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Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2014 9:50:26 GMT -6
The land seemed different, if it could still be called such. Everything about it must have changed. Though it couldn't have, not for how long he had been gone. He was still a bit iffy on exactly how long it has been but the general idea wasn't enough time for what he saw. It was like a disaster of epic proportions had struck, obliterating everyone and everything. The troubled man stumbled aimlessly, his eyes wide with surprise at what he saw. Ruins, desert and no life whatsoever. A vague memory tugged at his mind, something he knew he should remember but whenever he tried to grasp it, it slipped away, leaving him empty and alone. There were some things he remember, such as how to fight, to think, to read and write and how to talk. He knew his name, sort of, as well as a few other minute things that make up his being. With a sigh, the man laid his stout spear up against a rock formation while he fiddled with his wrappings.
Cloth linen wraps covered his head and face, to protect it from the blazing heat created by the mighty sun up above. It was tightly wound, revealing only his brown eyes. Now he pushed part of it down to uncover his mouth. His throat was parched something fierce and needed some serious quenching. A single thin strap of leather was slung a shoulder, with a hide pouch attached to it. This pouch carried water, or any kind of liquid, but water for now. The man, Rhys as he remembered, lifted the uncorked pouch to his lip and took a measured drink. The water was lukewarm, passing uncomfortably across his tongue and down his throat. Though it wasn't cool like he wished, it still quenched his thirst. As much as he wanted to take another drink or two, he had to save it until he found a water source. Once he corked it, Rhys pulled a piece of seriously dried meat from another pouch and chewed on that for awhile.
While he rested against the rock formation, and luckily it had a high lip that cast some shade, a mighty gust blew through, churning up sand. It ruffled his sparse clothing but didn't bother him in the slightest. The sand had come close to getting into his eyes but something warded it away. Although the gust was welcome as it was refreshingly warm. Once it had passed, Rhys turned his attention back to the meat had been chewing on. In that time, he had only gotten bits and pieces off it. It would be enough to last him an hour or two, so he stowed it, grabbed his spear that doubled as a walking staff, and continued to walk into the ruined area. It was all he could to remain focused, to try and ignore his surroundings. This place couldn't be his beloved homeland.
But what if it was..?
Rhys suddenly stopped and fell to his knees. The sparse winds rippled past him but he hardly seemed to be paying attention. His spear was the only thing keeping him upright as he leaned against it. His eyes had become vacant of he was void of any emotion besides horror. He stared idly at the ground, slowly coming to terms that Hryst no longer existed, that all his friends, family and loved ones were gone. That the country he swore to protect had become a barren wasteland. It just wasn't possible. Unbidden tears slipped down his cheeks, either from keeping his eyes open that long or from a deep sadness that was taking root within him.
"Please Brynne, don't let it be so..." The faint words ghosted past his lips and vanished into the still air around him.
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Post by Allen Kierser on Mar 29, 2014 22:43:11 GMT -6
Strands of hair were plastered to his head. His glasses had snapped into two pieces hours ago - which was fantastic, by the way, as if the desert heat did not limit his visual range enough - and he had put them in a jacket pocket. Even with the jacket's light color, he was beginning to wish he routinely dressed in white, like one of those ridiculous missionaries. Of course, how was he to anticipate ending up here? He had chosen to become a lawyer explicitly to avoid dealing with these situations - it was like what happened with his older sister, rerun special just for him.
Kierser rubbed his wrists absently where the cuffs had dug into them an hour earlier. Alright, perhaps he could admit it wasn't because of his occupation or anything related to it, except tangentially. It'd been impulsive of him to try and make friends with one of Darling's former acquaintances near Aquavia's borders. In his defense, he hadn't thought the woman would be so unreasonable - and wealthy, he had underestimated that too. Enough money to hire a couple of thugs to kidnap him and attempt to leave him out in this godforsaken part - well, part of the old Empire, he supposed from the ruins. The drug they'd given him wore off soon into the trip, half persuaded by his abilities once he was aware. The idiots, those filthy ingrates, somehow didn't manage to come in contact with him at all. It had been difficult to stop them without it and his body still dragged with exhaustion. He hadn't quite managed to dislocate one of his thumbs right when slipping it out of the cuffs either, but he had immediately decided not to deal with that pain and repressed the signals.
Getting out of this godforsaken place was trying his patience. The "vehicle" (a word he used because he was too tired to think of the right one) he'd been taken here in was still functional, presumably, but one of the wheels was damaged beyond repair (it was obvious from looking at it, how exactly the driver managed to fuck it up that badly in thirty seconds was beyond him). In recompense, he'd taken the man's cloak - a little messy, after what happened, but enough to shelter him and save him a little energy.
The new objective was to get to the shade and regain his composure, rest out of the oppressive sun for a while. The ruins looked promising - and by that, he figured he was probably moving further from the border at this point, but it wasn't like other options were presenting themselves. His shoes sank in the sand as he walked, slightly bleary eyed, to the crumbled stone. It was hardly cooler in the shade - wait. That was a suspiciously human shaped figure; at least the corpse of one, so maybe he could raid it. Kierser held half of the corrective lens over his eye and the figure sharpened. Interesting, he thought, putting the glass away. He cleared his throat and stood, wavering. Apprehensively, he went closer and reached out with his ability, just barely - useless, he found out, staggering. Old-fashioned way, then.
"Uh, hello! Are you from around here?"
WORD COUNT # ~550 NOTES # um..hope you don't mind
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Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2014 20:35:21 GMT -6
Rhys had still been staring ahead when the newcomer arrived. He was no longer aware of his surroundings. The deep sadness that filled his soul zoned him out. He fought a losing battle within himself. The land he loved so much, Hryst, and her people were no longer here. It was the only thing that kept him going through it all. Once his memory started returning, the hope that he would some day find his way back to Hryst kept his spirit alive. That and the mysterious woman in his mind that he felt eternally in love with. Gone. All gone. His body was wracked with pain, not physical pain but emotional pain. He continued to stare nothing. His eyes were still watery but no tears would fall. Wrapped in his depression, Rhys felt like taking his spear and impaling himself with it. What more did he have to live for?
His self-pitying was interrupted by the arrival of the stranger. Rhys was dimly aware of a voice being addressed in his direction. The voice caused him to blink, which then brought reality rushing back. Squinting his eyes shut, he bowed his head and groaned. The wooden shaft of his spear that he gripped creaked in his white-knuckled grasp. Through the momentary rage, Rhys quickly sifted through his mind, trying to find what exactly the person had said. It was hard to think clearly. After the tears, the grief and the depression, Rhys had entered the denial stage and was increasingly angered. His head hurt from all the thinking, his body hurt from all the exhaustion and his soul hurt from the pain. In one fluid motion, Rhys came to his feet, groaning again as his cramped muscles straightened. All he knew was he was upset and wanted to vent some stress. Fortunately for him, there was someone nearby to assist him. Unfortunately for the newcomer, he was in for a bad day.
"AAAAARRGH!"
With a roar of defiance, Rhys spun around quickly and dashed at the person while twirling his spear like a quarterstaff. He quickly identified the person as an adult male. At least he wasn't facing a child or a woman. As he neared, Rhys slammed his feet down so he came to sliding halt and lashed out with the butt of the weapon to clock the man upside his head, putting his full momentum into it. He had one hand gripping the weapon and his other hand straightened and flat against the shaft in case he needed to quickly grab it for additional leverage. It might not have been right to randomly attack a seemingly unarmed man but Rhys wasn't feeling right in the head at the moment and was overcome by some bad emotions.
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Post by Allen Kierser on Apr 6, 2014 12:38:04 GMT -6
Granted, he wasn't wearing his glasses, but the man's skin looked decidedly alive and the grip on the spear seemed to have changed. Kierser regarded this a trifle indifferently, though he supposed a live body, an possible ally, was preferable to a dessicated corpse. Anyone left out long enough in the ruins would have already been picked clean, he belatedly realized. The lingering after effects of the drug combined with exhaustion were proving more detrimental to him than he had anticipated. Negligent as always, his brother would have said, as if Belan hadn't routinely been forgetting details left and right. He all too often seemed to think that Kierser got himself into these situations voluntarily - like it was fun. The man stood with more grace than Kierser was expecting. It should have put him on guard, made him wary - too bad those bells and whistles were permanently shut off - and then the man rushed him.
The last time he'd casually sparred had been two decades ago and his combatant, while nearly as dirty of a fighter as he was, didn't use weapons. The conflicts between then and the present had a greater variety, but mostly involved Aquavians, who, by-the-by, did not use goddamn staffs. Kierser stumbled back when the end of the staff clipped his chin, remaining unsteadily on his feet. The jolt left his eyes unable to focus clearly, but he still had a firm grip on his nerves. The hit was bracing, for sure, and he could feel a bruise beginning to form. Some nasty purple mar, he was sure. Should he pretend to show pain? No, he decided after a second, figuring it would look overly dramatic at this point. Besides, his acting wasn't quite good enough to feign a normally instinctive response, especially one that he had little experience with.
Kierser spread his hands wide, to show he had no weapon and hoping that the man would take it as a peaceful gesture. He let the hood slip from his head, ostensibly to show his face, and in truth to widen his peripheral vision. He'd not let himself be so easily hit again.
"I don't mean any harm," he said, insistent. "I'm just lost here and...I-I'm a doctor and I thought that you looked like you needed some help, maybe some help getting back to your home, but-but I can leave if you'd rather me not."
WORD COUNT # ~410 NOTES # :]
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Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2014 19:05:56 GMT -6
The full brunt of his attack hadn't landed as he wished but he felt a miniscule amount of resistance as the butt of his spear grazed the man's chin. Contact had been made but the man was skilled enough, or just lucky, to avoid the first blow. No matter, it was a preliminary attack to gauge his opponent's response. Keeping his eyes on the other man, Rhys showed no emotion and spun his spear once more, preparing for another strike. The man's stance appeared to be that of submissiveness, that he didn't wish to do battle or that he meant no harm. Unfortunately Rhys intended to do harm. He was overwhelmed by negative emotions that he'd probably crack under the strain if he didn't vent it all, unless the former had already happened. May Brynne have mercy on the man's soul if Rhys had lost his mind.
Without wasting any more precious seconds, Rhys slid his hand down his weapon, jerked forwards and swept his spear out in a horizontal arc at the wide open man. He hardly had to get close considering the full length of the shaft plus the spearhead. With a continued white-knuckled grip on his weapon, Rhys intended to shallowly slash the man's abdomen, as a warning that he, as in Rhys, wasn't to be taken lightly. That if he wasn't careful, he might just lose his life. Rhys might not intentionally kill the stranger, if he still had his wits about him. If he were to be killed, it would be through an accident by overestimating the man. That is, as mentioned before, if Rhys hadn't yet exceeded the breaking point and went insane. Then the man's death just might be inevitable. Who knows? Only time will tell.
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Post by Allen Kierser on Apr 6, 2014 20:02:08 GMT -6
Kierser was beginning to lose his amusement with the situation. Primarily because his words hadn't merited a response and, it seemed, they were ignored completely. That was insulting than the subsequent attack. His eyes widened in surprise and his posturing dropped. He let himself be hit. He could have avoided it, but he never missed an opportunity to be deceitful, especially when it could benefit him. The spearhead sliced through his shirt - he'd be upset, if it wasn't already filthy beyond repair - and pierced his skin. A shallow wound, and wasn't that a little careless of the man to make non-fatal cuts when he had the ability to end it immediately, that he healed practically as soon as the blood began to drip. It appeared superficially cut, and bleed with dead cells; for his purposes, though, it wasn't even there.
Kierser bent over slightly, pressing his hand firmly against his wound. His eyes, however, didn't stray.
"Tell me, why are you so upset?" He'd put some effort into his words before to ring anxiously. Now, he let his natural cadence take over, all calmness and detached curiosity; it would be unlikely to produce a similar result in the other. Tacey frequently said that he showed a remarkable ability to incite hostility when threatened, how much he wanted to play on the offensive, when his ability was so suited for defense. Kierser said back that it didn't matter, he would never want to cause anyone harm. She'd never fully bought that.
The man was using a spear. Not the best in close combat and he was probably old enough to have realized it - any secondary weapons would be difficult to grab while maintaining a grip on the spear, he supposed, but not impossible. Kierser's own dagger would be equally awkward to reach and he'd rather not play all of his cards yet. For the moment, he moved out of the reach of the spear tip, gaining some grounding as the sand turned to flat stone under him.
WORD COUNT # ~330 NOTES #
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Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2014 21:27:46 GMT -6
Rhys wasn't sure if his swipe made contact but by the way the man doubled over, he must of gotten hit. Instead of a counterattack, his opponent continued to remain pacifistic. It wasn't worthwhile to beat on someone if they didn't fight back, yet that thought hadn't quite pierced through his impending madness. Neither had the words the man was saying to Rhys. As he was currently going berserk, his rage protected him from, or rather denied him rational thought. If that were to be the case, the man had better find a way to get through to him or fight back, otherwise he would be done for. As he watched his opponent, Rhys viciously spun his spear, switching it from hand to hand and back again. Though his eyes remained on his foe, Rhys scanned his immediate surroundings through his peripheral vision. He didn't bother to turn his head, as that would give his opponent an opening to strike. Not that he believed he would but there was always that chance. Surprisingly, he spoke.
"There is no time for words. For the destruction of Hryst, I pass judgement on you." His voice carried a menacing quality.
Oh wow. In his grief-fueled rage and denial, Rhys somehow shoveled the blame of his beloved country's demise onto this total stranger. It was totally insane and unreasonable but hey, it's not like he showed anything rational thus far. Slowly he advanced towards the man, still spinning his spear between his hands. As he reached the stony land beyond the sand, he stopped and slammed the butt of his spear onto the ground. The thud resounded through the air, giving an example of the force applied to such. Rhys wasn't messing around, this was for real. With a glare fixed on the man, Rhys crouched low and lunged forwards with his spear, both hands gripping the shaft tightly and aiming to impale the man through his midsection. It seemed strange, maybe an illusion of sorts but it appeared that wisps of air were coiling around his legs after he had crouched. Was it just a trick of the light, a mirage created from this heated wasteland, or something else entirely?
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Post by Allen Kierser on Apr 7, 2014 6:11:23 GMT -6
The needless movement looked impressive, he had to admit, but it only confirmed that the man was young and not in his right mind - unless he was usually some sort of show-off sadist, but Kierser doubted it. Obscuring his movement with the coat, he undid one of the bindings on the dagger, making it easier to grab when it became necessary. He narrowed his eyes, trying to loose the tension building up in his muscles. It looked like it would become necessary very soon, unless - and then the man spoke. Kierser's head tilted in confusion.
"What the hell are you talking about?" He snapped, a bit upset that he was being attacked over a /fictional/ event. Even more upsetting was that the man was judging him! As if he had any right. It seemed he'd have to play his own advocate then, since the man was intent on being judge, jury, and executioner. Pity that his criminal experience was so slight. It'd be less useless than the bevy of corporate laws running through his brain.
The man slammed the end of the spear against the ground. Kierser cringed at the sound; it really was too loud, ringing out in the middle of nowhere. His opponent crouched and Kierser prepared to avoid the weapon again.
"Hryst is all well and fine and so far removed from this-" he broke off to slip to the side. It gave away that he wasn't injured, to move so quickly, but even he wouldn't be able to shrug off impalement. And, to be honest, who knew where the spearpoint had been, he'd likely catch a disease from it because that would be just how this perfect day would end. His mind presented something more compelling to ponder: wasn't that an odd fluctuation of air around his legs before? A gift, couldn't it be - he didn't hesitate now, finally behind the man, Kierser reached out for a patch of exposed skin. If he could touch him for a couple seconds, he'd reduce the stress hormones in the man's brain; if not, then maybe words would calm him.
"Hryst isn't destroyed."
WORD COUNT # ~360 NOTES #
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Post by Deleted on Apr 7, 2014 13:09:00 GMT -6
His thrust had missed. The man had swiftly dodged to the side to avoid being impaled. In the heat of the moment, Rhys thought it odd that an injured man could move with such spryness. No matter, it would only make things more interesting if his opponent wasn't always taking hits left and right. Of course he was now left wide open for a counterattack. It was a powerful lunge which probably would have ended the man's life had he not evaded it but the drawback was Rhys's defenses were momentarily down. He braced for an attack that didn't come. Did the man have no weapon? Instead, as he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw the man moving in to touch him with a hand. Probably going for one of his pressure points, or maybe something worse.
Gritting his teeth, Rhys stood up quickly and made to jump. Normally, this wouldn't have gotten him away in time, the man would of touched him. However, the air around his legs shifted and blasted down at the ground as they uncoiled swiftly. This propelled Rhys much higher into the air, and fast too. As he ascended, Rhys flipped forwards so he could swing his spear backwards like a pendulum at the advancing man. Whether or not he struck him, Rhys would twist his body around while flipping so when he landed a few meters away, he was facing the direction of his opponent. It was then that the words penetrated the hazy cloud of madness that surrounded his mind.
Hryst isn't destroyed.
The mere thought that his beloved land wasn't destroyed reverberated throughout his body. His concentration faltered and a look of surprise shown clearly upon his face. No, that couldn't be right. The evidence was all around them, Hryst no longer existed. It and everyone he loved and cared for was gone. The man had to be trying to trick him, to make him drop his guard so he could deliver a finishing blow. Well, his guard was definitely dropped. Those words eased his denial, that if Hryst wasn't destroyed then maybe there was hope for him. Again, the sadness returned and tears fell down his face. Feeling his legs tremble, Rhys lurched forwards a step and caught himself with his spear. It was there that he sank down to his knees and bowed his head in grief, unable to let his opponent see his weakness.
"Why..why..why..why..why..why..why..why....?" He murmured over and over. Why...was this happening?
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Post by Allen Kierser on Apr 7, 2014 14:17:49 GMT -6
The second attack he wasn't prepared for, but the angle at which it hit was severe, leaving a, while painful, not debilitating wound. Kierser pressed his fingers over the rough partition in his skin, concentrating on the sealing the top layer up. Slow the bleeding, make a larger bruise. He didn't have the focus to heal the entire cut now and, it wasn't exactly fatal, so it dropped significantly in priority.
He swore under his breath. He missed his opportunity; the man definitely had a gift, had something, to jump away from his touch like that.An expression passed over the man's face when he turned. Surprise, Kierser's sluggish mind supplied a second later. The man stumbled and fell to his knees, still with a damnable grip on the spear (darkened with /his/ blood, a part of him outraged). Was he crying? Kierser recoiled, clenching his hands. Dealing with grief was even less his forte than fighting.
Kierser took a deep breath, stabilizing his body. Well /that/ gave him time to think, for all that it made him uncomfortable. Why was he insisting that Hryst was destroyed? It didn't make sense...unless he was thinking this was Hryst. He let out a short burst of laughter. "I'm sorry," he said, smiling, not even sure if the man was looking at him. "It's just...this isn't Hryst. We're on the borders of the old Empire." Kierser shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, smearing the strands with red.
"What kind of bender were you on? Trust me, the country's on a rough patch but short of a nuclear bomb, it wouldn't be reduced to the wasteland that we're currently on." Kierser's tone was lightly scolding, as if the man had missed a deadline. Perhaps not the most considerate or even particularly intelligent choice, but it was what he was reduced to, any dregs of compassion long faded to dust. "Talk to me, we can get home together."
WORD COUNT # ~360 NOTES #
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