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The Mythomere - A New Journey

Discussion in 'Roleplaying Discussion' started by The Mythomere, Dec 12, 2019.

  1. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    Rain fell upon the cobblestones like that of a waterfall cascading down from some great river. The air was brisk; it was cold enough to see one’s breath but not cold enough that the rain could become snow. The lit posts lining the streets barely created visibility as the citizens of Britain shuffled through; even at this time of night shops were open and the hustling and bustling of the city folk could be seen, heard, and even felt. There was an energy to Britain, one many could consider comforting while others thought of it was chaotic.

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    The messenger emerged from a home on the outskirts of the northern end of the city, situated near the graveyard. He tried pulling the fur hood of his leather tunic over his head to keep the rain from soaking him. He had something tucked away, his hand clinging to it, under a looser flap of the tunic; the move seemed deliberate to keep whatever he was hiding from getting wet. He moved through the streets, avoiding the people as he was in a hurry, waving off street vendors selling wares and beggars asking for spare coin. He moved swiftly toward the direction of the Sweet Dreams Inn, doing his best to not slip on the wet cobblestones. When he arrived at the steps of the inn he slowed himself and took a small breath before proceeding past the inn’s front and moved to the alleyway beside it.

    In the alley he stood just like what was described to the messenger: a figure in a plate helm, plate and leather armor, and a small cloak draping from the shoulders down to the back of the knee. His back was leaning against the wall of the inn, arms crossed, and he slowly turned his helmed head to see the messenger in the entrance of the alleyway. The figure came off of the wall, uncrossing his arms, and waited as the messenger approached him.

    [​IMG]

    “Milord,” he was able to squeak out, pulling free what he was hiding within his tunic; the parchment rolled up and held together by a wax seal was handed gingerly to this figure who took it, broke the seal, and unfurled it to read it over. “Is it true?” the messenger asked to a seemingly unphased recipient. “Are you really the last one?” The figure didn’t answer, nor did he raise his gaze from the parchment he received. Instead, he tucked it away in a satchel hung at his hip and pushed past the messenger. He was dumbfounded as he watched the figure disappear into a dark rainy night and, although perplexed, decided to head back to the building he came from.

    The lone figure moved through the crowds of people, hearing them only in a hushed, muffled noise of white. He was focused on his task at hand that was contained in the parchment he had received from someone of British nobility; the work often came the way it did from a messenger or some other form of middle person. Often he would never even see the one who hired him and he’d even be paid from some servant upon completion of the job.

    He wasn’t a mercenary; he didn’t just do whatever the highest bidder propositioned, he definitely picked certain jobs over others but that had little to do with the amount of gold promised and more so with the integrity of the work. Often when asked to simply assassinate someone he would decline for it was not in his principals to kill someone just because someone said so. Although, many would still simply dismiss him as nothing more than a mercenary which made no difference to him; he knew what he was even if many didn’t.

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    At the southwest bridge that headed out to the farmlands outside the city he conjured up his ethereal steed and let it form beneath him as the transparent horse formed and moved him up upon its saddle. He made his way across the bridge where he took a small detour off the road and through the forest. The place he was going through was known to many as the Bloody Fields and he didn’t need to end up in some needless fight with bandits or cutthroats so it was best to stay off the road.

    Fog began to roll in along with the rain and soon he was out of sight of the city. He readied himself as he began his long ride towards the task at hand that resided in the walled city of Trinsic.

    To Be Continued...
     
  2. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]
    The rain subsided but the fog still hung thick as the figure was kneeling beside a tree picking up various pieces of wood but would dismissively toss them aside for they were too wet to start a campfire for the remainder of the night. He stood and surveyed and became deathly still. The sounds of the forest were muffled but one sound he honed in on: the sound of footsteps. Even in the dark he could tell it was at least two tracking him.

    He reached under his cloak and clutched the handle of his axe hidden beneath it and waited, listening to every step as it got closer. One was coming from the north while the other more east; it was to be an ambush of some kind even though it was only the two of them. He took off running in the southern direction, letting his hand leave the axe handle and continue until he found a better position to await the two pursuers’ arrival. When he reached the river bank he slid down to the water’s edge and pressed himself up against the bank, re-grabbing the axe handle beneath his cloak and he waited.

    [​IMG]

    The footsteps were back to being far away even though they had quickened and, soon, they stopped for a moment. “Where did he go?” a voice off in the north said. Their accents were thick East Britain and he figured them to be bandits trying to rob him. Although far south of the Bloody Fields, it didn’t stop bandits from making their way down for further possibility of spoils of travelers whether on or off the road. “Oy,” another voice came, “he’s heading south.” The footsteps continued and they slowly began to creep toward the river.

    As before the set of steps broke off and one was coming more from the north while the other was northeast to east. The figure continued to wait, slowly letting out small breaths, his hand ready at a moment’s notice to pull free his axe. The steps grew closer and closer until they were upon the river bank’s edge, peering out in the night. “Did he cross?” the one coming from the east asked, his voice close but not too close. “Not sure,” the one from the north replied, his voice indicating he was right at the bank.

    The axe was pulled free and the figure pushed away from the bank, swinging the axe in the northern direction, embedding the blade in the closest bandit’s left shin. The bandit yelled out a cry of agony and while the axe was yanked free and the frantic sound of footsteps trampled closer from the east, the figure reached into his satchel with a free hand, produced a glass jar filled with a purple liquid and tossed it into the dark of the east.

    [​IMG]

    He spun onto the bandit he had hit who had tumbled down the river bank to the water’s edge, writhing in agony. The figure loomed over him while in the east a loud explosion could be heard and a faint burst of light was seen before dissipating and all that was coming from the east was the cry of absolute blood-curdling pain due to the explosion potion that had been tossed his way. The bandit at the river pleaded for his life while the figure stood over him. “Please,” he whimpered, “don’t kill me.” The figure looked down upon the wounded man, his shin a gaping mess with blood, flesh, and ligaments, and sheathed his axe back under his cloak.

    The bandit let himself fall completely on his back and look up at the night sky, relieved the person he planned to rob was allowing him to live. The figure climbed the bank back to the grass and made his way to the east where he found blood and pieces of a man all over. An arm was in a tree branch, entrails all over bushes, and flesh and blood painted the landscape like some form of art. Blown to bits was a backpack to which the figure looked through but found nothing of value. He decided not to continue the thought of making camp for the night and, instead, summoned his ethereal horse and continued to make his way toward Trinsic in the dead of a winter’s night.

    To Be Continued...
     
  3. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]
    The sky was becoming less black and more blue as the sun was beginning to rise. The air was still wet and although the jungles lie far in the distance the temperature felt warmer than when closer to Britain. The figure had slowed his pace on his steed, leaving the mess of those bandits behind as he now began to see the walls surrounding Trinsic. This was the only city in Sosaria that was considered free of the rule of Lord British and operated under their own laws. He had been there several times in his life but this was the first time since it had become free many years prior.

    Grey clouds began to roll in to cover the darker blue of morning; he looked up for a brief moment at it but returned his gaze to the road which he now was trotting along, making his way to the west gates of the city. The road continued south but he took the turn towards the gates, sparing a glance at a small grave site along the road. Its headstone was worn and the hedges surrounding it looked unkempt so he assumed whoever was buried there had died quite a long time ago.

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    He rode passed a small sandstone structure where vendors were preparing their wares for sale; they barely glanced in his direction as they could tell he wasn’t an eager customer ready to shop. The sign: Trinsic Trading Company hung from the building and the figure brought his gaze back to the west gate itself. The gate was large and, although closed, the guards motioned for them to be open as he approached, clearly not worried about a lone traveler. The gate opened slowly and he passed through, nodding once to the guards as he moved into the city.

    He made his way to the inn where he let his ethereal horse change into a small cloud before disappearing all together while he gently fell to his feet upon the sandstone road. The door to the inn opened and he walked in, seeing people cleaning while one person stayed behind a counter, jotting down upon parchment. The figure approached the innkeeper who looked up from tiny spectacles to see the armor-clad being before him.

    “Greetings,” he smiled, “and welcome to The Traveler’s Inn. Will you be needing a room?” The figure nodded once. “Excellent,” the innkeeper smiled looking down at his parchment. “How many nights?” he asked, looking back at his new guest. The figure held up his index finger. “Very well,” the innkeeper began writing, “one… night… and your name?” The figure fished into his satchel and produced some gold coins which he placed upon the parchment on the counter. The innkeeper saw them, took a moment before looking back up at the plate helmed man, and simply said, “John Smith it is, then.” He wrote down more information before slipping the gold into his pocket.

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    The innkeeper put the quill back into the inkwell, turned to a cabinet on the wall, opened it, and produced a small brass key. He handed it to the new guest of the inn and told him, “You’re the last room down the hall here. It’s quieter and more discreet.” The figure nodded and made his way down the hall to the room.

    It was hours later, into the evening, when the maid knocked softly on his door and spoke, “Milord? Would you want anything from down the road at the Keg & Anchor? They have great tomato soup going this evening.” There was sound on the other end of the door before it opened and he looked upon the maid which caused her to take a small step back, fearful for that brief moment of the fully armored man. “Begging your pardon, Milord,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He reached into his satchel, produced a few coins, and handed them to her. She smiled, gave a small curtsy, and left him to close the room’s door and go back to sit on a small chair near the roaring fire.

    He watched the fire intensely as it danced. The sounds of anything else became muffled and, for a moment, he could hear screams of nine others as if they were trying to escape somewhere. He could almost feel them being in agony as flame burned them alive. Another knock on the door snapped him out of his trance and the maid on the other side softly said, “Milord, the soup.” He realized he must have been in that trance for awhile and he stood for the door.

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    When he opened it the maid didn’t cower this time and slowly handed him the bowl which he gingerly took. “Enjoy, Milord,” she told him, giving another small curtsy. He nodded to her, produced a gold coin, and handed to her. “Thank you,” she smiled and took her leave. He closed the door after she left and went to the table in the room where he placed the soup. He decided he would make his way to the town hall in the morning to get his target; to get the governess, Skye Wolfbane.

    To Be Continued...
     
  4. Skye Wolfbane

    Skye Wolfbane Governor of Trinsic

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    Skye Wolfbane, Lynnissia Leoden, Hunter Lorde, Calico Jack, Jade Nevaeh
  5. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    Skye Wolfbane left her home early that morning, taking with her various documents to look over, and proceeded to the Trinsic town hall where she sat upon the gold throne set up at what was formally the southern entrance to the hall itself.

    Her work could be tedious at times but it was a necessary part of not only her job as governess of the city but also with her upcoming campaign involving Britain. She was fully engrossed in her reading, sitting on her throne amongst empty audience chairs; the only sounds were that of birds in the air and her papers rustling. She could feel something was off, however, and even though no sound prompted her to do so she looked up from her work.

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    A figure clad in plate and leather with a long cloak was staring at her, the slits of the plate so dark she couldn't see any semblance of a person underneath. "Good morning," she greeted with a smile. He did not answer; he kept his gaze firmly on her sitting upon her throne. She cleared her throat and, with authority, stated, "I am Skye Wolfbane." The figure still did not reply. He looked passed her, first on her left side, then her right. After he looked over both shoulders before returning his gaze into her.

    Skye shifted a little in her seat, trying not to appear uneasy at this man who clearly was there for a purpose. Still trying to keep her good nature as she often tries she asked, "May I help you with something?" The figure continued to burn his look into her before he finally spoke. "No guards?" he asked, his voice low, but, strangely, not menacing.

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    "They are close," she replied, feeling both fear but also a feeling that this person had the audacity to question her sitting alone as if she was vulnerable. "Do they need to be closer?" she leaned forward, her tone shifting to mildly threatened.

    "It wouldn't matter," the figure replied simply, keeping his helmed gaze upon her. She stood, placing the papers in a leather case nearby, and wanted this figure to feel her lording over him; she had the respect of her people and wasn't about to let some stranger show her anything but that same respect.

    "Is that a threat, sir?" she asked, her voice getting a little low. The figure didn't reply. Oddly enough, this made Skye feel not threatened as she could tell if he wanted to attack her he would have by now. She had dealt with assassins in the past and they never went for a direct approach so she figured this was not what this was. "Why are you here?" she questioned. "What business do you have with me?"

    "I was hired by someone to escort you to Britain," the figure answered. Skye's demeanor immediately shifted to that of someone who understood what was unfolding.

    "Ah, I see," she nodded, "this has to do with my quest does it?" She was looking to the ground, many thoughts racing through her head. Obviously word had reached Britain of her wanting to take the empty throne left behind by Lord British; the king had mysteriously left and it is unknown if a regent was put in place and Skye wished to capitalize on this by trying to take the throne for herself and for Trinsic. "Who hired you?" she questioned, turning to look upon the figure again.

    [​IMG]

    "I don't meet them face-to-face," was his reply. She let a quick breath shoot from her nose in a
    hmph and bit her bottom lip, not sure if she should call upon her guards or not who were inside the town hall itself, most likely patrolling the halls.

    "What do they want with me?" she found herself asking. She felt she could almost hear a sigh coming from the metal helmet looking at her and, again, this oddly relaxed her.

    "Not my concern," he told her. "I am here to simply take you there."

    She looked to the ground for a moment again before shooting her gaze back to him and asked, "Would you like an ale? We have some at the cafe upstairs and I wouldn't mind one right now."

    The figure relaxed his stance some. "I do not drink," he told her, "but if that is what will put you more at ease then we can retreat to there."

    The governess nodded and made her way to the stairs with the figure closely following. Many thoughts were fighting for attention in her own head. She knew she should call upon her guards but was intrigued with what would transpire. Skye never hid the fact even in fearful situations she was always more curious than scared and adventure was always the one thing that seemed to outweigh anything else.

    She sat at one of the small tables at the cafe and poured herself an ale that was in a crate nearby. He sat at the opposite end of the table, his helmed stare never leaving her. She took a large gulp of the ale and poured more into her jade goblet.

    [​IMG]

    "So," she began, clearing her throat, "I plan to take the throne in Britain. Lord British has been absent and, well, quite frankly, Mr.-" she stopped, feeling flustered. "What even if your name?" she asked quickly, impatient.
     
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  6. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    "I don't have one," he said.

    "Of course you don't," she sighed. She took another drink from her goblet before continuing, "You can see how this looks is what I am driving at. Someone from the city with the absent king wants me, the person who wishes to sit on that empty throne, to come there, alone I'm assuming, with all this secrecy shrouding it and I get no real information other than you telling me it's just your task you need to perform."

    "Correct," the figure answered.

    Skye let out an annoyed groan, finished her ale, then asked, "Are you sure you don't want an ale?"

    "As I stated I don't drink."

    "Water? It's warmer here than Britain and you wear all of that armor. Surely you need water."

    "No."

    "I'll get you some water." She stood, going to a basin nearby after collecting an empty pitcher. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the basin. She didn't notice the figure slowly reach a hand under his cloak to grasp the axe he had hidden beneath it. She turned to face him and asked, "What's to stop me from calling on my guards right now?"

    "Nothing," he answered. "However that's people you would be putting in harm's way."

    "So you are threatening me?"

    "No."

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    She put the pitcher down and returned to the table, sitting, flustered. "You're a mercenary," she said. "Or you're someone like that; you're someone who can be hired for coin."

    "That's the simple view of it," he replied, letting his hand come out of his cloak and let it rest, empty, upon the table top.

    "Well, whatever you call it," she continued, "consider what you see around you. Trinsic is full of wealth. I can pay substantially more than whatever they're paying you."

    "Your decadence doesn't excite me," the figure told her. "My task is simple and I will follow that task."

    Skye nodded once seemingly understanding she couldn't buy her way out of whatever this was. She had no reason to trust this man. Her eyes slowly looked up at him and she ordered, "Remove your helmet. Let me see your face."

    "No."

    "I'm not going anywhere unless you do this," she crossed her arms. "Trust is earned, sir."

    He sighed and stood which caused Skye to noticeably wince. He looked down at her and said, "The parchment this task was delivered on wanted you alive. My job is to get you there. If I were here to kill you or take you out of the city and kill you I would be breaking much more than the chance of getting paid."

    She stood as well, adjusting her dress to smooth out any wrinkles and asked, "When we would arrive in Britain could you be persuaded to protect me from whatever happens?"

    "Only if the one who hired me releases me from my service first," the figure told her.

    She nodded, looked around a bit, then asked, "How long will this take?"

    "The one to two day ride to Britain. After that it is no longer my concern."

    Again, Skye nodded. Although there was the fear it was muddled with excitement at this possible new adventure. This was surely dangerous but she didn't feel this man was there to kill her nor get her killed. Although she didn't know what would be waiting for her in Britain she had made up her mind. "Very well," she declared, "I will go with you."

    "Gather what you need," he said.

    "Do you need to come with me to my home to gather what I need?"

    "If you're wondering if you could sneak a weapon," he took a small step toward her, "no need for the deception. I'd rather you be armed on the road ahead."

    She nodded and went to her home just outside the city's walls. She gathered some food, water, bandages, and other items that would make sense to have in wilderness travel. When she exited she saw the figure on his ethereal steed on the road near the Trinsic Trading Company. She mounted her own purple mystical steed and trotted to him, a bronzed short spear in her hand, clearly meant to be seen by him.

    "I could just stab you right here," she stated.

    He turned toward the road and began his journey but not before saying as he passed her, "You can try."

    Skye Wolfbane harrumphed but rode after this mysterious figure and the two continued a journey towards the city of Britain.

    [​IMG]

    To Be Continued...
     
  7. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]
    Skye shivered as the weather started to become cooler getting further from Trinsic. She tried to pull a dark charcoal colored shawl over her shoulders but she still shivered. It was later in the afternoon and she was trailing this mysterious figure who had convinced her to go to Britain to meet whoever had hired him. They soon got to the bridge that separated the point between British and Trinsic territory and the governor of the sandstone city continued to shiver as the temperature continued to drop.

    “I’m freezing,” she said out loud, pulling her shawl tighter. Her escort didn’t reply and continued over the bridge. With a small scowl Skye followed and crossed the bridge. Upon the other side the figure veered off into the forest off the road. She didn’t hesitate in following as she understood that the road ahead would be one not to travel due to cutthroats and the like in the Bloody Fields; even though that area was still far off, she knew the decision was smart.

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    A small wind picked up, sending more chills up and down her spine and the shawl soon was becoming useless to fight off the cold that bitterly wrapped itself around her. “Should we make camp soon?” she asked, clearly indicating she wanted to stop riding for the day. The figure didn’t answer and continued in the northern direction leaving the governess to audibly groan in disapproval. He stopped which caused her to do so as well and he turned to look over his shoulder at her. “I’m cold,” she reiterated. “I also don’t like the idea of continuing into the Bloody Fields in the dark.” He continued to stare into her direction for what felt like, to her, an eternity before pointing in the eastern direction where he began riding for. She followed closely and they went deeper into the forest further from the road.

    They found a small area void of brush and trees, just enough for the pair of them, and they dismounted their steeds which disappeared into clouds before dissipating. Skye shivered, standing near him as he began to quickly gather fallen logs nearby. She watched him slowly build a campfire, complete with rocks to surround it and kindling to get it started before the fire took hold of the logs. Skye welcomed the flame, sitting cross-legged by it, letting her hands be warmed.

    “I brought provisions,” she stated. He was standing, peering off into the dark, seemingly not paying attention to her words. “I brought some bread, I believe some fruit, and even-“ she looked up to find he was gone. She looked around frantically; she wasn’t panicked, more annoyed that he would leave in the middle of her talking to him. She spit on the cold grass before digging into a pack she had brought and taking out a chunk of bread as well as an apple. She slowly ate at the food, staring into the fire. She heard rustling and looked up to find her escort walking to the fire carrying two dead rabbits.

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    He let them drop onto the floor and he pulled free a dagger. He knelt near the rabbit corpses and began skinning them. Skye watched him do this and the thought of a juicy rabbit made her mouth water. She had been fine with the idea of just bread and fruit but the rabbit sounded infinitely tastier. He began to place some sharper sticks through their necks and handed one to Skye who blinked a couple of times at it. Although she wanted to eat the thing she didn’t want to have to cook it herself; she scoffed but proceeded to roast the animal anyway.

    The figure placed the butt end of the stick into the ground to make a sort of pike with the rabbit carcass on the end while he looked into the flames. The governess noticed this while she roasted hers and asked, “Aren’t you going to cook your own?” He didn’t answer and she cursed as the flame was getting too close to her rabbit and it caught on fire. She quickly tried to blow it out but it wasn’t working and, in a quick panic, she threw it onto the ground and stomped it out. “Damn it,” she groaned, realizing she ruined her meal. When she looked up at the figure he was roasting his and after a few moments when it looked good and cooked he handed it to her.

    “You didn’t have to do that,” she told him, gingerly taking the stick from him. She ate the delicious meat and when finished she placed the bones neatly nearby. They both sat in silence for awhile, staring into the campfire’s orange flame; she felt warm and cozy now and looked to him who never even seemed to move. “You really didn’t have to give me your rabbit,” she smiled. “I could’ve eaten the bread and fruit. I’m sure you were looking forward to eating it.”

    When he didn’t answer again she shrugged and laid down, watching the flames before her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. “I can’t remember the last time I slept on the ground,” she stated with a sleepy voice. “Never thought I would have to I suppose. It’s funny how things can go in one’s life.” The figure looked to her when she said that and stared at her while she quietly drifted off to sleep. He watched her for a few moments longer before returning his gaze to the flame.

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    The nine cries of agony came back to him and he felt the burning, the fear, and the pain. The dungeon was a maze and there was fire flooding the halls like a tidal wave. The screams were deafening and he stared as the nine others were being cooked alive, desperately trying to get out of a dungeon they couldn’t escape from. Their leather armor was melting into their flesh and their plate served as a cauldron would to heat up stew. He couldn’t do anything but stare as they all burned to death in horror.

    Skye let out a small sigh in her sleep which caused the figure to look over at her and come out of his daze. The fire crackled and its glow made Skye look so peaceful in her sleep. “Funny,” he said out loud, “not the word I would use.”

    To Be Continued...
     
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  8. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]
    Skye felt a chill and slowly woke up. The fire was all but out, only small embers burned as the dawn was barely approaching. She sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from her eyes and she turned to see her escort still sitting in the same place staring at the dead fire. “Have you been sitting there all night?” she asked. He stood, not looking at her, and remounted his ethereal steed. She pulled her shawl over her shoulders and summoned her own steed, getting that it was time to leave. She soon followed the figure to the north.

    It was not as cold as the day before even with a grey sky and they rode in silence through the forest trees. She began thinking over what could be waiting for her in Britain. This whole journey she hadn’t thought about it much as her overwhelming craving for adventure didn’t leave as much room for fear as it possibly should have. Perhaps this was someone who actually wasn’t trying to harm her but, just, talk to her? Or it could be the worst scenario of someone wanting to kill her the moment they have her in a room away from the eyes of Trinsic. But then she thought there’s no way to do that without starting a war so maybe it was terms of some sort to avoid a conflict at all.

    [​IMG]

    She stopped abruptly as the arm of her escort extended out in front of her, signaling her to stop. He was looking straight ahead but she couldn’t see anything but trees. “What is it?” she asked and he held the arm up, clenching a fist with his index finger pointed up; he was quieting her. She rolled her eyes but then went back to trying to see what he was seeing. He reached under his cloak and kept his hand there which caused Skye to reach and feel the handle of her spear.

    An arrow sailed through the air and broke upon the plated shoulder of the governor’s escort. Skye let out a small startled yelp while the figure riding with her dismounted and pulled free his axe from under his cloak. She dismounted as well and held her short spear out. He motioned for her to get low to the ground which she obliged, crouching behind a fallen log. Another arrow whizzed through the air and the armor-clad figure used his plate arms to deflect it in time before embedding into his chest.

    Skye suddenly heard footsteps from behind her and turned just in time to see a man wielding a war hammer swing downward. She dove out of the way just in time to miss the hammer and, instinctively, stabbed out with her spear feeling the tip pierce the flesh of the attacker’s neck. Blood spurt out all over herself and the ground as she yanked her spear free and stood, letting the man fall to the grass writhing in agony, trying to grasp for his last bit of life.

    [​IMG]

    “Get down,” her escort told her as another arrow flew past him and almost hitting her before she quickly had dropped back down. “How many are there?” she asked. He didn’t answer; he began running in the northern direction, often dodging more arrows. She spun to see another attacker coming for her from the same direction as the one with the war hammer. This one wielded a katana and immediately tried to slice at her.

    The governess blocked the attack with her spear before standing and readying to parry another blow. He sliced wildly and she was able to dodge it before losing her footing and falling upon her back. She scrambled to get up and the sword came downward, the tip of the blade coming straight for her chest. She rolled onto her stomach as quickly as she could and the tip of the katana was driven into the ground through part of her purple dress. She tore away, letting the fabric rib, and stood, trying to ready herself; her hands were shaky and her heart was beating swiftly but she knew this was life or death and the blood pumping through her veins was more powerful than any amount of fear.

    The bandit yanked his sword free, spun and swung with one motion toward her. She went to block it with the spear again but the force was so much it knocked her back to the ground. She tried to stab at him but he knocked it away with his katana and Skye lost her spear; it flew from her grasp and she was lying there defenseless. The attacker went for another swing downward but was blocked by an axe and pushed back. Skye saw her escort battling this bandit who was attacking them and when the katana was thrust for a stabbing motion the figure just wasn’t there and the axe blade came down, cutting the bandit’s arm off.

    [​IMG]

    He screamed in agony and fell to his knees. The figure looked down upon this man who had attacked them and although the bandit pleaded for his life like the other one had days prior, the figure wasn’t listening to it this time and proceeded to behead the armless bandit. Skye winced and looked away at the act but wasn’t appalled by it for she had seen many things in times of war and, to her, this was no different. Her escort put his axe back under his cloak and turned to face her, his plate helm and torso covered in blood; the blood of the one who had been shooting arrows as well as spray from the armless one he had just killed.

    “Thank you,” she said, standing slowly on slightly shaky legs. He came over to her and let her lean into him; he placed an arm around her shoulders and used the other under her arm so she could let her weight be held up. She looked up at his helm and weakly smiled. “You fought well,” he told her. She laughed some at the thought of that before passing out in his arms. He called upon his steed and placed her on the back of it, mounted the horse, then proceeded back in the direction of Britain.

    To Be Continued...
     
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  9. Skye Wolfbane

    Skye Wolfbane Governor of Trinsic

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    Jan 22, 2013
    Skye Wolfbane, Lynnissia Leoden, Hunter Lorde, Calico Jack, Jade Nevaeh
  10. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    The gentle trotting on the horse’s hooves upon cobblestones caused Skye to wake up, her arms to her sides, slumped against the back of some sort of fabric. She groggily set herself up some and looked to see she was behind the mysterious man who had been escorting her to Britain. She looked about to realize she was on his ethereal steed with him and that they had just crossed the bridge into the city itself. There was some fallen snow but the grey clouds had given way to a red-orange sky of dusk which made the white powder have the same color.

    “Did I pass out?” she asked, her voice tired, looking at the people walking around, sometimes sparing them glances of disgust. Skye looked at her dress caked in dried blood and her eyes grew wide realizing why disgusted looks were coming her way. The figure looked back over his shoulder and told her, “Yes, you passed out.” The governor nodded as they continued to make their way through the bustling city of Britain. They arrived at the inn where the figure helped her dismount before causing the steed to disappear and they made their way inside.

    [​IMG]

    “We’re staying here?” she asked, puzzled. “I thought you were to just drop me off?”

    “This is so you can clean up,” he told her, paying the innkeeper for a room. “I will make it known we are here so they can come collect us.”

    “I see,” she nodded before following him up the stairs. In the hall he led her to a room where he opened the door and she went inside. On a dresser there was a mirror with a basin already filled with clear water and a clean rag. Skye smiled at the sight and made her way to the dresser. “What of the dress?” she asked. When she looked, however, the figure was gone and the door was closed. She had become accustomed to his abruptness and simply smirked with a small head shake before proceeding to get out of her bloody dress and wash herself with the cool water on the dresser.

    It was nightfall as Skye peered out her window at the city. Even from her vantage point she could see some of the bank’s roof and how busy it was. She scowled at the sight of it, loathing the feeling of the city soaking into her very skin it. She was wrapped in a sheet from the bed, its white fabric comforting after a cold night in the wilderness; the only comforting thing in the city to her. Her blood-caked dress was slumped on a nearby chair which she would want cleaned at some point but, at that moment, all that mattered was hurrying this whole experience up to see what was waiting for her at the end of this journey.

    [​IMG]

    She turned due to a small creak to see her escort in the room looking at her bloody dress. She felt some embarrassment as she wasn’t wearing anything under the sheet and she felt it was rude he was in there without knocking or asking first. “I beg your pardon,” she shot at him, “but you can’t just come and go as you please. I could’ve still been trying to wash myself.” He didn’t look at her while he produced a fancy looking purple dress with a golden trim, something he felt was relevant to a governor of Trinsic. Skye eyed it with a mouth slightly agape, more so at the thought than anything else; she watched him place it on the foot of the bed, still not looking at her, before he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Skye Wolfbane, Governor of Trinsic, blushed.

    He was in the hallway when she came out, wearing the new dress. She smiled to him as he turned his helmed head slightly in her direction. “Are we off then?” she asked. He nodded once and went for the stairs to which she followed suit. Down in the main area there was a man looking to them which she assumed was the one who they were there to see, or at least someone who would take them to whoever they were to see.

    “Milady,” he greeted her with a small bow, “I am honored to meet you, my name is Gunther. Shall we proceed?”

    “Where are we going?” she asked. “Are you the one who summoned me?”

    “Oh heavens no,” he laughed, “I am merely a servant for my lord. But he asked me to fetch- err- my sincerest apologies; he sent me to escort you to him.”

    Skye burned a scowl into Gunther who gulped at the sight of it. She did not like the term “fetch” whether it was a slip-up or not. She felt disrespected and she did not mind letting him know. “I would watch your tongue,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “I am not someone to be trifled with, Gunther.”

    [​IMG]

    “Begging your pardon, milady,” he bowed, genuinely fearful, “I honestly didn’t mean any disrespect. I am but a fool and I will make sure you are accommodated as you should being the leader of the great city of Trinsic.”

    She sneered at the fear in the man’s eyes and nodded to him in as a subtle way of both thanking him for his apology but also making it clear she wouldn’t tolerate any other disrespect from him. He motioned for the door while the cloaked figure chimed in, “I’m coming as well.” Gunther seemed taken aback by this and shook his head once while saying, “Oh that won’t be necessary. You will be paid when it is done.”

    “That’s not what I agreed to,” he replied, taking a step forward which made Gunther blink several times and cower ever so slightly. “I was to escort her all the way and I intend to. Once your lord confirms my release from his service I will receive my payment and be on my way.”

    The young servant nodded, dumbfounded and afraid. Skye and the figure exchanged a quick glance before proceeding out the inn with Gunther. The three made their ways through the city streets before getting to the edge of the northern end of the city. There was a simple building guarded by two heavily armored city guards. They eyed the three as they approached. Gunther nodded to them to let them pass and the servant opened the front door, moved to the side, and gestured for Skye to enter.

    The governor looked to the figure that had brought her and, for the first time, the fear slowly outweighed the need for adventure. She thought about the offer she had made him back in Trinsic and wished he would honor it right then and there. She didn’t know what awaited her inside that building but the thought of this possibly being suicide was now crossing her mind. “Is this it, then?” she asked him, her voice having a slight tremble to it.

    “Yes,” he replied.

    [​IMG]

    “You fought bravely out there,” she said with a nervous smile, trying to mask her fear. “As I said before I could use someone like you in Trinsic.”

    The figure looked at her for a long moment before simply telling her, “We probably will never see each other again, Ms. Wolfbane.”

    Skye tried to calm herself and only could nod to him before turning back to the doorway. She took a deep breath before slowly making her way inside. Gunther closed the door after she entered and walked down to the plate-helmed figure. He fished out a small bag that looked slightly heavy; the sounds of coins jingling together could be heard. “Your payment,” Gunther offered, handing the bag over to the figure who slowly took it.

    “What will happen to her?” he asked.

    Gunther furrowed his brows. “That isn’t your concern,” he answered. “You got your payment. Be on your way.”

    The figure looked to the guards then back to Gunther before simply nodding and taking his leave. He began a slow walk back to the inn where he would rest for the night and deposit the gold in the morning. In the inn he made his way back to the room they were in. He shut the door behind him, setting the bag of gold on the dresser near the water basin. He sat on the side of the bed and looked out to the city much like Skye had done earlier. His task was completed; it was only a job.

    The figure slowly turned to have his gaze fixed upon the bloody dress still slumped over the chair. Slowly the sounds of the nine burning to death crept into his head.

    [​IMG]

    “It is as it should be,” he said aloud, “and will be so long as I draw breath.”

    To Be Continued...
     
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  11. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    As soon as the door closed Skye was escorted by more guards down a narrow hallway. She could feel her heart beating loudly in her chest and wondered if this was the last place she’d ever set foot in. The thought of dying there, in Britain, made her feel ill almost more so than the actual death part of it did. She tried to take some quiet deep breaths as she was led to a door at the end of the hall where one of the guards knocked. The door was opened by what appeared to be yet another guard and Skye was ushered inside.

    The room wasn’t very large and only had some bookshelves, a desk with two chairs in front of it and on the other side was a man sitting, flanked by two more guards. The ones who had brought her down the hall retreated back to their post and the guard who had opened the door closed it. There were two guards by the doors, the two behind the desk, and the man sitting. He was definitely older with a balding head flanked by thin white hair around the sides and back, had dark brown eyes and his mouth was partially covered by a thick grey mustache.

    [​IMG]

    “Governor Wolfbane,” he smiled, motioning for her to sit in one of the empty chairs, “I am honored you accepted my invitation.”

    Skye sat down keeping her eyes transfixed upon him. She tried to smile some and replied, “It was my pleasure.” He returned her smile with one of his own and the governess tried to steady herself for what was coming next. “And you are?” she inquired.

    “Lord Dixon,” was his reply, “formerly an adviser to Lord British.”

    “Formerly?”

    “Well, yes, as you are aware he has vacated the throne. So, in turn, I am not really an adviser anymore.” He chuckled a little at the statement to which Skye flashed a quick smile. He took a moment to use his thumb and index finger to brush some of the mustache from his lips before continuing, “I’m sure you have no doubt why I have asked you here and I don’t wish to waste your time as I’m sure your journey was long.”

    “I appreciate that,” Skye responded. She sat up straighter; she wanted to appear in control. She figured there wasn’t much this man could actually do to her given she ran Trinsic and an attempt on her life would be met with a whole city’s response but it didn’t change the fact that she was alone in a room with five men and death, regardless of how insane the possibility, was still very much a possibility.

    [​IMG]

    “I am well aware you are planning to usurp the throne,” Dixon began, sitting back in his chair. The hairs on the back of Skye’s neck stood and she took a silent deep breath. He continued, “I also know your allies have already made the appropriate moves to begin your overthrow.”

    “You seem to know quite a bit,” she said quickly, shooting a look of disdain for feeling as thought she was being toyed with without actually being told why she was summoned.

    He chuckled again, putting his hands up as if to show he means no ill-will. “Begging your pardon, Governor Wolfbane,” he said, placing his hands on the table, “I didn’t mean any disrespect. Like you, many even here in Britain are not pleased with Lord British’s absence. Many are getting restless and other lords are all agreeing that a move on the throne is inevitable.”

    “Now you understand why I doing what I am doing, Lord Dixon.”

    “I do, Ms. Wolfbane, and I approve of it. I know of your leadership skills; I know Cove, Skara Brae, Vesper, and Minoc all have made it clear they will be with you when the march on here happens. You have powerful friends, your people love you, and you have been the only person in the history of this world that has won their city’s independence. You are exactly what this world needs; you’re the queen this world needs.”

    Skye felt a wave of relief wash over her as she smiled at Lord Dixon. “So this summons was to declare your fealty to me in person then?” Skye asked.

    Lord Dixon’s pleasant face turned almost sad and he cleared his throat. “Sadly,” he began, letting out a long breath, “no. As I said, I approve of what you are trying to do but, unfortunately, the other lords do not. As much as I would like to see Queen Skye Wolfbane rule this land they absolutely do not. In fact, they want nothing more than to see you put on the executioner’s block.”

    Skye’s face turned sour and she suddenly felt very uneasy; this felt like this was exactly the trap she was fearful it might be. “Then what is this?” she found her tone growing impatient with a tinge fearful as she glared at this man who had summoned her. She heard the guard by the door move and she noticeably jumped in her seat and she got embarrassed when she realized they were just adjusting their stance.

    [​IMG]

    “They asked me to take you into custody,” Lord Dixon told her simply.

    “Custody?” she blurted out. “Excuse
    me? You have no authority over me. If you want to make this a declaration of war then make it, Lord Dixon, otherwise this meeting has concluded and I will return to my home. Quite frankly, your king doesn’t care about you or the other lords nor the people of this city. I do not care what is legal or illegal under his rule, I am the governor of the free state of Trinsic and your lords can meet me at the gates when I bring my force to take this throne as your future queen.”

    She didn’t even realize she was standing now, her fist upon the desk, staring daggers into this man who had brought her here. The guards looked to be on alert but she didn’t care in that moment; Skye couldn’t believe the audacity of this meeting. Lord Dixon looked as though he understood and nodded before replying, “I can assure you, Ms. Wolfbane, I agree with everything you are saying but this isn’t a matter of legal or illegal. Why do you think we are here in this nameless building outside city limits? Why do you think I didn’t send one of my own men, or a British solider, to escort you here? Legal or illegal isn’t applicable here, unfortunately, my lady. This is simply a matter of there are those who want you gone and they are going to make sure that happens.”

    “You can’t do this,” Skye could barely hide her fear, “you know this is wrong.”

    “I wish I could offer anything else other than what I have told you, Ms. Wolfbane, I truly do. These lords are powerful and what they want is exactly what Britain will get. Without Lord British to stop this I’m afraid the laws are more of, well, guidelines when it comes to these men.”

    “Do you not think my people will come look for me?” Skye spat.

    “Come now, Ms. Wolfbane,” he smiled weakly, “who of Britain would look to be involved? You’re very predictable. You were so eager to follow a man not affiliated with us to leave your own city and you didn’t tell anyone you were doing so. I have no doubt they will look for you, but, at most, they’d inquire with us and we would simply point them in the direction of your escort. Considering I’m sure some saw him in your city, it would be enough for them to suspect him and him alone.”

    “He will tell them the truth!” Skye didn’t hide her fear any longer. “He will say you hired him!”

    “Will he?” Lord Dixon laughed some. “You are not familiar with his kind, then. And, even so, he doesn’t know who I am, Ms. Wolfbane, hence why we do this the way we do, so no one has to be directly involved.”

    The governor of Trinsic’s lip was trembling and she could feel tears slowly fill her eyes. She didn’t want to admit it but she was beaten. Lord Dixon motioned for the guards who grabbed her. She struggled as they gagged her and put a black sack over her head. She tried with all her might to fight and scream but to no avail. Skye Wolfbane had been captured and she had no idea where they were taking here nor did she know if she’d ever see the light of day again.

    To Be Continued...
     
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  12. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    After Skye was taken, Lord Dixon sighed before summoning his servant, Gunther. “Yes, milord?” he asked, bowing some. Lord Dixon told him, “The one who brought Ms. Wolfbane here has fulfilled his duties. You are to send him on a new one.” He handed a rolled up parchment to his servant who took it while nodding. He bowed once more before leaving the room. Lord Dixon looked to one of the guards behind him and said, “Inform the commander in the northwestern pass. If Trinsic does, indeed, come looking for her I want them to be chasing a ghost. Make sure they kill him when he comes through.”

    “Right away, Lord Dixon,” the guard replied. Lord Dixon closed his eyes, putting his index finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose close to his eyes. He didn’t like what was transpiring but he wasn’t lying; he had no choice.

    The cloaked figure placed the neatly folded bloody dress onto the bed. He stared at it for a long time before a knock on the door caused him to instinctively grab the axe handle under his cloak. “Milord?” he heard on the other side of the door. He released the axe handle, went to the door, opened it, and looked to see the servant from before who had taken Skye into the building on the outskirts of the city. “Begging your pardon,” the servant smiled, “but my lord has another job for you.”

    [​IMG]

    “No,” the figure replied, “I completed the task. I do not wish to work for him again.”

    “My lord is offering triple the payment,” the servant held out the parchment. “He likes how you handle business and said he wished to continue working with you.”

    The figure looked down at the parchment for a long while before slowly taking it and unfurling it. He read it over before rolling it back up and placing it into his satchel. He pushed passed the servant who made an audible gulp and made his way to the city streets. His new task would see him go to Yew where he was to bring back someone, also high powered, back to the one who had hired him before. Although for a split second he wondered if it had to do with Skye he dismissed those thoughts, mounted his ethereal horse, and made his way into the farmlands, careful of anyone he’d come across in the Bloody Fields.

    Once he reached the mountains he rode for the small pass that separated Britain from the wilderness. The road would fork on the other side of the mountains where south would be for Skara Brae and north for Yew. Although his journey would be a quiet one for the most part he still knew he had to be wary when entering orc territory. As he entered the pass the wind picked up some; the air was still and brisk. Other than the wind the only sound he could hear was his steed’s hooves walking in the dirt.

    [​IMG]

    He soon approached a group of four British guards who watched him trot up. They crossed halberds and blocked the path which caused the figure to stop. “Dismount,” one of them commanded. The figure didn’t argue and let his ethereal steed disappear. Two of the guards moved to each side of him while the other two stayed in front. “There’s been a lot of cutthroats lately coming through this pass,” the same guard who spoke before said. “State your business.”

    “Heading to Yew on a mission,” the figure replied simply. The guard, who was clearly the commander, looked the figure up and down before replying, “What mission and from whom?”

    The figure reached for his satchel which caused the guards on either side of him to get into an attack stance. The plate-helmed man stopped only to eye the gesture. “At ease,” the commander ordered and the guards relaxed their stance some. The figure fished the parchment out of his satchel and handed it over to the commander who unfurled it and began reading it over. The figure turned his head slightly to look at the guard to his left who seemed to be chomping at the bit to attack even in the relaxed stance he was now in.

    “This doesn’t say who this mission is from,” the commander stated, continuing to read the parchment. The cloaked figure continued to look at the ready-to-attack guard and began, “It’s funny,” before turning his gaze back to the commander while finishing with, “how things can go in one’s life.”

    “What’s the supposed to mean?” the commander retorted, looking up with a grimace.

    [​IMG]

    “Your men are antsy,” the figure answered.

    “As I stated,” the commander scowled, now, “there have been cutthroats about; cutthroats who like to travel at night I might add.”

    “That may be true,” the figure nodded. “The insignia on your armor is the same as the ones I saw on the armor of the guards on the outskirts of the city.” The commander narrowed his eyes. The figure continued, “They were guarding the person who hired me. Odd that you wouldn’t know who that is.”

    “You talk too much,” the commander retorted, handing back the parchment.

    “Perhaps that’s why you are going to try to silence me.”

    The antsy guard attacked and as the halberd blade came down the plate helmed figure’s axe was out and blocking it. He kicked the guard off and spun to stop another attack from the guard on the opposite side. The commander took a step back to draw a sword while the remaining guard by him also attacked with his halberd. The figure dodged the attack and let the halberd embed into the dirt. The axe swung threw the air with an audible whoosh before slicing through the guard’s neck like a knife to hot butter. The figure didn’t waste time to watch the guard’s head fall from his body before he spun to fend off more attacks from the remaining two halberd wielding guards.

    The commander watched the battle seeing if there was an opening to strike. The figure continued to fend off the attacks while the commander finally made his move, stabbing at the back of this mysterious cloaked man. The tip of the blade pierce the leather tunic, piercing some flesh in the left shoulder. The figure let out a small groan before quickly ducking down and swinging the axe swiftly, cutting off one of the commander’s legs which caused him to topple over in pain.

    [​IMG]

    One of the halberd guards looked in shock at the sight and didn’t have time to react to the figure standing while swinging his axe blade upward, embedding into the guard’s groin and being yanked up into the midsection. When the blade was pulled free the guard fell over, crying in absolute agony while the remaining guard charged. He battled wildly at this figure who was able to block and counter each attack. The commander began crawling in the opposite direction, trying to crawl slowly towards the direction of Britain. Soon he heard the definite sound of a blade slicing through meat and a choking sound; when he turned he saw all the guards were dead and this dark figure was turning to look in his direction.

    Panicked the commander tried to crawl faster and faster as he heard footsteps get closer and closer. The commander stopped and spun onto his back to look up at this figure who was a silhouette amongst the moon in the sky. “Please,” the commander pleaded, “I have a wife and a child.” The figure stared at him for a long moment at this man beneath him begging for his life. “I’ll make sure it’s an open casket,” the figure told him, “so they may mourn you properly.” He swung the axe down, embedding the blade into the commander’s midsection.

    The commander slowly died as the figure made his way back into the city of Britain.

    To Be Continued...
     
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  13. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    “Any word, Gunther?” Lord Dixon asked, beginning to put on a very expensive black fur coat. “None, my lord,” the servant, Gunther, replied. Dixon nodded once and as he finished putting on his coat he heard the sound of a scream out in the hall. Soon there was clashing of steel, struggling sounds and what sounded like men dying. Lord Dixon motioned for the two guards by the door to get ready to attack whoever was intruding while the other two guards remained by his side.

    There was, soon, silence and for a moment Lord Dixon looked over to Gunther who looked like he was about to urinate in his britches. Footsteps now were heard and the guards readied themselves. The steps stopped at the door and as the handle slowly turned the guards got their swords ready. The door opened to reveal the cloaked figure Lord Dixon had hired, his hand up in the air, holding a purple liquid in a jar. Dixon’s eyes widened before telling his guards, “Stand down! Stand down! He has an explosion potion!” The guards did as instructed and backed away some as the dark figure walked in and stood opposite the desk of the man who hired him.

    “Well,” Lord Dixon took a deep breath, “you seemed to have survived the pass. Bravo to you. But this is treason isn’t it? You murdered my men both there and here and now you stand in front of me with an explosion potion.”

    “My code is very clear on betrayal,” the figure replied. “You ordered those men to kill me. Therefore I am now permitted to kill you and anyone who still stands with you.”

    [​IMG]

    “Your code?” Dixon laughed, plopping down in his chair, motioning to the one across from him. The figure obliged and sat, holding the potion still in his grasp. Dixon continued, “You are the last of them so your code doesn’t really mean much does it? Besides, let’s not kid ourselves, you are a mercenary it’s as simple as that.”

    “I would have taken her better offer if that were true.”

    “Oh I’m not denying your delusion of thinking you are, somehow, above the title of mercenary but that’s exactly what you are and you know it. Listen, I understand you’re upset but this was a business decision. I have no personal ill-will toward you. I had to deal with Ms. Wolfbane and I didn’t want to risk you being here if Trinsic comes sniffing around.”

    The lord smiled at the plate helmed man staring back at him. There was a long, uncomfortable silence that was almost palpable. The figure looked over his shoulder at Gunther who was trembling before returning his gaze back to Dixon. “I didn’t take it personally,” the figure said. “Just like you shouldn’t take it personally how I killed your men. Now, what did you do with her?”

    “Excuse me?” Lord Dixon scoffed. “That is not your concern. The fact I’m even allowing you to sit here right now without having these men cut you down is generous enough-“

    “No, it’s fearful,” the figure interrupted and the room fell deathly still. Lord Dixon looked around for a moment before straightening himself up.

    [​IMG]

    “You won’t kill me,” Dixon stated matter-of-factly. “If you kill me then you definitely will never find out where Ms. Wolfbane is.”

    “I think if I kill you I’ll know exactly where she is.”

    Dixon laughed, almost mockingly, “And how do you figure that?”

    “Your servant seems very nervous,” the figure replied coldly, “more nervous than when I walked in here. He seems like someone who knows something and is terrified he might tell me what that is.”

    Before anyone could react, the dark figure used his free hand to flip the desk over onto Lord Dixon and the two guards flanking him. He then spun, grabbing onto his chair he was sitting on, and flung it at one of the two guards by the door. He then kicked the shield of the remaining one so hard it bounced back into the guard’s face sending him falling. The figure grabbed Gunther by the tunic, roughly pulled him toward the door while tossing the purple potion at the desk.

    They were outside as the frantic cries from inside the building ceased when a fiery eruption sent flame and debris all over. The figure didn’t even stop as he continued dragging a terrified Gunther through muddy streets until they were well outside of town where the building on fire that held the corpse of Lord Dixon was barely visible. When near a tree far out of the reach of the city the figure picked Gunther up and pushed him up against it. He removed his axe and placed the blade close to Gunther’s neck.

    [​IMG]

    “No, please,” Gunther pleaded. “I didn’t know he planned on killing you, I swear! He just told me he had one last job for you! Please don’t kill me!”

    The figure ignored the pleas and asked, “Where is she?”

    “I don’t know!” Gunther was crying now.

    “I’m going to ask you one more time, Gunther, so for the sake of your limbs I’d suggest telling me the truth. Where is she?”

    “I don’t know the exact location, I swear! It’s some dungeon, built beneath an old ruin! It’s somewhere north of here! I swear, that’s all I know!”

    The figure looked in the direction Gunther suggested before putting his axe away and letting Gunther slide down the tree onto his rear and cry. The figure looked down at him and simply warned, “I believe you didn’t know, Gunther. You know what I am and what I can do, however, so if I have to come pay you a visit again I’ll be collecting those limbs.”

    The servant nodded amidst his crying as the figure left and made his way north towards the supposed ruins and the location of where they were holding Skye Wolfbane.

    To Be Continued...
     
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  14. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    [​IMG]

    The night was soon giving way to the dawn; the air was bitter with the cold and a wind picked up as the figure made his way through the forests to the north of where he had left Gunther. He would often stop to listen for anyone following him but didn’t find any trace so he would continue to search for ruins that matched the description Gunther had given. The figure assumed this was some sort of secret dungeon that very few knew about and housed people the Crown didn’t want found.

    He stopped for a moment and knelt beside a large tree and listened carefully. There was a faint pitter-patter; one, two, one two. It was a set of two the figure discerned and knew possibly two of Dixon’s men were on his trail. It could have been Gunther who sent them, it could be they came upon the burning building and followed a trail from there, or it could even, somehow, be the two guards by the doors had survived the blast. It didn’t matter but he could tell they were gaining ground on him.

    [​IMG]

    His plate helmed head turned in the direction where he was hearing their steps but he saw nothing. After surveying for a moment or two he decided to continue in the northern direction and just kept an ear out for their movements. The clouds were a dark grey in the sky and made it still a little difficult to navigate the forest but the figure was determined to find the ruins. He stopped again near a large patch of brush near some trees and knelt down, spinning to face the south. The footsteps were a little closer, now, and were swifter; they were picking up their pace to try and get a hold on him. He waited for a moment or two before looking up at the large branches above.

    The two guards came upon the cluster of brush and trees to find broken twigs which looked as though their target had been. They stopped to try and find more of a trail but saw nothing in any direction from that point. Confused, they looked to one another. They were wielding crossbows which they figured would be easier weapons if they could get him at range but they started to wonder if they would switch to the broadswords. They couldn’t make that decision, however, as one of them was knocked to the ground by the figure who leaped from the tree above. The figure broke his fall and his momentum caused him to roll forward and somersault before getting to his feet, standing, pulling free his axe, and charged the other guard who, out of more reactionary than anything else, fired his bolt.

    The bolt hit the dark figure in the pit of the arm, the tip embedding into flesh beneath the space where the plate and leather met. He winced but continued to charge the guard who dropped the crossbow and pulled free his sword. The two clashed, the axe blade hitting the blade of the sword and they battled back and forth. The guard who had been fallen on tried to stand but couldn’t as several bones had broken in his body. He was able to get himself onto his back and he tried to aim the crossbow. He fired the bolt which sailed through the air and the figure ducked to allow the bolt to hit the guard he had been fighting in the throat.

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    The guard struggled as he fell to the ground and the figure went over to the one who had just fired the bolt. He swung his axe down, beheading him and turned to the other guard struggling for life. He could see the guard suffering and put his axe away and retrieved his dagger. He knelt beside the fallen guard and stuck the blade into his side before yanking it out, effectively killing the guard and ending his suffering. The figure stood, sheathed his dagger, waited a moment or two for any other sounds of anyone and then continued to the north.

    Amidst the cold and the darker skies he soon saw in the distance a ruin which he assumed was what he was looking for. He approached it cautiously, freeing his axe and keeping it at the ready, while he looked around. There were no guards of any kind but he knew there wouldn’t be otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a secret. He searched for possible entrances or for anything that looked out of place that would open some sort of entrance but he was finding nothing. He wondered if this was the place he was looking for as a cold wind picked up and blew through. Even in his armor he could feel its chill and turned in the direction of it and saw on the ground near a broken down wall the pebbles and dirt move from the force of the wind and drop out of sight.

    The figure approached and saw they were falling into the thinnest seam. He began pawing at it with his gloved hand to find a slab of stone that looked like it was the entrance. He looked about to see how he could open it and only saw nearby a broken statue with a missing head. The statue had one arm intact to which the figure grasped it and pulled down; he heard the sound of stone grinding on stone and watched as the slab retracted to reveal stairs that led downward into blackness.

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    With his axe in hand he began the descent into the unknown as he could hear the slab re-close above him.

    To Be Continued...
     
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  15. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    The ten of them walked down the stairs into the depths; the dungeon was poorly lit so they took the steps slowly until they were at the bottom. Only a few torches here and there lit their way as they traversed the halls. These old dungeons were abandoned and only the escort of guards led them to the location to collect their payment for their service. They made their way through the corridors in silence, all of their plate helmed heads staring ahead at whatever laid before them.

    The figure shook the memory from his head as he found the steps took a long time to get down to the bottom. It was pitch black and he was feeling his way down but didn’t want to make any sort of light in case there were guards around a corner. He didn’t hear anyone; he listened hoping, perhaps, he could hear Skye’s faint cry echo but he heard nothing and the place was eerily still. He finally reached the bottom of the stairs, counting thirty-seven steps to get there, and he continued to creep along a hallway. He stopped only when he felt a door in front of him to which he slowly placed his hand upon the door handle and waited, taking a small breath, before eventually pushing on a handle to open the door.

    The door opened and the ten of them walked inside to a large room that had streaks of daylight from a ceiling far above. They filled the room and saw on a pedestal was a large piece of parchment which they exchanged glances over; was this the payment they were promised? “Perhaps it pertains to an account with the payment within it,” Lyonas suggested. “He would not hide something like that here,” Talm replied, eyeing the parchment from afar. “I concur,” Dartanius agreed, “this was a prize he felt needed to be hidden. If anything, I would think this parchment is information on perhaps that this prize is hidden elsewhere; a clever deception.” One of them walked to the parchment sitting on its pedestal, hesitated when reaching out, looking over at the others who were statuesque, and then placed his gloved hand upon it.

    [​IMG]

    The other side of the door was lit and it was a long hallway that had a small open room alongside the far wall; the jailer's area to keep watch the figure assumed. He still didn’t hear anything whether from prisoners nor guards and he slowly made his way down the hall, careful as he passed into the empty jailer's watch post. There was an empty weapons rack on the wall inside leading the figure to believe whoever was not here was patrolling other halls with said weapons and he looked to see near them was a small hanger he assumed a key ring normally was hanging from. He made his way back into the hallway and continued toward another door that was at the end of it.

    The figure slowly entered to find another long hallway lined with cells. To his left was a door and to his right an open doorway to what looked like a dining hall. He made his way down the hall more, looking to see very weak prisoners. They looked like they were starving, some of them basically bones, and they were all naked; this was a perversion of how someone should have to exist was what the figure thought as he looked for signs of Skye.

    He stopped when he heard footsteps coming from the direction he was heading toward and soon a lumbering man was in sight; he was very muscular and was easily taller than the figure. A jangling was coming from his hip which was the keys. This was the jailer. He passed by, often hitting bars at prisoners while laughing and he didn’t see the figure who had ducked into a dark empty cell that had its door open. After he was out of sight the plate helmed man continued back to the direction he was heading, hoping he would come across Skye.

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    “It looks to be for us,” he stated, reading the parchment as he unfurled it. The other nine took a few steps forward to get a closer look as the one wielding the parchment read aloud, “’I want to congratulate you ten on the exemplary work you have done for the Crown through the years and for the previous task you completed. Although it was something that was not particularly just, you all completed it with the upmost loyalty and, for that, I would like to sincerely show my gratitude. There is a lever upon the pedestal that, when you pull, will reveal your prize. You more than deserve it and I hope it brings you good fortune in the years to come.’” They all exchanged glances before Talm declared, “This is a good day for us, brothers, for our loyalty has shown to remain strong and our lord has seen that as well. Although we will garner this prize it is our code that has prevailed more than anything else.” And, in unison, the ten of them said, “It is as it should be and will be so long as I draw breath.” But as Talm placed his hand on the lever the one who read the parchment felt an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach and tried to stop Talm as the lever came down.

    The figure left the blackness of the cell and almost fell over as he tried to shake the reliving that was going on in his head of the last time he was in a dungeon. He steadied himself and made his way down the hallway more to a large metal door. He tried the handle but it would not budge. He listened closely as he heard the small sound of crying on the other side of the door. As he listened he could tell the voice crying belonged to a woman to which he whispered, “Skye?” The crying on the other side ceased and a weak voice replied, “Hello?” The figure was relieved to know the voice belonged to Skye but that relief ceased when he heard a sound behind him and spun to see the jailer swing a hatchet at him.

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    The hatchet blade embedded into the leather at the chest but, luckily, barely pierced through to his actual flesh. There was a cut, to be sure, but had he not had the armor on at all it would’ve been a fatal blow. The figure swung his own axe upward but the jailer lumbered backward to avoid it and yanked his hatchet free as he did so. The two stared each other down, their weapons ready, and the jailer grinned as they both swung their weapons at one another.

    To Be Continued...
     
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  16. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    As the hatchet clashed with the axe the figure felt the vibration of the impact due to the jailer’s size. He was easily over two meters tall and looked to weigh around twenty-two stones so the impact was enough to loosen the cloaked man’s grip. The jailer seized the opportunity and grabbed the axe with his free hand, yanked it from his opponent’s hands, and tossed it, without looking, down the hall in the opposite direction. He swung the hatchet again and the figure was able to dodge the attack and rolled past the jailer but as he stood to make a break for the axe that was somewhere down the hall he was knocked down by the force of the hatchet being swung onto his helm.

    The figure dropped to the ground and quickly spun on his back and as the hatchet came down again he brought his forearms up and crossed them to block the jailer’s attack. The hatchet blade hit the plate arms, hard, but the figure used the momentum to push the jailer off enough to unbalance him which gave the figure a chance to stand. The jailer regained his balance quickly, however, and swung upward with the hatchet and was barely blocked by the figure putting his plated arm out to absorb it. This attack knocked the dark figure down again and he tried to scoot back as far as he could to avoid the hatchet’s blade which came for him again.

    [​IMG]

    This time, the hatchet blade embedded into the stone floor beneath them, much to both the figure’s and the jailer’s surprise. When the figure stood the jailer released the hatchet and punched the plate helmed face of his opponent which caused the man to fall backward and hit the ground hard. The jailer grabbed him roughly, hoisted him up, and slammed him into the wall. He tore at the leather, trying to rip it off. The figure began punching as hard as he could into the kidneys of the jailer who yelled out in pain and backed up. The cloaked man attacked, swinging for him but the jailer blocked the attack and parried with a punch of his own to the chest. The figure let out a loud gasp and fell back against the wall.

    The jailer snorted as he grabbed this man by the neck and held him up high in the air, choking him. The figure struggled, trying to pry the big man’s hand from his throat but felt the grip get tighter and his ability to breathe diminishing. He stopped struggling and let his arms fall to his sides before using all the energy he could muster and flung his arms up and put his thumbs hard into the eyes of the jailer. The big man yelled out in agony as he felt the gloved thumbs pierce his eye sockets and rupture the eyes themselves and he released his grip, bringing his hands to his face. He couldn’t see and the figure slowly stood as the jailer flailed about trying to grab at him.

    [​IMG]

    The figure struggled to walk toward his fallen axe which he found, retrieved, then walked back to the jailer and swung at his kneecap, the blade embedding into it with a shower of blood exploding out. The jailer yelled and dropped to that knee when the axe was yanked free to which the figure swung it again at the jailer’s head. The axe stuck into the side of the head at the ear and the jailer began to spasm violently while guttural noises left his mouth. The figure yanked the axe free as the jailer fell over, still spasming, and he stood over him and looked down before swinging the axe down and splitting the jailer’s head clean open like a ripe melon.

    The figure fell over in a haze and looked dizzily at the giant dead man next to him. Soon the sounds of anything else became muffled and his vision began to blur until he saw himself trying to stop Talm from pulling down on the lever; the lever came down and there was a deafening sound as several pillars nearby exploded out of their tops and rained down flame. This trap was the ultimate betrayal as they had been nothing but loyal and as they all fell to the ground and fire rained upon them the cries of pain and agony echoed throughout. The figure couldn’t do anything but watch as his brothers burned to death and as he struggled to crawl he soon was on fire as well. The flames engulfed them even as they tried to escape the room and the dungeon itself but the halls filled with fire, following them like a spirit haunting their every move. He was the only one who, somehow, survived.

    [​IMG]

    He came out his daze and slowly got himself to his feet, walked over to the dead jailer, took the keys and then hobbled to the door Skye was in. He unlocked the door, opened it, and used the door frame to help keep himself propped up as he looked at a truly frightened Skye Wolfbane, naked and robbed of her dignity, who could only stare at him as if she was looking at a figment of her imagination. The figure slowly made his way in, removing his cloak from his back, wrapped her in it, and proceeded to carry her out of the dungeon and back into the world.

    To Be Concluded...
     
  17. The Mythomere

    The Mythomere Neophyte

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    It was mid afternoon when they sheltered in the abandoned home near the road back to Britain. Skye had found an old dress in a dresser and put it on, letting the figure have his cloak once more. They sat in the living room area amongst some broken furniture and used bits of wood from it to build a small fire. They were silent for quite awhile while he tended to what wounds he could without pulling his armor free. Skye offered to pull his armor free but he stopped her and she went back to sitting by the fire. They were caked in dirt, in sweat, in blood but they were relieved what they had been through was over.

    This time it was he who slept, in his armor and helmet, while Skye watched him quietly. The fire soon died out and night began to fall when he awoke and they made their way outside and took the road into east Britain. They used the cover of the night to make their way through the city and avoid any run-ins with guards or anyone else associated with Lord Dixon and soon were outside the city completely, heading off the road to avoid the Bloody Fields and made another journey toward Trinsic.

    [​IMG]

    They camped again once past the bridge that separated the territories and Skye was eating a rabbit, once again cooked, like before. The figure reached into his satchel, produced something Skye couldn’t see, and then extended his arm toward her. She smiled at the gesture and gingerly took her bloodied purple dress from him that he had kept. After she finished eating she looked to him and said, “Thank you.” He looked to her and replied, “You don’t need to think me. You have my loyalty and shall have that until if you would need to release me from my service or due to betrayal, in which case, I will kill you.”

    “That was a very sweet moment ruined by a very dark one,” Skye laughed and the figure looked to the flames in response but she noticed his shoulder move ever so slightly to which she could see it was due to his quiet laughter. “I am honored to have you in my service,” she told him and nodded once in approval. He returned the gesture and told her she should get some sleep. In the morning they cleared the camp and made their way for the road, looking in the southern direction.

    “So,” Skye began, looking to him, “I know you don’t have a name but I have to call you something.”

    He looked to her with his faceless plate helm and after a long moment he replied, “You can call me Mythomere.”

    She thought about that a for a moment before telling him, “Very well then. Take me home, Mythomere, I have a war to prepare for.”

    He nodded to her and as they continued their way on the road he stated his mantra to her, “It is as it should be and will be so long as I have breath.” The journey was at its end and Skye Wolfbane now would get her city ready for a new one: war on the Crown.

    The End...
    ... for now.

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