Open Chronicles Ink On Paper...

[Adonia]

Not enough. Her magic did not have enough time to saturate the offending soldier's mind and pull him into her daze. Not fully. The effects were enough to cause the warrior to panic, his first swings blind and crazed, free of the calculation they would have had before Fèlen had interjected. She moved swiftly, pressing herself against the nearest wall, ensuring the sword would not knick her own flesh whilst the two knights clashed together.

There was no relief, another enemy coming from deeper within the dwelling, pausing a moment to take in the house that had become battlegrounds before his gaze met with her own. She noted the flicker of his gaze scanning her. Unlike other elves in this racist city, she did not hide her origins. Her sharp ears protruded proudly from beneath sterling waves, uncaring for the disapproving looks she had been given on her arrival in Vel Anir.

She did not want to extend the perfume of her blooms, concerned that their haze would start to effect Alden as well, and so she adjusted her standing. Ynsidia's blood still dripped from the dagger as it rose in defense, the stance the half-elf took one of a trained fighter. His dagger. But again she would not have to defend herself. Tian appeared, having bested his previous foes, adrenaline allowing him to continue on with disregard towards fatigue and injury.

It was not long before Kolvar was outmatched, Aldren's blade ringing true as a head rolled across the floor, leaving only one enemy left in the room.

 

[Kolvar Vayra]

She was an elf and, in a way, it was like Kolvar was staring at his reflection. He had never seen an elf in Vel Anir other than his own reflection. Maybe that was why he saw so much of himself in the girl. They looked nothing alike. His red hair was longer and fiery red while she bore silver locks. It was a strange feeling to feel as though he was a part of her magic. It teemed in the air, her powers just recently shown.

Just as he felt the urge to break their eye contact, a pain in his side interrupted him. His eyes widened, still locked on the elven girl and went to clutch his side. His hand met that of the man in black. The man he ran from. He couldn't see the man's eyes, but he could feel his presence.

Kolvar could feel blood start to pour over the hand clutching his side. He gave a grunt and shifte on his feet, starting to feel his conscience slip. He felt the blade leave his side and a trail of blood gushed out from the wound, staining the ground a crimson red. Kolvar coughed and with the action came more blood, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

Desperately, he looked back at the elven woman, hoping the connection he felt with her had transferred. He hadn't seen another elf since he was a child.

The edges of his vision turned black and he fell to his knees. Propping himself up with his hands, he tried to keep his consciousness, but to no avail. The blackness took over his mind and as he fell the rest of the way down, the loose pin in his left ear fell from his hair, his long pointed ear poking out from his now bloodstained hair.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

Ringing.

A loud ringing. In her ears. The world smothered.

A tattered blackness. She remembered turning about on one knee. Raising her hand. But not the strike. One moment, she was kneeling. The next, here and now, lying on the ground.

She couldn't move. It was as if all the strength of her body had been sapped by the blow she never felt.

Something moved her instead. Lifted her head. A muffled voice. A blurred face. Everything distant and out of focus.

She tried to speak. Did. Unable to hear the quiet, confused, nonsensical words that left her own mouth.

Mischa didn't know that the bones of her right hand had been shattered. That blood flowed and mixed with her black hair on the right side of her head. That her hand--having absorbed the brunt of the impact--together with the durability of the orcish skull, had saved her from death.

 

[Ynsidia]

Mischa's eyes opened, blinked, wandered dizzily and without focus. Ynsidia observed all of this intently, cradling the Orc Templar's head. Mischa's words came out jumbled. Starts and aborts of the tongue. Ynsidia positioned Mischa's head on her lap, and held it there while letting the shredded rags of her once flowing, garish garments soak some of the blood.

A nonverbal command circled the serpentine Ink Conjure about them, creating a parameter of frightening defense. Peasant witnesses backed away, and shouted in fear, having never seen anything like what was before them now. Protected, Ynsidia ripped off the left, billowing sleeve of her outer robe, and tightly wrapped it around Mischa's head, covering the bloody gash.

Then she snapped her fingers in front of Mischa's eyes.

"Focus. FOCUS! Keep those open, thank you; don't you close them! I won't let you die. I won't leave you here, Konda!"

Konda.

The name fell from her lips effortlessly, and memories flooded in with it that she quickly banished. But the sentiment remained. She wasn't leaving behind another being that had taken it upon themselves to help her for no perceivable reason other than charity.

She had no choice ten years ago but to leave Konda behind.

But Ynsidia had choices here, and now. She wasn't going to leave Mischa in a refuse strewn alley to die a lonely, hopeless death. Ynsidia was willing to make this her last stand...

What happen to Konda would not happen in Vel Anir to Mischa.

"This is quite the predicament, Elveszett...may I be of assistance?"

Ynsidia turned her head towards the voice, black eyes widening.

"You!?!"

 

[Tian]

Disappointment mixed with guilty relief. Tian had expected a fight from the elfin knife fighter, but the man had been transfixed by the hauntingly beautiful Felen, and never saw him coming. Bright red lung blood had spilled over the rough gloves on his hands, mingling with his own.

A classic killing move. The man would die in minutes if he did not receive magical assistance of some kind. Perhaps longer if he was of strong constitution. Didn't matter for now.

There were no foes. He stood, his own blood dripping a slow cadence, the mental discipline of centuries slowing the tide, buying time. He could hear no others coming, but that did not mean anything.

His head snapped around at yet another unfamiliar voice, looking past the girl that was at the heart of all this.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

After the head rolled, silence filled the air. The man's body thumped down the ground, letting the blood fill the mud covered alley. Aldren said his prayers kneeling next to the corpse, out of respect for that soldier's honor. The dream of every honorable warrior. To go out with bravery, respected.

With the thrill of battle gone, Aldren coughed some blood, the effects of all that damage and the overuse of his magic finally catching up to him. He fell to his knees, feeling the strength vanishing from his body, his blade being the only support that kept him from going face first to the ground.

And that's when he heard the sounds of battle only slightly close to him, back inside the building he was just in. The elven lady.

He pushed forth through will alone and managed to stand up, pulling his sword from the ground and slowly walking back to the house through the hole he ended up making in the wall after he was thrown through it. His heart was met with relief after seeing the assassin conquering yet another foe, the one that threatened the beautiful nymph, the one kept chasing them and hurt the little magician girl.

Unconsciously, Aldren gripped tightly the hilt of his sword, stained with the blood of that enforcer. With small and whacked steps he made his way towards them, glancing first at the woman and then to the elf soldier, laying bleeding on the ground.

"You all right?", was the first thing he said after getting next to them. Even battered and bloodied, his first concern was with her. She was a complete stranger, and yet her graceful mystique left him in awe every time he stood close to her.

He looked over to the rogue next, nodding in gratitude and rather thankful that he wasn't killed by the reinforcements. And then Aldren's gaze changed as his eyes fell down to meet the fallen elf. The would be Templar reached forward with his longsword, the tip of the bloodied blade stopping inches away from him.

 

[Adonia]

The deep umber of the elven adversary's eyes looked over her in wonder and hidden jealousy, locking onto her slate gaze even as Tian forced steel into his waist and he failed to hold his stance. Even as the blood gushed from his wound and he lost consciousness, dark eyes pleading, she did not approach. His ear betrayed his guise, revealing his true lineage.

He was an elf just as her father was, concealing his identity in order to survive inside a city that would never approve of him. He felt something for that shared pain and expected sympathy because of it, but there was no sympathy in Fèlen's eyes. Her exile had been caused by those of the same blood, same ancestors. Thus her connection to blood was finite if not nonexistent. She felt no pity towards a bleeding elf that would have killed her if her ears were not the same shape as his own, nor any she saw as an enemy. He was just another dead body left in their wake.
Her attention moved on to her allies, those who had made obvious actions to protect her life, stepping hastily towards Tian as blood dripped down his arm. Aldren's concerned timbre caught her attention briefly, her response an assured nod.

"Does this need immediate attention? We should catch up with the others... Find somewhere safe." Concern rang through her soft tenor as she tucked her new dagger into a sheath woven of vine that had not been wrapped around her waist moments before.

 

[Kolvar Vayra]

The blackness swirled around him. Kolvar would surely die. Yet the void was comforting.

He was no longer tense. He was no longer hiding. He was no longer suffering. He just simply was. Kolvar didn't know how much longer he would be, but the slipping of his mind was relieving. Maybe he would get to meet his father, if his father was even dead.

He'd surely get to meet his mother. Kolvar would tell her a thousand times over how sorry he was. He would apologize for not being a better son. For not being able to save her. For not being able to stand his ground. For getting thrown into the streets. For not living the way she'd raised him.

For having to become his biggest enemy, his biggest fear. He'd become one of the monsters who took everything from him. Kolvar supposed that was how life in Vel Anir was meant to be lived. He could be a monster or he could be dead. Now that he was dying, he supposed it would have been better to be dead all along. He wondered why he bothered fighting for his life in the alleys when the blackness was so inviting.

And he got to see another elf. Her features were delicate. She reminded Kolvar of his mother. They looked nothing alike and he doubted their personalities were even remotely similar, but he'd been so deprived of interaction with one of his own people that he'd forgotten he even was an elf. Until he saw her. He remembered that he had to get out of this damned city.

He had to get out of this damned city.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

Marcie.

Yes, Mischa? What is it?

A hand to her cheek. The fire. Ready to be unleashed. The Great Holy One's will.

"I'm sorry," Mischa said.

A snapping. A far away voice. Keep those open.

Kindness. Caring.

Things that Mischa killed. Things she did not want to kill. But things she would by necessity.

But the world demanded cruelty. Brutality.

And Mischa would not gain the strength she desired under Marcie.

A subtle lesson from the Great Holy One. That kindness and caring for one not her kin had been Marcie's undoing.

A heavy toll upon Mischa's heart. But a necessary hardening. Yes. Only kin could be afforded kindness and caring.

Only her tribe. Her father.

And she must return to them. Stronger than when she had been exiled.

Accepted. At last.

* * * * *​

And Mischa fought to keep her eyes open. Staring at the blurred face in front of her. Surrounded by the ringing of her ears.

And the face Mischa stared at looked away. Toward an even more distant voice.

 

[Ynsidia]

"Yes, 'me', Now do not prattle; what sort of situation are we in?"

Ynsidia regarded the forthright words, and shivered. She was always a little, no, strongly anxious of her master, and rather frightened too. There were things about The Conjurer that...that simply weren't normal. In a world of various techniques, and magical disciplines, diverse creatures and monsters, The Conjurer was somehow out of place.

"I wouldn't kill a child when ordered to by Maddigan the noble, and so I attacked him, failed to kill him, and now he is trying to kill me," Ynsidia started, looking down the way where the rest of her inadvertent allies seemed to still be engaged. "And trying to kill those who came to my defense!" she finished.

The Conjurer nodded, then crooked a finger at the Ink Basilisk.

Ynsidia felt her control of the construct waver, as if it were a kite being tugged from her hands by a sudden gust. And then she lost control of it entirely. The Conjurer commanded the construct close, and then slowly funneled it up under the hood. Ynsidia looked away and cringed as the slurping, and chewing sounds followed, blood running cold, her skin feeling like it was crawling. When The Conjurer finished, a burp followed.

"Your constructs still taste like bread, Elveszett; never change..."

Ynsidia looked back at her master with a mixture of horror and awe. The Ink Basilisk was complete taken in, devoured. The Conjurer seemed to loom taller, larger now, walking over to the building where the rest of Ynsidia's circumstantial defenders had finished their struggles.

"I cannot have you slain. There is so much for you to do, and to experience; it would be tragic if you were to end here in the streets of Vel Anir..."

The Conjurer turned back towards her.

"The noble you turned against is likely in more trouble than you, and will take the blame for the disturbance in the veneer of peace this city tries to maintain. If you leave the city, this will be smoothed over by the nobles doing away with the one you tried to kill; you let your emotions complicate the matter, Elveszett..."

And The Conjurer's ornate robes, robes that Ynsidia imitated in her own dress, slowly grew ink black, and started running, flowing in a squirming spate along the brick paved street.

"Words in the right ear here could have done away with the man. They trust you more than they trust a lower noble. I helped make you the tool of warfare for only the most respected and influential men of this city (sigh), but perhaps this stage of development for you is coming to an end."

The writhing black pool in the ally took form, the form of a massive Pegasus. The construct stamped and whinnied, heavy detail surfacing. The creature would have to be climbed, but it looked like the back of the construct was broad enough to carry almost six people.

"That should do; ride it over the wall with whomever you cannot part ways with."

"Th-thank you master!"

"Elveszett."

"Y-yes master?"

"Do not die...I command it..."

"Of course!"

And with that, The Conjurer walked, more like glided, into the shadows of the twisting and turning alleyways, color fading back into the garments worn.

OOC: Sorry for the wait...and the Deus Ex Machina! XD -We can all cycle through posts getting onto the Pegasus, and maybe close the thread down as complete, or we can take it on further if you all wish! Let me know!