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Post by Richter Abend on Oct 24, 2011 21:52:05 GMT -6
Richter's eyes fluttered open as the wyvern maneuvered itself into a descent, sending wind rushing past his face. Groggy and a bit confused, Richter attempted to stand, but was snapped back to reality by the hempen cords biting into his wrists. The Ilian looked around him, his eyes seeing nothing but clear sky and grassy plains around them as the buildings below them came up to meet them. Oh, right. He was on a wyvern bound for Etruria, or rather judging by the locale and the weather, he was on a wyvern landing in Etruria.
Wonderful...
Looking down, the commander saw a crowd of people looking up, pointing and gasping. Must be the hair. Richter could imagine the Herald spouting off about the "pink haired traitor" from the balconies of the Prophet's castle; the corrupted sheep or some garbage like that. Come to think of it, though, Richter didn't see a castle. This didn't even look like Delphia at all, and from what Richter could see, there weren't a lot of soldiers to greet him. He also didn't see the wyverns that had had Kynlis and Cefia tied to them. Had the four riders split up while he was unconscious? Where had they gone? The commander swore to himself. Who knew what these bastards would do to them?
Ultimately, it was definitely nice to see that he was that much further from his execution, but it still puzzled him as to why they would stop before reaching the capital. Tired wyvern? Feh. He could only imagine the Prophet's sick glee at the news of Richter Abend's capture.
With a air wavering flap, the wyvern that the rebel commander was strapped to finally alighted upon the ground, and Richter's captor was quick to get things moving. "Get him off the wyvern," ordered Alranus to two nearby guards, who then in response shuffled over and began unfastening the leather straps holding Richter to the flying mount. As they loosened the straps, the pink haired Ilian could feel his body slipping out, and as they finished he rolled to the ground, letting out a grunt of discomfort. There wasn't much else he could do with his hands and feet bound like this.
A hand then reached down, grabbing Richter's shoulder and jerking him upwards. Richter yanked back, wanting to be battered about by these men as little as possible, but was met with a sharp blow to the back of the head. Then, just as his face struck the stone floor of the landing roof, Richter was roughly jerked to his feet. He scowled at his two man-handlers, attempting to pull his shoulders away from their grip, but they simply grabbed at him again, jerking the Ilian more viciously and digging the leather straps of his armor dug into his skin.
"Take him down to the holding cell," commanded the Low Officer in his sickeningly superior voice that Richter had already come to despise. He gave Richter a look of disdain. "The Herald's cohort will be here in two days. May St. Elimine have pity on his soul."
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Post by Richter Abend on Oct 28, 2011 21:45:17 GMT -6
Richter grimaced as the stone cold floor came rushing up to meet him, his hands and feet still bound. The blunt pain that shot through his head forced a painful cry from out of him. The two guards that had so kindly escorted him down here chuckled.
"The great traitor ain't so tough now, is he?" said one, wiping his hands together. "Yeah, and to think we call him the pink haired demon," ruminated the second."Low Officer Aurilia just downed him in one blow. I feel kind of stupid." He shook his head. "He is just a man after all. Not so tough without a fleet of dragons behind him." The first soldier spit at Richter, hitting his face as the latter attempted to turn his head to face the men. This caused both men to chuckle. "What a gormless idiot."
With that, the second man slammed the cell door and locked it shut. The two men then walked off, chuckling to themselves, leaving Richter to wipe a glob of phlegmy saliva off of his cheek. Scowling, Richter fought back a small sob. As tough as he was, going from one cage, to a hole in the ground, to another cage while getting sliced up, beaten down, and spit on was trying. The Ilian swore to himself, as he pulled himself to his rear.
As frustrating as his humiliation at the hands of these Prophet-dogs was, what was more frustrating was being so unable to do anything. He felt so useless being trapped and bound. Useless! While he was stuck in here in one of the Prophet's dungeons, Etruria's ambition was proceeding unhindered. He already had encountered first hand proof of the Prophet's meddling in Ilia, and he could guess what was next: The Bern rebellion would escalate, Ilia would be weakened, and the long inactive Etruria would finally and undoubtedly take advantage of its weakened neighbors. Everything he had worked so hard to stop? It would happen anyways, and the Prophet would have Richter's head on a silver platter.
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Post by Richter Abend on Oct 31, 2011 20:44:39 GMT -6
The next day, bright and early in the morning, five guards were sent down to Richter's holding cell to secure his situation for the next two days. He was stripped of his armor, his supplies, and although his bonds were cut, he was duly chained to the wall. The Low Officer had even wanted to parade his captured traitor around the town like an animal, but fortunately for the rebel commander, he thought better of it after receiving further orders from the Prophet's court.
From what Richter was able to pick up, despite the fact that Low Officer Aurilia had managed to capture him again, losing the treacherous Ilian commander back in Ilia hadn't exactly inspired confidence in the Prophet. The Inquistional higher ups had successfully played it off as a poor choice of agents to execute the operation in the first place, but the Prophet wasn't going to take any chances. He had ordered that four elite guards be placed at the entrance of the prison, also reassigning Low Officer Aurilia to the prison guard barracks as an extra precaution.
The Low Officer hadn't liked that, and had made sure to give Richter an unpleasant earful of it, all the while going off about the degrading station, before resigning himself to the lesser living arrangements. As well, all of Richter's weapons were melted down and his armor was locked away in a safe in the guards' quarters to be prepared as a gift for the Herald.
Needless to say, it had been a bad morning, and Richter wasn't in a good mood when another soldier, tall and clad in full black and white mail came lumbering in, his armor clanking with every step. The Ilian, however, wasn't about to wait for more verbal abuse. "What the **** do you want?" he spat. "Nothing," came the reply, echoing through the gaps in the man's full helm, "but I believe I actually have something you want."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2011 22:02:26 GMT -6
The loud slam of a nearby cell door rang through the dark dungeon followed by the sounds of marching feet softly fading off into the erie silence. The dungeon was encased in a thick blanket of shadows broken only by the torches scarcely distributed throughout and casting dancing shadows on the thick stone walls. It was a solemn place, slowly sucking the light out of its pitiful inhabitants who were unlucky enough to land there. Anywhere else would be kinder, and few ever left in the same mindset that they entered if, if they ever left.
In one of the small cells laying back leisurely in a corner was a young woman of no more than twenty staring up at the ceiling and counting anything she could to keep herself occupied. She did not seem to be very worried at her predicament, rather she looked comfortable in her current position sprawled back on the straw pallet. Her Ebony hair lay spread out in all directions and she sighed softly amber eyes distant.
Of all of the reasons to end up in such a place hers was by far the most pathetic to date. It all began with that damned inn she had stayed at. She was down in the bar with a drink or two, maybe four or five, though that slight memory lapse may have been one of the many problems of that night leading up to her waking in a cell. From what she could recall there was a fight, the nasty bruise on her cheek that was definitely not there from before.
Her lance was gone, that was simply a given, she highly doubted one would leave her with a weapon though she had no knowledge of how to use it properly. It was only with her as a warning to those with little knowledge in their tiny brains to notice her obvious lack of battle skills. One would see it and turn away thinking her not a profitable target for their troubles.
Though such babble was completely irrelevant to the dilemma at hand, what had she done today to land in such a forlorn place. It was not some simple prison, that was clear to her quite quickly. The silence hung over it like a thick cloud foreboding something... Sighing softly to herself she propped herself up on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands.
Erio's mind searched for anything of what had happened nearly a week ago but it was all still slightly faded. First there were drinks, a nice amount of it to boot, rather odd for her who rarely ever touched the drink to begin with. Though it had happened and there was no time to brood over it anymore, nothing would change it no matter how hard she may wish it to be possible.
From there broke out the fight, chairs and dishes being flung around the crowded room with serving maids taking cover behind overturned tables and chairs. Then...ah yes...soldiers showed up and... She scratched her head and let out a soft yawn, hand dropping from her head to lazily cover her mouth. Ah. There it was. She had in a drunken stupor yelled out something with the Prophet and Yellow bellied, accompanied by an entourage of less tasteful words and other such things landed her in here.
She had been drunk! How was such a thing justified?
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Post by Richter Abend on Nov 1, 2011 22:57:52 GMT -6
"Something I want?" ask Richter, slightly incredulous. There was a touch of anger in his voice. No, he wasn't going to play this game. He wouldn't let this bastard taunt him like this. "What I want is to get out of here. What I want is to kill that damned Prophet!" Richter, his arms chained to the wall, slammed his foot on the stone, ignoring the pain that shot through it as he did so. "Unless you can do that for me, get out of my face!"
The armored soldier recoiled slightly at Richter's outburst, before reaching a hand out towards the cell. "Richter..." said the armored figure with a hint of compassion. The imprisoned commander looked up, slightly surprised. His name? Was this man actually concerned? But as Richter stared at him, the soldier took a step back, glancing to his left. The dungeon door began to creak open, letting a flickering beam of torch light creep into the musty jail. The soldier straightened himself up, and low and behold, in came Low Officer Aurilia, a cohort of two men behind him.
"Soldier, what are you doing?" spoke Aurilia at the sight of the helmeted man standing next to Richter's cell. His voice was terse and angry. "Do you not understand the Prophet's order!? These cells are off limits!" Briskly walked over to the much larger, armored man and stared up at his helmeted visage. "I w-was just taunting the prisoner, sir," said the man. Aurilia pulled the soldier down by his collar so that they were helmet to face. "Hear me," he spat. "The next person that I find walking around in here that is not myself, my accompaniment, or one one of the Herald's dictated guards will find themselves under six feet of dirt. Do I make myself clear?" The soldier nodded, silent save for the clank of his rattling armor, and Aurilia released him. "Now get out."
Aurilia then approached Richter's cell as the quick heavy jangles of the exiting soldier's armor could be heard, following the slam of the creaky wooden door. That man...
"Well, if you hadn't ruined enough of my day," Aurilia began. He held his hand out, and in response, was handed a key ring by one of his cohorts. "One of the Herald's forward guard just came in today." The Low Officer used the key ring to unlock Richter's cell, before handing it back to his man, who locked it behind Aurilia as his superior stepped into the cell. The two soldiers then saluted and made their way out of the dungeon.
"Despite my exemplary job in apprehending you, I'm to accompany the Herald back to Delphia for a performance review, seeing as I was the one in charge of your capture and thus ultimately charge of all bandit agents in Ilia." Aurilia took a leather glove out of his pocket, putting it on rather reverently. "Do you know what this means?" Richter chuckled darkly.
"That you're a failure to the Prophet and his divine mission?" he replied snidely. Aurilia simply ran his gloved hand over his black, greased back hair, before silently leaning over and, with a snap, punching Richter in the chest. The Ilian, who had assumed that this was coming the moment Aurilia had opened his cell, gritted his teeth, trying his best to ignore the pain. "That's exactly what it means, Abend," confirmed Aurilia, spitting Richter's last name as anger seeped back into his voice. "Or at least what The Prophet believes. But I have been ever faithful to his cause." The Low Officer delivered another blow, this time to Richter's stomach, before straightening himself. The Ilian himself gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, but tried to laugh through it.
"That's...what we...all say...Aurilia," responded Richter through breathless wheezes. "The...the next thing you know...there's a full cohort of men trying...to kill you in a burned down church." Aurilia pivoted about face and smacked the rebel commander upside the head. "I am nothing like you, traitor! Nothing!" Aurilia blurted, his hand quivering as the Ilian's head knocked against the stone wall behind him. "You're just some dirty mercenary from backwoods Ilia who managed to bump elbows with the right people." "That dirty Ilian mercenary...held a higher rank than you ever will," growled Richter, his ire rising, only to receive another blow to the side of the head.
"You killed a commanding officer and usurped his position!" shouted the Low Officer. "You plotted against the Prophet, then when the Herald finally called you out for your treachery, you fled from rightful judgement only to return to kill High Commander Ariston and annihilate his army using poison and dragons!" Aurilia struck Richter again, causing blood to drip from the Ilian's lip. "You couldn't hold even hold Salvation Point against a bunch of blood thirsty Sacaen savages!"
Aurilia stared down Richter with powerful brown eyes, forcing Richter to avert his gaze, his will suddenly weakened. Despite his current relationship with Etruria, Richter had let a lot of good men die that day. Good men. He hadn't meant for Salvation Point to be ravaged like it had. "I kept us all from being cut down," said Richter, turning his eyes back to the Etrurian officer, an attempt to be willful. "There were only so many of us." Aurilia, now furious, reached down and grabbed Richter by the collar, pulling the pink haired man's face up to his own. "You unfairly took command away from my brother, had him reassigned to serve under Ariston, then killed him in combat!" roared Aurilia, slamming his prisoner into the wall as he grabbed Richter's jaw with his left, un-gloved hand. It began to glow. Magic.
"You let everyone at Salvation Point die! And for what!?" The Low Officer's hand began to glow brighter with his anger, and as it did, it began to grow hotter. The rebel commander tried to pull his head away, but the Etrurian officer's grip was too strong. The magic. It burned. "Fame? Glory? Your own selfish ambitions?" He didn't mean to let all those people die. "You've left nothing to this world but a trail of blood! The blood of good Etrurian men!" Aurilia clenched harder, his hand glowing even brighter. The burning! It felt like his head was on fire! "The world will be better with you gone!" The pain. "I should end you right now!" It hurt so much. "I should kill you!" Make it stop! "Kill you like you've killed so many!" Please...
But just as Richter felt like he was about to die, the burning stopped. Aurilia released the pink haired man's head and let him slump to the ground. "But I won't kill you," Aurilia snarled, standing up straight once again. "As much as I want to I won't, because it is not my place. But have no doubt of the pleasure I will feel when I watch you hung for all of Delphia to see." Richter couldn't respond, and even if he could, he had no desire to. All that was to be said had been said. He just wanted the Low Officer to leave. And leave he did, leaving Richter broken, both physically and emotionally, and chained to a prison wall.
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Post by Richter Abend on Nov 6, 2011 17:13:17 GMT -6
Broken and locked in his dingy little cell, Richter had plenty of time to think. What was the point of all this? Why was he even doing this? It was a question he often asked himself, usually while at the brink of despair, and with people dying to the left and right of him, was it so wrong of him? Sure, before he would simply steel his resolve once again, vow to kill the Prophet, vow to never give up, and march forward with renewed purpose. But, right now? Right now there was really nowhere forward to march.
Richter wasn't a soldier, even now, and honestly, he had never really been a soldier. Not at heart, anyway. Freedom fighter, sure, but never a soldier.
He was a mercenary. His whole life he had grown up knowing that, while some people fought and killed for religion, nationality, or power, he would fight for money, because with that money he could help himself and his family survive in the cold plains of his birth land, Ilia. It would be his duty and his obligation to his family, and maybe somewhere along the way he would become famous and glorious like his father once was. Just maybe...
But that had all been wrenched away from him. In the blink of an eye, that which was most precious to him had been butchered, strewn about before his eyes like the floor of slaughterhouse. He himself had been left nameless, penniless, and sorrowful, sorrow that quickly turned to anger. Anger that he embraced and nurtured.
That's where his long list of mistakes had begun.
Pathetic self-depreciation tossed to the side, no one could deny that Richter had spent just as much of the last five years fighting himself as much as he had been the Prophet.
So eager to get away from the village that had so quickly become his hell, he had ignored and abandoned what he had still had left, a sister whom he loved and cherished, all so he could storm off with some half-cocked idea in his head about ending oppression. All so he could feel like his family's death hadn't been for nothing.
He'd enlisted in the service of the worst tyrant currently blighting Elibe, with the delusion that he could somehow rise up and change it from within; a tiny Ilian mercenary like him. The hilarity of it forced a dark chuckle out of Richter. It was amusing in retrospect. But this he had already come to grips with.
No, his mistakes had been more grave than a stupid delusion. He had accepted command of a frontier fort, only to let the men and women under his command get slaughtered by Sacaens. Sure, it was easy to blame the Sacaens, but really, that was their land. What had he been doing out there? He was neither Etrurian nor Sacaen. He was Ilian. No amount of justification could hide the fact that he had played a key role in the death of both misguided Etrurian soldiers and rebellious Sacaens just so he could achieve some vague, mistakenly altruistic goal that supposedly would be achieved when he completed a then impossible task: killing the Prophet.
But, no, in all his self-righteousness, Richter had pressed on. Focusing on the horrors of the battle of Ostia had allowed the Ilian to shift all the blame back onto the Prophet and his Herald, and gave him the false reassurance that, yes, he was in the right, and anyone that got in his way deserved death. So when Ariston had delivered the Herald's message of death, it had all been to perfect. See? Etruria was trying to end his mission, and because they were evil, that made him good. It justified everything.
That's why he had fought Mavick's questions. That's why he had fought Rayl's advice. That's why he poisoned the fort. That's why he had killed Ariston. With enough bloodshed, Richter could ignore his own failings. So he had gone to Ilia for support, because with Ilia's support, he could kill more Etrurians. The more Etrurians that died at his command, the closer Richter was supposedly getting to kill the Prophet. As long as the fighting continued, as long as he was still waging his crusade against the Prophet, how could his actions be wrong?
That's why the death of the twins, Rudolf and Randolf, had affected him so. It had forced him to ask himself if whatever good that would come about due to the death of the Prophet and the Herald was really worth every death. It had forced him to take responsibility for every person he killed, something he had refused to do before. And now that Alranus had thrown it all in his face, it was difficult to do anything but take responsibility for it, because if he didn't, he was just as bad as the Prophet.
Richter sighed. He wished Clair could be with him right now. He hoped that she was on her way, trying to save her commander, but knew that even if she was, it was ill-deserved. He had dragged that poor woman through his trail of hate, and in the processes had transformed her from the innocent little mercenary at the Salvation Point gates to hardened soldier who would do anything and everything her commander told her to, even if she had reservations about it.
"Mary, if you could see your brother now..." he muttered to himself.
But before Richter could ruminate any longer, he heard a rumble and looked up. A stone panel across the ways from his cell began to shift to the left, exposing a tunnel with a figure standing in it, pushing said stone panel out of the way. Clad in armor... It was the soldier from before.
Richter remained silent, saying nothing as the armored man made his way into the dungeon, leaving his exit open behind him. "Richter," said the soldier, making his way over. Richter wondered why this Etrurian kept using his name and not some derogatory title like the rest of the soldiers. "You lied to your commander," spoke the Ilian, his voice not as vicious as before, "you keep using my name, and you sneak in through a secret entrance after Alranus is done torturing me. Who the hell are you?" The man paused. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said, concern creeping from his helmet. Richter shook his head. "Yeah I am too. Now answer the question," he said, unrelenting. The knight nodded. "I'm here to get you out."
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Wyatt
Hero
The Volcano
How can someone win if winning means that someone loses?
Posts: 463
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Post by Wyatt on Nov 6, 2011 17:35:51 GMT -6
If you told Wyatt last week that most of Elibe had a network of maze like natural caverns under it, he'd have called you crazy. Hell, right now he'd still probably call you crazy. When he'd escaped from under Ostia, he'd hoped that there would be a way to the surface near by. Those hopes had been dashed rather quickly, but it seemed that fate would smile on him still. As he wandered deeper and deeper down under the earth's surface, his thoughts drifted to his destroyed pack. All of his food, and all but a single water skin. He'd have to find something soon, or he was going to die down here. All for the stupid slab of stone. It had some purpose at least, the veins of fire in it glower, allowing it to work as a torch for him to see in these dark tunnels. Still, it wasn't going to help the food and water issue.
Time became meaningless to the smith. He walked until he was tired, then he took a break, and continued walking. After what felt like a day or two, he found a bit of a bounty from nature. He stumbled onto an underground river...of water! Not wasting any time, he'd filled both himself and his water skin, taking as much with him as possible. The food issue was solved by desperation. He'd seen odd mushrooms growing along the tunnels, but had been loathe to eat them. Probably poisonous. Still...it would be better to die of poison then to sit down here and slowly starve to death. In a few days, and some failed experimentation later, he'd figured out which ones were safe to eat, and which ones were not. The taste was horrid, but he was alive still, wandering through the depths.
Close to a week since he entered the caves, and Wyatt could swear that he forgot what the sun looked like...what real food and drink tasted like...and the feeling of anything except stone. It was at that point that he noticed something as he walked. For the first time since Ostia, the path was moving up. With a spark in his eyes, Wyatt ran forward. He was certain it was a waste of energy, but he was too excited. The path rose, and rose, and rose. Finally, he was so far up he could swear that he heard voices from the other side of the thin ceiling. But then he saw, the path descended again, a sharp descent, back into the depths of the earth.
Wyatt growled. "Oh no you don't!" He shouted to the path. "I've got this close, I'll claw my way out with my bare hands if I have to!" He raised the Magma Axe and swung it with all of his might, as if to break away parts of the wall and cause it to collapse.
The result was a pillar of fire causing the rocks above him to explode, rather noisily. But through this, he saw light! Sweet light! It looked like the sun, that's how bright it felt to him! Of course it was only the flickering torch light of the dungeon, but to him.
The smell of people, the sounds of movement, the relatively fresh air! He was free!
"Hahahahaha!" Wyatt laughed energetically. "I'm out, finally!" In his mirth, he became aware of two other people facing him, though faces were difficult to make out. His mind seemed to register for a second that he had no idea on several key facts.
"Hey! Do you know where 'this' is?"
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Post by Richter Abend on Nov 7, 2011 20:26:36 GMT -6
"Get me out?" Richter asked incredulously, narrowing his eyes. It could be a trick, but seeing as how he was flagrantly disregarding an officer's orders, he, at the very least, probably wasn't in league with the Prophet, which was definitely better for Richter than being chained up in jail. "Well, if you're offering, I'll-"
And then there was fire.
The ground next to Richter erupted, sending debris skyrocketing upwards into the jail cell as fire and what looked like lava shot straight to the roof. The blast was so great that the bars on the side of Richter's jail cell were ripped out of the ground and melted. His heart pumping, the jailed commander barely managed to pull himself out of the way enough to avoid the giant pillar of flame that was inches away from killing him as it destroyed his prison, but still took a glancing blow to the head from a flying brick in the process.
Meanwhile, the armor clad soldier dove for cover, and as the blast subsided, a red head poked itself out of the gaping maw that had been formed in the dungeon floor.
"Hahahahaha! I'm out, finally! Hey! Do you know where 'this' is?"
Richter, stunned and staring at the head, didn't say a word. However, the armor clad soldier scrambled to his feet, and rubbing some dust off of his palms, nodded his head. "E-Etrurian jail cell," he stuttered, surprised as Richter was but dealing with it a bit more calmly. "But now-"
The door slammed wide open as the two jail guards barged in, brandishing their spears. Richter could only imagine their eyes wide as the stopped and stared at the damage done to the jail, before one shook his head and yelled. "Stop! Now!" he barked, before pointing to the armored soldier. "You, soldier, grab them!" The tall soldier nodded, then drew his sword and tossed a key ring to Richter. "Get out of here! Run! Before more show up!" the man shouted, rushing the two guards. Richter, his surprise subsided and replaced with adrenaline, turned to the newcomer.
"You, redhead!" he shouted, nodding to the three shackles that hadn't been blown off in the explosion. "Grab those keys and unlock me!"
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Wyatt
Hero
The Volcano
How can someone win if winning means that someone loses?
Posts: 463
Etruria Fame: 2
Sacae Fame: -1
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Post by Wyatt on Nov 7, 2011 20:54:15 GMT -6
"Eturia? And a jail cell? Man, that's just my luck, breaking in to prison!" He then became aware of the massive commotion behind them and growled. "Oh just freaking lovely. I just got out of a prison, I'm not going back!" When the pink haired prisoner gave him an order, he'd half a mind to tell him to shove it.
But this prisoner's friend was buying them time, and Wyatt was pretty sure he was going to be arrested if these guys got a hold of him, or worse. "Stand still!" He said, pulling out his old Iron Axe and taking three quick swings. The chains holding the manacles together fell to the ground, making them little more then bracelets with a length of chain on them. Not ideal, but something told him time was of the essence.
"Here!" Wyatt added, throwing the Iron Axe to Richter. "Don't stab me in the back with my own weapon!" He said, before looking back into the cave. He paused for a moment, he really didn't want to go into caverns anymore...but jail seemed less appealing right now. Especially if he really was in Etruria. With a deep breath, he moved into the cavern, hoping this one led to the surface much quicker then his last trip into the underground did.
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Post by Richter Abend on Nov 7, 2011 22:34:11 GMT -6
Axe to the chains. Wasn't what he expected, but hey, it worked for him.
Taking the axe the redhead kid had tossed to him and jamming the key ring into his pocket, the pink haired Ilian jumped to his feet. Just before dashing into the tunnel the armored soldier had made for them, Richter paused, if just for a second. He watched the soldier clash with the two elite warriors that had been guarding the jail. He was keeping up with them perfectly...no, he was outclassing them. By himself. Who was he?
But the questions would have to wait. Richter ducked into the secret passage, chains jangling, just behind the redheaded kid. It was pitch black, and the dim light from the couple torches in the dungeon was fading fast. He'd have to navigate by touch. Hopefully the axe kid would find something up ahead.
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Wyatt
Hero
The Volcano
How can someone win if winning means that someone loses?
Posts: 463
Etruria Fame: 2
Sacae Fame: -1
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Post by Wyatt on Nov 7, 2011 22:53:48 GMT -6
Wyatt scowled as the tunnel darkened in front of him, and unsheathed his Magma Axe. It glowed in the darkness, illuminating the path for them. "Much better, now I can see. But why was this path here? Did someone use it to tunnel out of the prison before?" He wondered aloud. It didn't really matter, they were going to follow it until the end, wherever that would happen to be.
The sounds of battle eventually faded from his ears as they moved further through the tunnel, the path starting to incline again. Wherever they were going, it would seem that they were drawing near the surface. Wyatt was slightly concerned about the man behind him, but paid him no mind. If he hadn't put the axe into his back yet, then he clearly wasn't planning on it. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew this man. Oh well, they could figure that out later.
And then, the tunnel ended, a glimmer of light coming from the ceiling above them. Wyatt looked at it and placed his hands against the ceiling. "Wood." He said out loud, running his hands over it. "Feels like a hatch or something...could be people on the other side. Get ready." He noted, placing both of his hands on the wood and pushing. It seemed stuck, but his strength held out and he lifted the panel, sliding it to the side as light flooded into the tunnel. Wyatt climbed out happily, and took in his surroundings quickly.
They were alone, that was good. It was a large basement, filled with things. Boxes, weapons, books...all manner of items. They must have been in some noble's store house...but why would a path from prison lead here?
He looked back towards the prisoner. "Hmmm...well, now what?" he asked, fully expecting his partner to have a perfect escape plan.
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Post by Richter Abend on Nov 8, 2011 1:25:51 GMT -6
Richter entered the room behind the red head, and, standing up straight, looked around. No one to be seen, and plenty of crates to hide behind. Perfect. That would give them a couple of minutes to regroup before they were so inevitably found. They always were.
The Ilian's eyes narrowed as he examined the wooden boxes. There sure were a lot of them, and they all seemed to, at first glance, resemble something out of an armory. A crate to his left was chock-filled with swords, and one to his left was filled with spears. This must be the barracks storage room, which meant...
"My armor," he muttered, his head suddenly swiveling from side to side in hopes that he might spot where they were keeping his mail. True, this might not be the exact holding room he had overheard about, but seeing how valuable the red armor was to him, it was worth checking.
"Hmmm...well, now what?"
Richter, who had begun poking through boxes, turned his head to glance at the axeman before turning back to his hunt. Nothing so far.
"You're the one who blew a hole in that jail the size of Ostia," he replied curtly. "You tell me."
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Wyatt
Hero
The Volcano
How can someone win if winning means that someone loses?
Posts: 463
Etruria Fame: 2
Sacae Fame: -1
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Post by Wyatt on Nov 8, 2011 10:44:50 GMT -6
Wyatt chuckled. "Oh trust me, the hole in Ostia was way bigger!" He remarked. It would seem that the time in the underground had given him a rather dark sense of humor. "And no need to get so uppity. Geez, you were in jail five minutes ago, and you're life has done nothing but improve since then. No reason to be so upset."
He looked about the room, taking a peek in the crates at the weapons. He scoffed when he saw them. "Sub par, mass produced pieces of crap. Whoever made these should smelt down his hammer to scrap iron for daring to call these weapons." He growled, picking one up and glancing over it. A shoddily constructed iron sword, how pathetic. He'd seen farm tools constructed with more care then this.
And while the pair of them were looking through the area for any supplies of use, Wyatt found something. An oddly decorated box, set by itself and locked shut. A rather heavy lock, but Wyatt paid it no mind. Grabbing the rater large box in both hands, he hefted it out of it's crate and placed it on the ground.
"Hmmm...what do you suppose is in this?" He said, looking at the ornate design and the sturdy lock. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out his maul and leveled it. With a sharp drop, the small box cracked down the side. Wyatt stowed the maul, and pulled the broken box apart. What was inside was a sword, a rather large one, with a blade as dark as night itself. Was it an obsidian sword? No...this metal was not obsidian...nothing he'd ever seen before.
"Well now, I think we found something of use here. What do you think this is? Besides the obvious."
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Post by Richter Abend on Nov 8, 2011 19:31:04 GMT -6
Richter had just gone back to the search for his armor, ignoring the redhead's growling after he failed to present an escape plan. However, his ears perked up at his now-companion's find. Something of use? What was it, a grappling hook? A shovel? Keys? A disguise? They already had hammers and axes covered, and he was pretty sure they didn't need much in the way of provisions or food at the moment. That being said, he could use a bite to eat. The Etrurians weren't exactly generous when it came to their political prisoners.
Halting his hunt, the Ilian straightened up and made his way over to the axeman, pushing a crate out of the way as he did. The kid was staring into a torn open box, which at the bottom sat a sword. Two-hander, judging from the wide guard and the long grip, lying right next to what seemed to be a matching leather sheath that was itself embossed and lined with silver.
But what was really interesting was the metal blade. It was black; so black, even, that it seemed to be absorbing whatever torch light the storage room could provide to illuminate it. It clearly wasn't any metal Richter had ever seen a sword made out of. The also had silver runes etched into its side. Runes? Wait, Mavick had told him about this before.
"It's a rune blade," muttered Richter. He leaned down to grab the magic sword, but faltered, holding himself back. This blade. Judging by its color, it was no doubt forged with elder magic. Dark magic. Mavick had told him of the dangers of getting involved with such magic, and although this was a sword and not a tome, Richter had no doubt it carried the same risks.
But a magic blade. It was too good to ignore. Taking a deep breath, Richter grabbed the hilt of the sword, but as he did he felt a shiver run through him. It was an odd sensation, like the feeling of someone running their fingers up his arm, followed by an odd tingling. But the Ilian ignored it, tightening his grip on the hilt before picking up the sheathe as well and sliding the blade into it's leather scabbard. He then moved both hands to the sheath, clenching his hands around it, and the tingling stopped. Hmm...
"A magic blade," said Richter knowingly. "If I had to make an educated guess, I'd say elder magic. I think that's what makes the metal black."
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Wyatt
Hero
The Volcano
How can someone win if winning means that someone loses?
Posts: 463
Etruria Fame: 2
Sacae Fame: -1
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Post by Wyatt on Nov 8, 2011 19:47:50 GMT -6
"Elder magic...you don't say." Wyatt remarked, observing Richter's reaction. "I had a friend, a long time ago, who used that kind of magic. She always made it sound pretty dangerous, you sure that thing is safe?" He paused for a moment, remembering what Richter had said earlier.
"Hey, if you need a new suit of armor, I could make one for you. I mean, I've got nothing better to do, and I haven't had a real smith challenge in a while. Besides, for a criminal you ain't such a bad guy. Didn't put the axe in my back anyway."
Before Wyatt could think on this further, he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. He reached for his maul, as a nearby door swung open. On the far side was a rather grungy looking man. Tattered rags, a short sword at his hip, and a good few days stubble on his chin. This guy was not a soldier, that was for sure.
[blue]"Wha tha-?! How da hell di-"[/blue]
He stopped talking at that point, as Wyatt's hammer had introduced the man to the far wall, with a good deal of force. The body crumpled to the ground as if it was a balloon with all the air let out. Wyatt looked back at Richter, slightly confused.
"Well, I'm going to guess we aren't in the prison area anymore. You up for getting the hell out of here?" He asked, more of a rhetorical question then anything else.
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