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PostPosted: Sun Jun 05, 2011 9:40 pm 
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Nash turned to the newest arrival and felt something in the back of his mind tickle. It felt odd, like an itch, just behind the eyeball. He rubbed one eye and bowed slightly in return. These new arrivals were coming in better, more intimidating forms.
"Greetings. Tell me, my new, oddly technologically advanced friend, what terrain do you hail from? Desert? Tundra? Forest? I myself come from a mountainous habitat - cliffs everywhere!" He laughed, covering his question with a chuckle and somewhat fanciful dialogue. As he halted the assault on his orb, he spotted armor. Not only advanced considering the evaluation he had given the entire Continent (and related countries surrounding), but horrendously advanced.
Nash considered this with a long draw on his smoke, and an extended stare at the armor. "Interesting, how did your people craft such well-developed armor?"
That damned itch was back, and he renewed his assault on his eye. He thought he smelled grease, but like the itch, it was distant, real only to his senses.
"Okay, is this everyone? I'm quite tired of introducing myself. Especially when soon enough you all shall hear my name and bow." This last statement was spoken with bitterness. It was something he knew would not happen, like non-Slayer Slayer citizenship.
Nash was pacing the room now, restraining his excitement. This was a much better turn out that he had expected. Of course, he had expected strife, and a complete lack of unity, which seemed to be the case, but this was much more of a challenge.
He froze, the itch in his head intensifying. What was it? Memories tickling the surface of his conscious, but darting back before he could get a fix on it. He stared at the Cryx's delegate's guard, and the itch turned into a pinch.
Nash let out a stream of smoke before removing his palm from his eye socket and refusing to acknowledge the odd feeling. He grew still and detached, as he had before, but his eyes still roved curiously to the new arrivals. "Since no one seems to wish to discuss their freedom can I at least talk to you two about th finer aspects of your culture?"
Several leaders protested, but Nash snorted at them, "Tell me what you wish to know about your future, I will tell you, but I will not repeat myself. Either you all agree on peace or we march to destroy. We will not accept any other answer."

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And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Mon Jun 06, 2011 5:42 am 
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The Bane thrall broke into rough rasping, the way Bane thralls and knights laugh. An elbow in the gut silenced him. "We come from the Blightplains. It is seperated from the other nations by the tundra." Scarlock raised a boned finger, carefully concealed by a black velvet glove. "We do not need to know the future, we have expected nothing, but anticipated everything."

He splayed his fingers, meant to indicate all those present at the table, "The Cryx are only nibbling at their food source. Aye, the only way to defeat us is to die. Then we shall starve, and die too. But, Cryx shall be the last standing. You may strike us down, but surely, you won't take us out."

******

Asphixious glanced at his men. Starve and die out? Not likely. More like death of boredom. He released the spell, regaining his focus on the present. He had snuck to a nearby structure, listening to Scarlock's meaningless banter.

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PostPosted: Mon Jun 06, 2011 10:29 am 
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"I believe we've had quite enough idle talk already," Arathorne got to his feet, pushing his chair back with the motion. "We have enough representatives of the provinces," he spat, tossing a glance in the direction of the eldritch abomination that was the Scarlock thrall seated far to his right, then to the Slayer prince, although not quite so intensely. "It is time for a referendum, time for this continent to make a choice." The politician next to him rose as well, barking, "Sit down!"

Arathorne looked at the Slayer prince again. He spoke with a blaze in his eyes. "You will not pull back?" The prince was silent.

Arathorne turned his gaze to the man beside him and reached down to the man's sword belt, pulling out a dagger. In the next moment he jabbed it downwards onto the map on the table. The knife tip pierced the middle of the brown parchment squarely, and it vibrated as Arathorne's hand let go of the handle. "Britannia suggests the course of war. Our shining host is ready for battle. I assume so are the rest of you."

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This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are full of blood. And when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists, then all the whores and politicians will look up and shout: 'Save us!' Then I'll look down, and whisper: 'No.'


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PostPosted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 10:43 am 
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Nash nodded, this was more inevitable. "Your people seem akin to mine own, but for one key difference. We only wish to survive, and grow.
Yes, treaties and alliances with other countries were once common, but it only takes one aggressor to wipe out an entire country, to destroy peace completely. Since then we havemade vows and advanced rapidly, it's the richer option, to assimilate with the Slayer. However, it is understandable, your answer. We have vowed that never again would that happen, letting another nation live separate for the sake of moral."
He stubbed out his cigarette on the table, and an iron determination entered his eyes, "Be prepared, Cryx. If starvation is all that will kill you, we will carry through. You may slaughter all of our raiding parties, but the MotherLand is eternal."
The itch had spread throughout his body, making his fidget, making him move. The itch itself had developed into a spark of energy. "Now the only question is this; do you slaughter all you can now, or await our armies for a war like no other?"
His eyes were trained on the leaders, he slowly looked at each one in turn. "I will not halt you from returning to your homes. Your decision has been made. Do as you wish."
One of the leaders grinned, pulling out a sword, "Wait, you forgot one option! We have the Grand Prince right here! Why not capture you and use it to lever the King to leave us be?"
Nash blinked slowly, and smiled, ever so slightly, "That is indeed and option, but I have seven other brothers, and I guarantee you, I am very low on the list of succession. Both genetically and Genotype-wise. As I said before, when the question of survival is raised, my father would not bat an eye at the slaughter of all his children. We are desensitized very early on to such methods, among other things."
Nash stood, gathering his cloak and bag, "So I assume this meeting is adjourned? Unless someone wishes to take action or voice some other opinion before I make haste?"
He smiled again, cheerily, "I wish you all luck."
The same leader who'd made the previous suggestion took a step forward, "What's stopping us from killing you now, before you run like a coward?"
His smile did not falter, "Run like a coward I may, but I am very good at it. What's stopping you? Nothing. Have at me."
His boots and arm guards hissed and clicked as the etchings came to life and glowed a dull, angry orange. The vents at the posterior sides hissed and expelled steam. His boots whirred and clicked again, the odd suspension buckles activating and taking on his weight. Nash rotated his wrists within the gloves, cracking them. The leader, who was outfitted with leather armor and a crude sword, hesitated, and stepped down.
"Anyone else?"

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"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 10:55 am 
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"I will oblige if you are so enthusiastic," Arathorne responded cooly, bringing his hand to the pommel of his sheathed blade. "It is just good manners that I face you on the battlefield and nowhere else." He sat back down on his seat. "I believe it unwise that you be so rigid, prince Nash. Underestimate us at your own peril."

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This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are full of blood. And when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists, then all the whores and politicians will look up and shout: 'Save us!' Then I'll look down, and whisper: 'No.'


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PostPosted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 11:07 am 
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"Yes, yes, sit! Good sir! Or we might have to bring up some... Unpleasantaries." His fingers wound on a hidden lever in his sleeve. He smiled. "Representative of the Slayer, be sure to behave yourself, or suffer the wrath of the Continent." He chided, though not sure about the other leader's response. He glanced at the man who had just spoken, he looked of noble breed, holy magic practicers? Maybe so.

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PostPosted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 3:06 pm 
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Nash stared at the Knight, and relaxed slightly, he shook his head slowly, "I do not underestimate you, but you do not understand the situation you are in. My life is nothing - sure, I will fight for it, I will do anything to preserve it - but the Motherland..." He sighed and seemed to make a decision. He threw his bags aside, pulling a chair away from the table to perch on it, "Then, if revolt is not happening, as I'd expected, why do you remain here? You've made a decision, whether I intervene or not my people will march. I will remain as long as there is no threat, but please, enlighten me."
He drew another smoke out of his sleeve, then glared at it. He crushed it in his fist and leaned forward on his knees, "By all means, discuss what you wish, but the moment I see the hatred, the beginnings of violence, I will preserve my life."
He whistled, a high, piercing sound that made several people flinch. The two guards entered, and bowed. Nash glanced back at them, "Your shift is over. Leave. Go to the Coast, meet your families before returning. Take everything with you."
The first guard obeyed without comment, but the second, a friend, knelled by his Prince. "Are you sure? They're murderous. I can smell it. And those two armored ones, they have better technology."
Nash waved him away, "The life of one, or the life of two, which is better in the eyes of our Mother? You doubt me...Why?"
The guard spoke, but froze halfway, "Because you are a Slee-er, you are a Runner, Frax. That's nowhere near enough armor to defeat them all."
Nash nodded, "Who says I will defeat? I'll be fine, and by that, I mean Mother will be fine. Do not let it cloud your judgment. Now leave. Get out of here, Guard Yome. Enjoy your time off, send Father my wishes."
The guards obeyed, and the Prince turned back to the delegates, "As I said, I do not underestimate. The Slayer will live whether I can manage to survive this 'delegation' or not." He grinned as the guards closed the doors, but did not lock them. "Why remain? Why bother? Go home and prepare yourselves. I can only offer advice. If you wish something else, speak it now, or hold your peace. I am sorry, but I've never been a particularly organized speaker, consider it a blessing you got me instead of a guard who didn't even bother to learn the Native tongue."
Nash examined his gloves, still hissing from the steam, and fidgeted some more. The itch was now a steady thrum through his veins. He felt that tricks and traps were afoot. Th Cryx had a nasty look on his face, the Knight was also ready to fight, along with several other leaders. He wanted to know why they were so foolhardy, it seemed only a few had opted for peace. They were not tearing each other apart as much as standing silently, full of hostility. Perhaps he had been brash, but he wasn't one for delicate speech. Never had been.
However, curiosity killed the Sceptile, as the Slayer saying went. And so he remained, despite having finished his objectives, and possibly placing himself into danger.

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"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Wed Jun 08, 2011 4:29 pm 
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"I'm sure that'z what we all vould want, eh?" Jala scoffed openly, rolling her eyes. Her hand came down and swept across the surface of the table until finally smacking insistently against it. It did nothing to gain the attention of her peers, but she only glanced at them from underneath her eyelashes in a half-hearted glare. Her temper had begun to rise with the volume of everyone else's voice, and she had remained quiet for a while now--but she held fast on her concentration. Too long had she trained for this moment to keep calm. Her people never did well when it came to expressing opinions via words, but if someone was offering to settle this dispute by a fight, she would jump at the opportunity. She tapped the table idly with her fingers now, coming to stroke her chin with the other. Seeing the others rise to arms as well made a thought appear in her little head, and she couldn't help but entertain the thought. Ganging up on the Prince surely would mean war, and a minor victory for the continent...but...what about if they all pulled together to defeat the Slayer?

She scoffed inwardly, glancing sideways at the the gentleman from Britannia who had just spoken. Though Kynder had yet to encounter Britannia, their army looked promising. And so, she pushed the urge to kick the table over and start a fight down, and instead allowed her aggression to come out in words.

"You undereztimate our armiez," she suddenly spoke, tilting her head and glancing at the Prince questioningly. Her voice was somewhat uncomfortable, but her posture was confident--her eyes swept over the knights of Britannia once more and lingered for a moment, before glancing to everyone else, "What'z to say we kannot defeat jour country of Slayer?"

Next to her, Astin hummed momentarily. The scene was quickly escalating into something he'd rather not partake in. The man could hold his own in a fight, but if put up against the knights of Britannia, the Kyndran woman, or (he gulped) the one from Cryx, he'd surely be decimated instantly. He was human after all, not some death-seeking war-fiend. The only one here he could probably take in a fight would be the King who was crippled mere moments earlier. Astin was truly nothing without an army, and it probably showed. His hand came up to rub at his neck as he imagined it--his head severed from his body. Cringing, he decided to take Jala's point and run with it before a fight surely broke out.

"She's right," he admitted begrudgingly, gritting his teeth and ignoring the incredulous stare he received from the barbarian next to him, "You give us an option of life or death--and as much as I respect your ideal of a 'fair trade', good Prince, surely you know that it's not always that simple."

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PostPosted: Fri Jun 10, 2011 8:13 pm 
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Nash's lips twitched up in a smile. He looked pitying now, but not towards the other leaders. "I understand how, brought up without any of the rigid structures common to the Slayer lifestyle, you would think so."
He closed his eyes and placed two fingers on the burns on his eyes.
These people were preaching at him to understand, but they could hardly fathom the immense authoritative state that was Mother.
"We are taught as children that failure does not exist. We are the Elite. We are the Only. We are the Slayer. The Gods themselves Bow Before Us." He was repeating the old, basic mantra, "If they Win the Battle, we Will Surely Win the War." His smile broadened as his hands traveled down to the scar marring his face, splitting it into a permanent grimace, "Experience Reaps Success, and We Will Undergo All to Become Perfection."
"It is you who does not understand. How many of you noticed the end of this Desert civilization? They were not the strongest of you, granted, but this is only the beginning, whether I'm being foolish or not. They trained us in the event of, literally, anything."
He gritted his teeth, he wasn't usually allowed to peruse the memories of Training so easily, but here they were. The fighting, scarring, starvation...how they got in your head. "It is not arrogance. It is how we all think. There is nothing else."
He fumbled for another smoke, but cursed and smashed that one as well. "We will survive, no matter the consequence." It was those damned mantras again, slipping out his lips, much easier to yield to than this debate, one which required careful consideration before speaking. "And as long as the Slayer are One, There is No Other."

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And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 7:39 am 
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Scarlock glanced at the briefly down either sides of the table before saying, "Well, I can't help but warn all here, we do have a certain degree of reinforcements dotting the surrounding terrain, so be make sure you do not 'misbehave'."

He heard tapping of fingers, he looked down at a lady, a Kynder lady, so to speak, the very same nationality as the one which caused him great pain. He slapped himself mentally and awaited the other nation's descision.

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PostPosted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 11:22 am 
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A Scout stood miles from the citadel, watching the formation of the enemy as they circled the Prince's meeting place. He turned towards the Coast, and sent his steed East. Another scout, miles away would receive the reptilian beast, and send his eastward in turn. This line would go on until it reached the Slayer Native Base, where a ship would be dispatched to the Motherland. For now, the scout raised his crossbow, his entire frame encased in armor, his head wrapped in cloth, eyes covered by goggles, and fired.

Nash started rubbing his temples, he was not good at this. Why had Father sent him here? He had trouble focusing on the main topic...what was the main topic? Why was he here whining about Slayer Training? Blast it all that itching, that tingling sensation had moved to the left half of his body. He scratched at his arm.
When the Cryx had spoken of reinforcements, Nash felt lightheaded. His posture straightened and his eyes narrowed. "I take it any action other than sitting here discussing with you would be considered a 'misbehavior.' There is nothing more to talk about if we just go back and forth threatening each other. I stayed in hopes that I could be enlightened. That is not the case."
Trapped. Confined. Stuck in one place. One Room. One Dark, Dark Room. Nash's pulse increased and he swallowed. "I do not suggest confining me here, even if we have..." He paused, considering the time, "Fourty-six hours remaining. Perhaps it's foolish of me, but I assume you are not going to submit. Therefore the answer you all choose, through indecision, is death. Fourty six hours will not change this."
Just then, a crossbow bolt crashed through the high window, a stained glass piece almost fifty feet up the wall, and one of the only sources of natural light. The bolt sailed through the air, and Nash's eyes caught the flutter of a note.
He ran and snatched the thing out of the air, stripping the bolt of it's burden and scanned the paper, which was covered in Slayer scrawl.

The King has requested an Evac, to suit up for heavy warfare. The Natives choose Death, as our Historians will record. A society that already possesses technology akin to or greater than ours shall not be suffered to live. All other societies shall be Cleansed to prevent similar occurrences from happening.
Prepare for action. The Castle is surrounded. I trust you can meet up at Base on your own. We will wait two hours, afterwards, you will be deemed Dead until Proven otherwise.
Two hours to pick up your Advanced Gear to combat the new threats. Two hours to either escape as a Runner, or slaughter as a Sleeper, the enemy that surrounds you now.
Your steed is three miles NorthEast.
We are Waiting, Frax.


Nash cursed and crumpled the paper in his hands, "Even my own people agree. Why dillydally when there is a New World to conquer?" The itching was quickly becoming a burning. He fidgeted. "I am summoned home. Whether you permit me to go or not, I do not care. Any opposition will be destroyed or otherwise crippled. Imperfected."
He took a deep breath, "Cryx, I have no doubts as to your forces power, according to my scouts you've already killed some of our own. I do not question that. However, do not say I didn't warn you."
He turned towards the doors, Gear hissing anew as it heated up and started whirring into action. He drew his knife, a modest little pocket knife, nothing compared to the swords of the warriors. He pulled the pin on it and twirled it betwixt his fingers.
He turned towards the doors and pushed them open. "The meeting is adjourned. By decree of the Slayer, Prince Frax, 7th in Line for the Throne, Class A Runner, the Natives have chosen Death." He paused, staring at the horrified expressions of the few who'd preferred slavery, or had tried to argue for freedom AND life, those poor beggars.
He paused, "Or as we will Record in History...Any who wish to be captured and confined into our Slave Camps should destroy their weapons and go home and wait. Mark your doorways with a charcoal circle." He seemed somewhat regretful at this last statement, "Even then, our soldiers may not heed you. Best prepare yourselves."
He hesitated anew, fighting the burning of his left arm, the one that wished to take action and either run or fight. "I'm regretful that my Father could not keep his word and wait a mere 48 hours. However, the nation is threatened by such insurrection. Threats must be destroyed at all costs."
Nash frowned, "Despite the objections of the oppressed, those caught in the cross-fire."
They could learn so much from other cultures, but when the Slayer were threatened, they burned everything. Even their own Capitals. He shook his head slowly, and pushed the doors fully open.
And so it Begins.

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And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 1:00 pm 
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A deep scowl broke out onto Jala's features. Her eyes were trained on the retreating back of the Prince, burning with intensity, her hand trembling from the extreme amount of restraint she had been using until now. In Kynder, one would never allow his enemies to see their back--it showed weakness, indecision, and above all--trickery. Despite whether or not any of these characteristics were accurate, she still felt anger--Jala hated dishonesty, and it did nothing to quench her suspicion. Astin, next to her, leaned away and widened his eyes in a cowardly manner before finally opting to slide his chair away. His chair scraped loudly against the marble on the floor as he stood and reached a hand out--a reach for hope...for mercy. It was then that he had realized his words earlier had really done nothing but advance the potential of violence.

"Please, Prince!" He cried rather loudly, moving quickly and moving around the curved edge of the table, "Surely you don't believe the answer to this is genocide?!"

And while his actions seemed noble, as he reached out to the Prince again in a desperate manner, eyes wide with fear--it was painfully obvious to the woman next to him that he was really only appeasing the Slayer to save his own neck. She growled loudly, muttering curses under her breath in her own language. Her eyes swept across the table again, and her eyes hung briefly upon one male from the country of Cryx. Various scars upon her body singed slightly at the sight of him--but she ignored the feeling of familiarity and placed her face into the palm of her hand.

"No one vill stand up to this?" She muttered heatedly under her breath, shoulders shaking. This wasn't good...reel it in, Jala, she could hear her mentors scolding, our ways of living are not accepted--anger is not the answer...

"This iz..." she continued quietly, the sound of her voice muffled by her hands, "Ridiculouz."

It was then that Astin tripped, making another chair scrape rather loudly against the floor. And it was then that Jala lost her temper.

"Oh, ztop zpewing jour empty words, Oschelon dog!" Jala shouted, raising from her chair and throwing her hand into a cup in front of her, causing it to fling across the room and clatter against the wall to the opposite side of the room, "He wantz to kill all ov us, and all you can think of iz your own hide!?"

Taking a deep breath, she felt relief in letting her anger out and her growing headache began to recede. "Fine, if it iz war you want, Kynder vill be waiting."

"...d-don't listen to her..." Astin grumbled, glaring into his more-than-once-foe, reaching into his pocket for his gun.

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PostPosted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 7:05 am 
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Scarlock, incoming hostiles, leave now.

Scarlock pulled on the hidden lever, causing a small pistol to leap into his hand from the depths of his sleeve. He shot the stone floor beside the prone form, a warning shot. Wisps of green smoke trailed the bullet.

"Well, apparently someone has a large ammount of reinforcements coming," He rose out of his seat, "And I'm not going to float around and get minced by savages." Scarlock paused, allowing the words to sink in. Then he sweeped his arm, causing the pistol to retract back into his sleeve and he tromped towards the doors.

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PostPosted: Wed Jun 15, 2011 10:43 am 
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Nash listened to all of this, keeping his back to them. It was not out of trickery, possibly indecision, but mainly, invitation. The conflict in the room amplified, and he smiled bitterly. "Genocide...you speak of genocide when this entire unit of countries has been warring for untold years. Even the 'peaceful' nation, the one supposedly seeking an end to war, is drawing his weapon," Nash turned to stare at them, disgust evident in his eyes. He switched the blade from his right to his left hand, subconsciously, "It is not genocide, it is a mercy killing. I just announced your imminent demise, and still you stand apart, you rabid dogs even start squabbling."
He closed his eyes to bring himself under control, to summon his open, worldly self that was rapidly retreating in face of such arguments. "I cannot judge too harshly, we were much like you, at first. When diplomacy failed, however, we chose unity over this strife. At the cost of freedom, we chose to become something great."
His voice rose with conviction, mantras or not, he knew he'd choose no other than his people, who essentially tortured and broke their own to prepare them for future duties. Not broken, Nash, but fractured. Broken into many, working pieces.
Nash frowned at the Cryx's statement, "Hostiles? Do you speak of my kin?" That somewhat unfocused, dazed look returned to his face, "I heard not of any attack, other than in the fields of war."

The scout watched the adversaries as they moved. A nearby band rode up beside him, watching the citadel.
"Frax isn't acting. We'd hear them by now. What do we do?"
The six kept their position, while the scout lowered his scope, "Frax enjoys freedom of choice, he can leave or slaughter them, giving us the advantage in this war."
A short, uncomfortable silence ensued, "So what do we do? Isn't he supposed to...you know...do something? He's talking."
"Stop your tongue. You know our role in this skirmish, we do not seek victory, but usher the coming. Our work is simple, do not fear death, or it will consume you."
"...Death will consume me, or fear?"
The scout turned to the youngling, "Do I need to shoot you now or let you die with honor, Youngling?"
The other fell silent as the scout raised his crossbow yet again, loading a canister this time, and aiming for the window, "Operation Flush and Enamor is underway."

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And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Wed Jun 15, 2011 10:55 am 
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"In the Lady's name, settle down," Arathorne bristled, his thumb and index finger clasped at both his temples in a show of dismay, but no matter how rude it may have seemed, Arathorne thought, it was necessary. This court was no united nation, and this court held no disciplined politician. The peoples of the continent revealed their true selves now. The Kyndran was a rash warrior woman, the Oschelon a cowering weakling, the Cryxian was an aberration that invoked a feeling of wrongness even as Arathorne looked upon him, and Deathbane already began to glow with fey-light in the abomination's presence.

Arathorne noticed the blade glowing, annoyed, but the light had began to dim after the Cryxian left, bringing his bodyguard thrall with him as he left. The doors seemed to crash closed as a great wind pulsated through the room and slammed them shut, almost as if the Lady herself had beckoned the Cryxians to leave and never come back. Now that Deathbane had dimmed, Arathorne saw it fit to stand and speak.

His bodyguard knights turned their helmeted heads towards him as he stood to his height, chainmail ringing as he moved. A moment of silence passed through the courtroom as Arathorne looked in the direction of the departing prince, before the doors closed themselves with the blow of a strong wind to the right. "Britannia's army is assembled. The question is which few of you would stand with her." His sight played over all the politicians before him, paying especial attention towards the bickering couple that were the Oschelon and Kyndran.

"Britannia has brought a host a hundred thousand strong, a mere fraction of what we can muster. With numbers such as these, victory is all but assured." Arathorne paused as the diplomats began to whisper amongst each other, the rustle of robes followed by the jangling of jewelry or belted weapons echoing about the courtroom. "A hundred thousand fine warriors riding by your side. Imagine that," he continued, tapping on the side of his head with a finger softly, a cue for the men and women within the room to realize the potential strength that the Britannians have brought.

"Now is not the time for bickering nor war amongst each other. Foolish mistakes like that, we can no longer afford. The Slayer have proved they are a powerful opponent, no matter how arrogant they may be. You can fight amongst yourselves and die out even as the Slayer annihilate you. Worse, you can surrender to them with your tails between your legs and serve as their dogs for a lifetime, letting the generations to come share the shame with your cowardice." Arathorne pointed at a group of men and women that have been contemplating surrender even as he said his last words, and they turned their heads down in shame as the combined weight of the congregation's stares bore on their shoulders.

"Or, you can stand with me, and become legends! The Lady has given you - us, her blessing. Our hosts are strong. Our enemy underestimates us. We will grind them beneath our heels, wrest your lost lands back from their grubby hands, and avenge your brothers that have fallen beneath their blades. Let glory and victories unnumbered be ours!"

_________________
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This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are full of blood. And when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists, then all the whores and politicians will look up and shout: 'Save us!' Then I'll look down, and whisper: 'No.'


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PostPosted: Thu Jun 16, 2011 2:27 am 
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Jala stared openly as Britannian knight spoke, and couldn't help but feel a feint sense of pride despite her growing distaste for the warriors in the room. While many left the room, she continued to stare and pondered the words placed upon her ears. Some things became lost in translation to her, but she managed to put two-and-two together and make ends meet of what he had been saying.

She frowned. An alliance? In all of Kynder's history, they had never allied with any nation. Maybe, she mused, that is because we have always been able to crush our enemies before. Jala snorted at the thought, feeling her heart well with pride once more. Before now, they had always been able to take on any enemy with flawless victory.

Until now, she reminded herself. For a moment, memories of wounded soldiers came into thought and she frowned again. Soldiers, stationed in far-away lands, crippled and torn apart by the very threat they had faced mere moments before. Good men, wasted--and ultimately, banished to Oschelon, who would no doubt leave this petition for war in the dust without even considering it.

And at that moment, she had definitely made up her mind.

"I know not much about jour country, or your armiez--" she began, speaking rather loudly, "But Kynder will join you."

Astin, next to her, scowled and said nothing--unbelieving of what had just happened.

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PostPosted: Sun Jun 19, 2011 2:12 pm 
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The youngster within the Scout patrol looked over the opposition again. They were out of range, for now, but they stood no chance whatsoever. The Operation ordered them to charge into it all. He frowned and worriedly inspected his weaponry, cleaning the Crossbow and wishing sorely for his more advanced set.
The Scout beside him fired the canister. As it flew through the air, a small tail of gas escaped it. The Youngster watched it crash through a window in the Castle, and very quickly disperse its choking, burning contents.
They spotted Nash, exiting the building seconds later, and the Scout hissed between clenched teeth. "His Highness will not be happy, but nevertheless, we move on as planned."
The Lanceman nodded and mounted up, while Yome loaded his weapon.
"Kill the weaklings if they flee, avoid the demon-army below. Anyone who makes you struggle, leave be. We are thinning the herd, understand?"
All nodded except one, his eyes were riveted to the Prince, who was watching as smoke quickly filled the room he'd just left. He nodded after a moment's hesitation.


A couple leaders, including the Queen of the currently unconscious King, nodded and stood up, having been quiet, or cowering through the whole ordeal. The Queen spoke calmly, but with a fire in her eyes. Her husband was fallen, and she was quick to seize the leadership position. "We will fight with you, however meager our armies."
Her next words were interrupted by a crash, and an innocent looking canister flew through the window, rolling along the ground and emitting a thin trail of smoke. That was quick to change, however, as the canister burst open on one side and the trail of smoke became a bilious cloud, engulfing the room in grey gas. Breathing it wasn't harmful, at first, but the more breaths one took, the more the gas burned in their lungs, their eyes.
Immediately, panic engulfed the leaders, many ran to the doors, and shoved each other aside to escape.

Nash watched all this, paying little attention to anything else. His bad habit resurfaced, and he produced yet another smoke from his gloves. A memory came to him, unbidden, and Nash felt the acrid taste of smoke, the burning of his feet, the irons, glowing hot, encasing his wrist.
Here you will learn to submit to fire, and breathe smoke. Neither flame nor heat nor gas shall stop your attack.
He glanced down at the cigarette, that's probably where the habit came from...breathe smoke. Humph.
He glanced back at the situation, currently, the Cryx, and the Slayer on a high dune, in the distance. He'd ordered no attack, but his words didn't carry much sway in the realm of warfare. More of the King's doing, no doubt. He idly wondered what the plan was, before the first escaped leader slammed into him in the haste to escape the smoke-filled room.
Nash, in surprise, pressed his lit cigarette into the man's eye and stabbed him with his knife, before he realized what it was that had hit him.
He frowned, "Oh dear."
This wasn't good. He made distance between himself and the exit, dragging the leader with him. Now the question was did he fight with his brethren or focus on escaping and catching that ship home...decisions, decisions. A bolt flew from the top dune and would have hit his foot had he not jumped back at the sound of the whistling projectile.
There's your answer; Get outta here.
He considered this in his lax way and smirked. How long has it been since you fought? When was the last time the King put you into a battle, or even allowed you near one?
Nash stretched and activated his Gear, twirling the blade around. Two hours was cake, he could run to the port. Why not have some fun, test out the strength of Slayer training against the others? Secret Training even he couldn't remember, not fully. Not yet.
He smiled and grabbed a wire, attached to the knuckles of his right glove, and pulled it free. It wound out, the spool on his wrist releasing more of the dark line. He approached the doors, blocking them from opening with his body, as he strung the line across the path, about shin-height. While he struggled to cut the line with his knife the door shook as the others started running into it.
The poundings became frenzied and Nash stepped away, carefully over the wire and retreated a few feet. His hand that had grasped the wire was bloodied, lacerated, and steadily dripping blood to the ground.
We will burn your hand now. It'll hurt - at first, but afterwards no manner of cut or wound shall cause your grip to slip or shake.
He backed away from his handiwork and wondered how many would be blind enough to run into the line. Whomever didn't would be worthy opponents indeed.
His eyes traveled to the Cryx as the doors slammed open and the first idiot felt the sting of the wire, letting out a startled yelp before toppling over. Blood quickly bloomed underneath him, and Nash watched with wide-eyed curiosity as the others escaped the gas.

_________________
"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die"


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PostPosted: Sun Jun 19, 2011 7:49 pm 
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Scarlock looked back as screams of the damned reached him. "Let's go, no point saving them."

Asphixious looked at him, "Nay, if we provide assistance, who knows what allys may we be able to conjure?" He drew his sword, casting a spell which blanketed the area in a thick green smoke. The smoke was harmless, though people would be prone to tripping and injuring themselves. He signaled to Deathjack, who emerged from hiding and into the smoke, it's eyes creating read beams whereever it looked.

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PostPosted: Wed Jun 22, 2011 11:13 am 
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Arathorne was about to nod in the direction of the queen when the smoking canister broke through the window behind the diplomat directly opposing him, rolling to a stop between the legs of the man's chair before exuding a dark green haze. Arathorne had no idea what the smoke did, nor who fired it, only that he needed to get the canister out of the room and quickly. His conviction towards the task only increased when the politicians closest to the grenade began to cough and wheeze, with increasing volume. Their skyrocketing agony reflected in their expressions as the haze began to thicken with the bilious green smoke.

Before Arathorne knew it, the meeting room was in pandemonium. He quickly reached for a screaming noblewoman's sash, spitting on it and tying it around his nose to make sure as little of the damaging smoke got into his lungs as possible, before launching himself across the table. The chair in his trajectory was splintered as he landed, and he reached for the canister, clenching his fingers around it as he rolled over the ground. He got to one knee just as he closed with the window, and hurled the grenade with all his strength out into the waiting skies. It left a trail of gas behind it even as it hurtled towards the sands surrounding the castle.

His knights had put on their helmets and held their noses while, as per their knightly training in the protection of their lieges in case of an attempted assassination, attempting to orderly evacuate the increasingly panicking politicians, but the difficulty of communication in the pandemonium and the language barrier proved this to be ineffective. The knights attempting to lead the nobles out of the room could only run as fast as their legs could carry and cut apart the razor wire the Slayer prince had viciously tied around the entrance of the conferencing hall so the nobles could avoid the fate of one who was unfortunate enough to have his legs sliced, before the nobles surged out of the room in a great tide of human bodies.

People were trampled even as they struggled to get out of the room, pushing and shoving as hard as they could and stopping for no one. "You'll pay, coward," Arathorne grunted, jumping over the table back to his seat and retrieving his helmet. In the chaos, it had been knocked off the table and onto the ground, where it had been kicked around by panicking men and women. The plumes that had once beautifully adorned it were noticeably ruffled and damaged. Arathorne strode for the door as he put the helmet on and reached for his sheathed sword.

_________________
Image
This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are full of blood. And when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists, then all the whores and politicians will look up and shout: 'Save us!' Then I'll look down, and whisper: 'No.'


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PostPosted: Mon Jun 27, 2011 9:36 am 
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Nash watched the leaders, most of which were either cut down to the bone (some worse, as they were all but pushed into the wire) and flailed as the crowd panicked.
When the knights broke it he nodded, smiling.
Half of these leaders looked as if they had no military experience whatsoever. Sad, really.
He crouched down on the ground, waiting. As the last leaders evacuated he kept his eyes open, and found the approaching Knight, his plumes torn asunder by the crowds.
"I'm glad someone here knows how to handle panic." He leered at the fleeing leaders, and called, his voice not too concerned, nor too loud, "Anyone attempting to flee will be cut down by the Slayer, I advise against it. They're up to something, all right."
He thumbed the small group of scouts on the far dunes and watched the Cryx retreat with marked interest.
As the knight grabbed his sword he smoothly got to his feet and held his own paltry blade out to the side, taking a stance with one foot forward and the back leg bent.
His eyes didn't change, still as wide and empty as before. "Hello, Sir Knight. I suggest you move out before my comrades execute whatever it is they're doing up there."
He pointed again to the dunes, where they were gathering and fiddling with machinery of some sort. One small figure looked through a scope at them, and, recognizing the pose, Nash waved cheerily. "You would be one of the few to escape them. I would not endanger my life in such a way by enacting petty revenge, though."

_________________
"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die"


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