only a couple days out from here." Edited by Jackdaw, Thu Jan 5, 2012 7:33 pm.
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| Priscilla | Fri Jan 6, 2012 3:24 am Post #11 |
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The scholar wasn't sure how she felt about the look this Jackdaw woman was giving her, but she could stand a little eccentricity if it meant she managed to get back to Istan City. "Thank you. Truly."Julian would want to know about the ambush as soon as possible. Priscilla winced at the thought of her mentor and boss's reaction to the news. He would not be pleased, to say the least. "No worries, Anatoli. I'll take good of your horse." She inexpertly mounted the creature, awkwardly patting its neck as she got situated on the saddle. The woman had never gotten used to the wild, tough horses that called the Istan Desert home, and she outright hated the filthy, flea-ridden monsters that less informed people called 'camels.' Still, this horse seemed calm and well-trained. Priscilla glanced from Jackdaw to the armored man as she spoke, once more feeling her hackles rise at the woman's tone. Jackdaw carried herself like royalty but fought like a killer, an interesting and potentially treacherous combination. She would have to be careful in dealing with this woman. "Yes, the closest campus is located in Istan City. There isn't anywhere else in the desert big enough to host us." Her horse seemed content to follow the destrier down the road, a fact she was endlessly thankful for. Priscilla glanced back at Anatoli before turning to Jackdaw, smiling in a fashion she hoped was amiable and honest. "What brings you and your companion this far off the beaten tracks?" The road they were on was not well-traveled, a supply route that went through several of the desert's eastern villages before curving towards the metropolis of Istan City. It was definitely not the place one expected to encounter two aspiring 'businessmen.' Despite the banal nature of the conversation, Priscilla's mind was running at full speed. She might lack any skill with traditional magic, but she made up for it with a quick mind and sharp memory. At the moment she was attempting to calculate how successfully she would be able to defend herself against these two strangers if they proved to be highwaymen or some other brand of outlaw. They had only used melee weapons thus far, and if Anatoli had been a magic user he probably would have succumbed to the poison the Broken Chain was infamous for. He's strong and she's fast... But I'd say I have a 82% chance of surviving, even right now. Let's hope it doesn't come to that... |
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| Jackdaw | Sun Jan 15, 2012 4:34 pm Post #12 |
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"We're looking for an old friend of ours," Jackdaw said matter-of-factly. "A short, skinny young man with big eyes. Goes by the nickname Fennec. You've probably never heard of him; I don't think he's the type to run with high-class Istani." The scoundrel opted not to mention how they planned to kill the boy after successfully hunting him down, as it didn't seem like a topic one would mention in polite conversation with a near-stranger. Instead, the woman turned their discussion back to Priscilla. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with that man. Never heard of Broken Chain before, but I do know of a man named Korzul. Hakim 'ela Korzul is one of the minor merchant-lords of Istan. As far as I know his only claim to fame is his philanthropy. Seen him touring the Taras refugee camps once, acting like he was a saint or something." Jackdaw gave a little snort. "It doesn't surprise me that he might secretly be an anti-arcanist. Every man has his prejudices. Either way, your best bet to start your search is in the rich districts of Istan City. He's an old man, he probably doesn't travel from his home much anymore." |
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| Priscilla | Wed Jan 18, 2012 12:09 am Post #13 |
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Priscilla had to fight to keep the incredulity from her face, although she could not suppress her left eyebrow from rising in a mixture of surprise and admiration. Clearly this woman had some contacts. The names of the Istani nobility were not well-known outside of the desert metropolis, and even after living there for a decade she could not name a single member member of that lofty caste. "Is that so? That's... interesting. I do believe that a merchant-lord actually funded this expedition." She sighed and ran a hand through her bright red hair, shoving it out of her face. If this Korzul fellow had somehow managed to approve this research journey simply to betray them, it suggested he possessed a level of power and treachery that would make it difficult to openly oppose him. Priscilla did not have the means at her disposable to accuse a merchant-lord of a crime, even with a hundred witnesses. The Istani army had precedence over any case involving the nobility, and the testimony of a would-be-assassin that she had left in the desert to die wasn't nearly enough evidence to convict him. The researcher reflected on this information in silence, not even bothering to hide the conflict in her expression. She wondered what Julian would suggest if he had this information. As an official member of the Academy, he would probably be forced to tell her to drop the matter despite his true feelings. Either that or he would go into a magically-induced rage that would cut a swath of destruction through the city and result in his third exile from the city. Priscilla suppressed a small smile at the thought and turned to Jackdaw, staring at the woman with a calculating expression. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to enter... A partnership, I suppose? You seem to be rather skilled individuals." The scholar thought that was a politically safe way to refer to people she had every reason to believe were some manner of bandits or highwaymen. "Not to sound narcissistic, but I could probably provide useful in finding this Fennec fellow. Official Academy members have credentials that can help with any... legal troubles you might have." She tensed, preparing for the violence that would surely ensure if Jackdaw did not appreciate this line of thought. |
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| Jackdaw | Wed Jan 25, 2012 3:35 am Post #14 |
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Kiveteles chuckled. Her disposition remained warm despite the slightly accusatory tone in Priscilla's voice. It was obvious by now that the mage girl was suspicious about them. And for good reason, too. "Sounds like something that would benefit us both. I've actually never been to Istan before, so even your knowledge of the big city will be helpful." Almost as though she timed it perfectly to explain her point, Jackdaw tugged the handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the sweat beading on her forehead. "But I don't suppose this Korzul fellow is too difficult to find. Rich men live conspicuously; we could just ask around. Fennec, on the other hand, is slippery. He'll just fade into the slums if we're not careful."
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| Priscilla | Fri Jan 27, 2012 3:03 am Post #15 |
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Priscilla looked sideways towards Jackdaw as she spoke. This woman had not only accepted that her enemy was an influential Istani nobleman, but she had sworn to help her eliminate him without hesitation. The decision revealed quite a lot about her character. She was either a fool or extremely confident for a good reason, and from the way she had behaved herself thus far Jackdaw did not seem to be a fool. "Ah, but will Fennec suspect a member of the Academy? We are a well known power in Istan." She drew a silver chain up out of her tunic, swinging the amulet that hung from it. It was a simple disc carved with arcane glyphs and inscribed with the sign of the Academy of Magic. The simple talisman allowed her to walk the streets of Istan City out of a combination of fear and respect. "I can find flush him out for you, let you k-... do whatever you need to." She barely managed to stop herself from accusing her companion of plotting a murder. Even if it was true, it was rude to state it so blatantly. The trip across the desert took several long, tiring days. Priscilla stayed sullen and silent for much of the trip. Although she appeared to still be in shock externally, her mind was working at full speed, planning the best way to punish a member of the nobility without getting caught. Most of Jackdaw's attempts at conversation were met with short answers that left no opportunities for further dialogue. The scholar only emerged from this state when they finally spotted their destination on the horizon, a small smile splitting her face for the first time in days. She was much chattier as they drew closer, although she still treated her companions with an awkward politeness that suggested she was prepared to defend herself at any moment. There was no honor among thieves, after all, and the same probably held true for 'amateur entrepreneurs' such as Jackdaw and Anatoli. When they passed into the city Priscilla flashed her pendant at one of the city guard, barking out a short phrase in Istani. He nodded and immediately organized an escort for the group, not giving her companions a second glance. Arcanists were known to keep odd company. Thanks to the accompanying soldiers they reached the Academy of Magic quickly, forcing their way through the worst of the traffic on the streets. It was a massive building built on the banks of the life-giving Istan River. Originally, the campus had consisted of several structures surrounding a massive marble courtyard. However, expansions and renovations over the years had linked all of the buildings together, more than tripling its size. Even now work was being done to build a new wing of dormitories for the influx of students they expected next term. The end result was a sprawling maze of rooms, hallways, bridges, tunnels, labs, auditoriums, and lecture halls that crouched on the horizon like a misshaped beast. Three sides of the courtyard had been consumed by the sprawling building, leaving only a narrow entrance into the open space. During passing periods or free hours the courtyard would be packed full of students, researchers, and faculty alike, but at the moment it was almost completely empty. Priscilla felt the tension finally drain out of her shoulders at the familiar sight. She had lived, studied, and worked on this campus for over a decade. If anywhere in Imythess felt like home, this was it. She swung off of her horse excitedly at the sight of a single figure waiting for them near the entrance to the courtyard. He only appeared to be a few years older than Priscilla, with unruly brown hair and soft blue eyes. Although he was sitting cross-legged on the marble flagstaffs, anyone who was familiar with the politics of the Academy would recognize his disheveled robes as those belonging to a High Sage, one of the most prestigious ranks awarded by the institution. He had been Priscilla's mentor and friend for almost her entire time at the Academy. "Julian!" She ran straight towards him, only to be halted by an upraised hand. "Julian, wait, I have to tell you..." She was cut off again by the man who raised a single finger this time, pointing straight at the researcher. "Hush now, Vee..." Julian gestured to the groundf in front of him, pointing at a small mound of sand. Priscilla bit her lip, clearing wanting to tell her master what had happened on the expedition, but managed to restrain herself. Her master might be brilliant, but he was wildly eccentric as well, and interrupting one of his experiments rarely went well for the transgressor. "I'm having issues. There are too many voices, talking all at once. Each grain struggling to be heard, to share every its story with me in the space of a single breath... How can it be done, Vee? I only have two ears and one mouth..." Julian spoke as if the entire world was listening, with a quiet confidence that would have been much more impressive if not for his belligerent pout. He stared at the pile with a ferocious intensity, his eyes seeming as deep and dark as depths of the sea. "Here, let me show you..." What he said next sounded different to every person within earshot. Only the astute or magically-minded would hear anything at all; everyone else would notice only a sudden absence of sound, as if they had been momentarily deafened. To Priscilla's ears it sounded like he sang three shrill notes in a simple melody. The pile of sand exploded, scattering grains in every direction. The man sighed and rose to his feet, brushing his hands together. It was not the most impressive display of Julian's gift. He practiced an obscure and difficult branch of magic known simply as naming. By speaking the true name of an object he could control it entirely, but it was far more complicated than it sounded. He had to find a way to describe every facet of its existence when naming it, describing it more thoroughly than an author could in an entire novel. Priscilla wasn't entirely sure how he managed such a feat, but there was no doubt that Julian possessed true talent. She had seen him chat with fire like it was an old friend and call the wind out of the sky to dance on the ground. Gaining such mastery had splintered his mind, but it also made him one of the most powerful arcanists alive. The Academy of Magic employed him int he hopes that he could pass his gift to one of the students eager to tap such powers, but to call his teaching methods unorthodox would be a gross understatement. Just last term he had made an aspiring namer wear boots full of wet clay every day for a week to help him learn the name of stone. When the student had complain, Julian had taken to him to a quarry and thrown him off the edge. There had been less volunteers to study under him after that. In fact, Priscilla had been his only successful student in years despite her lack of true magical ability. She had asked him why once, to which he had replied that she had already mastered the name of blood. Although the scholar wasn't entirely sure if haemokinesis was truly a branch of naming, she was glad she was apprenticed to the odd, whimsical, savant. Before she could speak Julian turned to her companions, staring at them piercingly, as if he could see through their skin and straight into their soul. "Why, hello there..." He lapsed into silence momentarily, tilting his head to one side and pursing his lips as he watched Jackdaw. "Interesting. You go by Kiveteles?" Before the woman could react he turned to Anatoli, his eyes shining with an almost manic delight. He held up both hands, wiggling seven fingers at the taciturn man. "There exist seven words that will make a woman love you. Do you know them?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, ignoring Priscilla's deep sigh. Introducing anyone to Julian was like being embarrassed by a drunken relative. |
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6:41 PM May 22
