Fable - Ask The Canal

A roleplay which may be open to join but you must ask the creator first
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Problem one had been solved. Bannick was safely surrounded by his sea of bodyguards. One down and one to go. Alistair's eyes shifted over the area to analyze the situation. Kalix was beginning to buckle under the weight of the crowd, and he was sure Raf was still reeling from the stampede.

Alistair poured his magic into his rune of speed and took off across the crowd moving like a blur towards the two now floating assassins.

The next part of all of this would have to be quick and happen nearly all at once. His fingers traced in the air as magical ropes were conjured to bind the two assassins. The bindings were not that strong, but hopefully, with Raf it would be enough until he actually got their hands on them.

"Kalix, lower the crowd! Kristen, crowd control. Something big and something scary!" Alistair called out. Trying his best to give everyone roles to accomplish.

Kristen Pirian Raf Kalix
 

Kristen Pirian

Pirian's Chosen
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Kristen herself almost winced when she felt Raf's ribs, but she caught it in her throat. Blessed Aionus, the bones felt so wrong that her fingers had briefly recoiled from the touch. He was wounded! But here a terrible truth of the battlefield, that help could not be administered without first securing the area. And with half of Elyr'Adith floating above them, tumbling lazily and crying out in their fright, poised to fall the moment the strain became too great for Kalix, they were not yet secure.

I'm alright.

"Are you!?" Kristen somehow sounded both relieved and incredulous at the same time.

He seemed to be. He got to his feet and utilized his magic to fling the two assailants back from any possible escape. Kalix was holding on, barely, and Alistair was dashing under the floating crowd to apprehend the assailants.

Kristen, crowd control.

"R-Right!"

Oh how she wished she could conjure something that could soothe rather than provoke fear. Yet, the sort of fear one of her Conjurations instilled was frigid, paralyzing, petrifying. Almost the direct opposite of the flighty panic that had ripped through the crowd like a bolt of lightning. It would have to do.

Kristen backed herself to the wall of one of the enclosing buildings of the Square, clear of floating citizens. Quick eyes darted to the exit paths of the Square, counting them. Five in total. Oh gosh. Five Conjurations all at once. Kristen had not dropped down so many simultaneously, not even in her training session with Noel. But this was it. The real thing. No more practice. Just do it.

Kristen flipped open her book and held it with one hand and quickly spoke a prayer, "Holy Sentinel, I beseech thee, bequeath unto us the reminders of our mortality..."

Five Ashen Crucifixes slammed down to the ground of all the exit paths from the Square, startling each of the Banick soldier shieldwalls assembled. Those citizens who'd try in their panic to leave would have to lay eyes on their terrible burning forms, and thus would the freezing fear of their own inescapable death grip their hearts and still their limbs.

Kristen grit her teeth, trembled, and she recited verse after verse to keep her focus clean and her Conjurations stable.

Raf Kalix Alistair Krixus
 
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Raf

The Mimic
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The assassins dropped. Chained in place by Alistair's magic.

Raf tumbled onto the ground himself, the reverberations of Kalix's magic striking him. Suddenly his body felt as though it weighed a million pounds. A thunk rang out as she landed on the ground, his shoulders sagging and a loud sigh escaping him.

His vision seemed to spin, head aching, lips thinning as he struggled to catch his breath.

Ribs still ached from the crack in them. The stampeding crowd having done more damage than the Proctors had in the last year. He grimaced, glancing around and trying to see if there was anything for him to still do.

"We...We good?" His head turned.

The floating crowd still above. "Kalix?'

Raf called. "You good?"

He wasn't entirely sure why he was asking. The Mimic was almost entirely sure that if he tried to take the other boys power again and help it would end with him being unconscious. His own body entirely unprepared and untrained for the consequences of Kalix's magic.
 

Kalix

Zael’s Pet Cat Boi
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Kalix’s head had slumped down. His entire form was awful. He had crouched lower and lower to the ground, his shoulders rounding over, his arms beginning to droop as well. He looked like a withering plant, desperate for water.

But he endured. If only because first and foremost, he was a stubborn, stubborn young man.

His knees crashed down onto the stone beneath him, and Kalix sucked in a large breath of air as his hands fell down onto the ground as well. His entire body was beginning to spasm, his eyes twitching uncontrollably. His throat and mouth were dry, but in that uncomfortable way were saliva was thick and heavy and offered no sort of relief. Like a spongy mucus that wouldn’t leave the back of his throat.

Eyes became bloodshot. His ears had begun to bleed as well. The stream of blood from his nose didn’t cease.

He was faintly aware of what was going on, but everything was hazy. Surprisingly, it was Raf’s voice, more than KP’s or Alistair’s, that brought Kalix back to paying attention.

Last thing: set all the townsfolk down gently.

He could do that. Kalix closed his eyes, concentrating hard. Slowly. Just. Set. Them. Down. Slow and steady— a audible gasp and shout of surprise caused Kalix to stop, and he feebly opened his eyes when he looked up.

Whoops, he had dropped them about four feet down. But that was good he caught them when he did. Two feet above the ground? He could finish the job. He was so close he could practically taste it! Wait, no, that was him tasting blood and bile on his tongue. Close enough, he supposed. With his eyes opened, Kalix brought the hundred-plus townsfolk down slowly onto the ground, almost everyone landing back down on their feet.

Fuck, I’m… so… cool.” He breathed out hoarsely, a stupid grin on his face.

Alistair Krixus Kristen Pirian Raf
 
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Alistair felt a body drop almost on top of him as he dodged to the side as he continued his run. He also heard, along with the fall, the sounds of other bodies hitting the floor. He could also hear Kristen's light voice over the noise of the crowd.

By now, Alistair was essentially on top of the two individuals. He jumped up in the air and landed, planting his boot into the back of the assassins while pressing the tip of his sword against the back of the other.

"Nothing would make my day more than either of you two trying to move. If you want to continue breathing then I suggest otherwise."

He looked up from the two to look around at the square. Kalix and Raf looked pretty beat up. Kristen...well, she looked like some sort of fire and brimstone priest. He had to admit, the crucifixes even put a little fear into him and he had known something like that was coming.

He struggled to catch as his breath, but let a small grin reach his face at the pleasure of this small victory.

"Yes, Kalix. You are very cool."

Kristen Pirian Raf Kalix
 

Kristen Pirian

Pirian's Chosen
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The assassins. Caught. One of them, an elven man with striking, ethereal features and ocean blue eyes, glared up at Alistair as the sword was pressed into his back. The other seemed resigned. Both made no moves to escape.

The crowd. Descending. Imperfectly as Kalix, his concentration having slipped abruptly, nearly dropped them flat out to the ground, but he regained his control and down they descended. The suspension from gravity had a cooling effect on most, diffusing their panic in their bewilderment and inability to do anything until put down. Others, though, stood and tried to make for the exits from the Square. Only to see Kristen's Crucifixes and to have their legs become leaden with fear, many dropping to their knees and cowering.

Kristen. Reciting away as if a priestess giving a hasty sermon: "...for the order that you in your infinite wisdom have bestowed upon the world. Holy Sentinel, Guardian of Time, let us never forget the Thread of Mortality which binds us all and sees that very order enacted throughout Arethil. Let us never..."

The Banick soldiers (wary of laying eyes on the Crucifixes themselves) were calling fiercely for order among the populace.

And, at last, some semblance of it, that order, was taking hold of the Square.

Walter strode through the crowd, his elite soldiers a bulwark around him, and laid a hand down on Alistair's shoulder. "Excellent work, young Lord Krixus. Excellent work indeed from you and yours." Walter felt a swell of pride for Alistair, and he knew that the boy was destined for greatness.

Walter cast a disdainful glance down at the two elves. "We shall take them as prisoners. Furthermore, it seems we will have to overnight here in Elyr'Adith now to maintain order. This, at least, until my reserve companies arrive on the morrow."

Meanwhile, Kristen saw that the situation was back under control. She stopped her reciting and the Ashen Crucifixes crumbled to nothing and she let out a big, exhausted breath and doubled over. This was yet another thing she needed to work on—enduring the strain of fielding and maintaining multiple Conjurations at once.

Kalix? You good?

She glanced toward Raf with wild eyes, and then over to where she had last seen Kalix.

"Kalix??"

She pushed past a few Adithian bystanders and found Kalix there. A hand shot up and hovered just over her mouth.

"Kalix...you're bleeding," Kristen said, aghast.

Raf Kalix Alistair Krixus
 

Raf

The Mimic
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Raf remained sitting where he was, his head turning to look towards Kalix who looked as though he was in worse shape than he was.

A small curse echoed from his lips, and he tried to push himself up and off the ground. His legs shook, and then he found himself suddenly crashing back onto the ground. Another curse flickered, and he shook his head. "MEDIC!"

His voice boomed out.

"WE NEED A MEDIC!" How in the fuck did Kalix manage this weight?

Over the years the Mimic had stolen more than a few touches of magic. Near everyone at the Academy, but this? This was a consequence that he'd never quite felt before. It was as though his entire body had been squished down by the earth itself. "NOW!"

His voice boomed with a shocking authority, and finally one of the Banick seemed to rush over. Peeling from the crowd and approaching Raf. His hand came up, shoving the man. "Not me! Him!"

Raf said, pushing him towards Kalix. The spell of a simpleton seeming to break for just a moment.
 

Kalix

Zael’s Pet Cat Boi
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Kalix was chuckling. Or gurgling through the mouthful of blood. He looked up at his comrades, the whites of his eyes a bright red, purple bruising appearing underneath the sensitive, soft skin of his under eyes. And yet, he grinned at all of them, a big, wide, stupid grin. Whether it was from delirium or from his old fashioned notions of what a dreadlord should be, not even Kalix himself knew. He only understood one thing: the blood hardly seemed to bother him. But it was getting all over the talbard he was wearing.

Sorry for getting blood on your fancy Pirian shirt, KP.” Kalix said. He then looked at the medic rushing towards him, and waved him off. “I’m fine! I just.. need… a sandwich.” The second the slurred words left his lips, Kalix’s head swayed back, the world a blur.

He felt so light. So weightless. Like he was floating on clouds…

Just as quick, his head lolled forward and the initiate crashed before slumping completely onto the ground. Darkness enveloped him sweetly, and Kalix passed out.

Alistair Krixus Kristen Pirian Raf
 
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Alistair bowed to Lord Banick at the compliment, struggling to keep a smile from breaking out even wider onto his face. They had done it. The team was alive, and things had gone rather well from his perspective. Sure, the mayor might be dead, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Seeing that the guards now had the two would-be assassins under control, Alistair bowed one more time.

"Excuse me, sir. I must check on our team."


Alistair hurried over moving in the direction of Raf and Kalix. It was clear from their appearance that the two had taken on much of the stress from using their powers so broadly. Alistair's own powers did not really work like that, s it was difficult to get to such a state. However, he was thankful he had people like them in his group.

He wasn't moving fast enough to stop Kalix from getting up, and could only watch as he crashed back into the ground.

"Medic, please be careful with him," Alistair called out, receiving a simple nod from the healer.

He shot a look at Kristen before moving to someone who was actually conscious. Raf looked like shit, he would admit, but nothing life-threatening.

A quick pulse of magical energy flashed in his eyes as he used his magical senses to better understand what was happening to his fellow dreadlord.

"Here, take this. It should lessen the effects, although this may last a bit longer."

Alistair holds out a bottle of light blue liquid. A mana potion of his own creation. It would provide some arcane energy for Raf, which it looked like he sorely needed. It also provided a sweet berry flavor, which he was rather proud of.

Kristen Pirian Raf Kalix
 

Kristen Pirian

Pirian's Chosen
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Kalix looked awful. Blessed Aionus, the cost of his magic had exacted a heavy toll upon his body. In that vulnerable moment Kristen was glad that her power was what it was, a cost of faith and prayer in preparation and a cost of mere energy in its usage, and not the ravaging crimson tide that stained Kalix's teeth and added far more red than was proper to the Pirian tabard.

And he collapsed.

"Kalix!" Ahhh! Kristen lamented wordlessly in her mind and soundlessly with her expression, wishing that she had access to more typical Divine Magic, something, anything, which could aid rather than debilitate.

The Banick medic, after having been rebuked by Kalix, kneeled down and tended to him after he fell, right on cue with Alistair's prompting. Raf had had a laudable presence of mind to call for help. When he had done so, goodness, it scarcely sounded like Raf at all! Rather, it seemed as if clouds of aloofness had parted and the sunlight of clarity had broken through for him. Was it...a fluke? Or was it that Raf could be capable, could be strong and present, yet he himself was his own greatest impediment?

Banick soldiers, having received new orders, began to direct the people of Elyr'Adith. Return to your homes, they shouted. Order has been restored. Proceed calmly.

The crowd, only with minor lingering traces of shock and stress, disquieted murmurs and consoling words shared among one another, nevertheless complied. Banick soldiers also hefted up the two Fellowship elves and took them into formal custody.

The Banick force was to remain in Elyr'Adith through the night. Tents were set up on the overskirts of the town. Certainly, there were worse places and worse conditions in which to overnight. A pleasant day at a beachfront settlement many travelers and adventurers visited for vacations hardly amounted to rough conditions.

And the Initiates, of course, had their own tent set up for them. Close to the white sands of the beach as it so happened, and the gentle lapping of the tides against the shore a soothing constant.

Raf Kalix Alistair Krixus
 

Raf

The Mimic
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"Thanks." Raf said as he took the potion from Alistair, only a slight frown flickering of his features. He didn't even look at the bottle, simply uncorked it and threw it down into his gullet.

Raf wasn't Chas, always experimenting with one mushroom or another, but he didn't much mind taking risks in that regard. Especially when it was specifically made to make him feel better. Least according to Alistair in anyway. "Wasn't quite expecting that...weight."

He said with a slight frown at Kalix.

It didn't take long after that for the potion to take effect, and for the Initiates to be herded to the Outskirts of town.

Alistair's potion had it's effect, and Raf felt miles better, but a lethargy still clung to him. The Backlash of his own magic usually wasn't harsh. He could only copy small snippets of others abilities, but Kalix's had been uniquely...difficult. Perhaps because of it's nature.

By the time their tent was set up and they'd made their way to the beach Raf was laying on a cot. His ribs still ached, and his head hurt, but by and large he felt well enough.

Well enough to complain. "We never got that food."

He remarked to the others, a slight bitterness to his tone.
 

Kalix

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Kalix wasn’t passed out for long, especially once the medic had tended to him. Waking up wasn’t pleasant, even with the medic’s aid, there was an overwhelming uncomfortableness whenever he took a single breath. It only amplified whenever he had to move, even the slightest movement would remind the initiate that he may have overdid it. Kalix wasn’t in top-health, nowhere he needed to be, however when it was time for the initiates to move and go to their camp for the night, the gravity-manipulator endured.

Kalix was, for once, quiet. Partially, due to the pain he was in and not wanting to show to those around him that he wasn’t in prime condition but also because he was thinking back to what happened in the square. Death didn’t bother him, much like how he was sure it didn’t bother anyone else in their group. His thoughts were a mixture of pride for what the feat he had accomplished, and yet at the same time, he felt a sense of disappointment.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then looked over at Raf. He had a point. They didn’t get that food. Nor would they get that round of drinks that Kalix had actually been looking forward to— since it was on Alistair’s coin after all. Kalix looked down, a slight smear of blood on the back of his hand.

Yeah, we need some grub.” Kalix said, nodding his head before grinning. “Don’t know ‘bout you guys but I could eat a horse right now.” He then lightly slapped at his chest, he had to be careful after all, and playfully added, “When you’re as big as me you gotta eat a lot to keep your energy up!” Not just physically, but also with his magic, he often found himself ravenous, sometimes stuffing himself so much that he could joke he looked pregnant.

Alistair Krixus Kristen Pirian Raf
 
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The events after the square had seemed like a blur before Alistair eventually found himself in a tent along with the rest of the team. It all seemed like so much for them to have to just turn around and do the same tomorrow. They would need to be careful not to push Kalix and Raf too much tomorrow.

He was re-entering the camp, after leaving to handle something, when he caught the end of Kalix and Raf's conversation.

"Agreed, I will still owe you guys for the drink, but we can get that when we are done with this whole trip. Until then, I asked around and have some food heading our way. Just don't hurt yourself eating too much...Raf that was a joke for you...Kalix, not so much."

Alistair wasn't blind. He was well aware just how much the others had done today. He was incapable of things like that. He was only capable of moving quickly and mopping up all the dirty work that his team had completed. Still, his team deserved some type of reward. They were all incredibly powerful and had each pushed themselves to new limits.

"Foods on the Lord, so have at it."


Around that time, three cooks entered the tent bringing with them large platters of the nicest food that they could find in the city, or food that Banick's own chefs had whipped up.

Raf Kalix Kristen Pirian
 

Kristen Pirian

Pirian's Chosen
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"Alistair, what would we do with you?" Kristen mused with a broad smile.

In the heat of all of the excitement of the Square, and the drudgery that followed in ensuring that all of the citizens of Elyr'Adith were safe and secure (and, more to the point, that the peace was kept and order was followed), it had been quite easy to forget that they'd scarcely had anything substantial to eat until now. Now, in the stillness of finally being able to relax in their tent, Kristen's stomach at least had firmly let her know about the neglect.

Kristen sat on her cot (a tiny luxury afforded to the Initiates, for most of the soldiers had thin bedrolls they strapped to the top of their packs) and had her food in her lap. Military rations brought by the Banick soldiers, unloaded from the ships before they had sailed back to Ostia Anir. Salted pork, grains to make oatmeal with, potatoes (with butter!), and the best part: dates!

"Is this what it's going to be like, do you think?" Kristen said in general, speaking only after she'd swallowed what she was chewing. She wasn't some savage! "When we become proper Dreadlords? Oh! I should clarify: what it would be like for those who decide to join with the Guard, mayhap. For myself, I plan to serve my House, so I do expect my experience to be rather different."

Raf Kalix Alistair Krixus
 

Raf

The Mimic
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Raf was already digging into one of the platters put in front of him by the time Kristen posed her question.

He had not given much thought to what lay beyond the Academy.

Most of his time was spent avoiding...any sort of thought. The future was distant, far, something that he didn't want to have to consider if he didn't have to. His family was waiting for him, he knew that much...but...were they his family at all?

Raf's chewing slowed slightly as he noticed Kristen's eyes flickering over towards him. Lips thinning. "I...errfff.."

His mouth was full as he spoke.

"I dontf finks I knofs." Raf said slowly, the rice spilling from his lips. "Therefs a alofs to confiders."

Which was another way of saying; I have no fucking clue.

His father, his mother were waiting for him. They would welcome him with open arms, but Raf had absolutely no idea who to meet their expectations. For the last ten years he had been trained to be a weapon, a murderer. How could he ever be a good son?
 

Kalix

Zael’s Pet Cat Boi
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Kalix resisted a cheer at seeing the rations being brought in. Partially due to not wanting to aggravate his injuries but also because he didn’t want to seem like some child who was getting some sort of reward for a good job. He wasn’t a dog. He didn’t need to do a fancy trick and get a treat. Although it was nice, seeing this spread before them. And despite what Alistair said, Kalix was going to dig in!

Greedily grabbing at the salted pork with his large hands and quickly scarfing them down— until realizing that he needed to chew this a lot more unless he wanted to choke to death. On top of it, large lumps of food caused a sear of heat in his back, although he did his best to be about as inconspicuous as one could when dealing with intense pain.

Kalix was hardly one to talk and eat. Other than the fact that he struggled to multi-task, it was also from how he was raised. Lysander was never much of a conversationalist. His mother was usually away chasing after a man or working or in her bed crying. So when food was set before Kalix he had the habit to eat whatever was in front of him— in record speed— and then speak if there were those that wanted to converse.

He did bring his head up, looking over at Kristen as she posed her question and then looked at Raf. When he brought his gold gaze back to Kristen, he was eerily somber.

It’s nothing like this. Maybe for those within Vel Anir, it’s better. Lys says so, if you can Army of the East is the way to go.” Kalix said, a handful of food in midair, hardly close to his mouth. “But he was put in the Army of the North. Said every night he heard Anirians crying and dying, whether from injuries or dehydration or food… ‘cause, well, sometimes the raiders would specifically just attack the guys in the back with all the materials and supplies and such.” It was then that his face darkened for a moment, remembering something that he debated sharing. It was over and soon after he grinned, revealing nothing more. “Man, when I graduate though, that won’t be an issue anymore! Any raider thinks about stealing my unit’s food and they’ll be chomping on their own dick!” He paused, then looked at Kristen.

Oh, but I guess if you work in your house you’ll never have to worry about something like that, huh, KP?” There was no venom in Kalix’s words, just something he saw as fact, and with his spiel finished, Kalix finally placed that piece of pork in his mouth, taking care in chewing it thoroughly this time.

Kristen Pirian Alistair Krixus Raf
 
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Alistair made himself a small plate as he moved to a corner of the tent. The food was just enough to give him something to munch on while he finished some work. He had laid his tools out and was preparing to make some repairs and changes to the runes on his clothing.

He was never one to have a big appetite, besides, he did not consider himself the one most deserving of this food, so the others could pig out.

"I would expect it will be like this."

Alistair was like Kristen in that he would go on to work for his house. Specifically, he would go on to lead his house. That meant, the assignments he took part in would be far more offensive and less offensive. He would not have to sit on the front lines waiting for attacks. He would be free to participate in missions that benefited his house. He would not be some average soldier.

"I would suggest none of you join the Anirian guard...Unless you end up in a leadership position...Find a noble you trust and join their household...or try to become an independent."

It was rare that Alistair was so straightforward on a topic like this, but he had strong feelings on the matter. Trying to mix Dreadlords with the Anirian guard would do more harm than good. It would only result in them getting killed, or placed at horrendous odds.

He appreciated what the guard was doing, and he did believe that the Dreadlords could technically be a part of the Anirian guard. However, truly skilled Dreadlords like themselves should be left to work with Dreadlords, or those of equal skills. Intermingling with regular guards would be inefficient.

"Either way, I will be in similar shoes to you Kristen and I think our roles will be similar to this, if not a bit more...forward."

Kristen Pirian Kalix Raf
 

Kristen Pirian

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"Raf..."

This was all Kristen said, but the disapproving look (a rather matronly look as well, for a girl of sixteen) that came along with it certainly had to be enough. Wasn't he taught proper manners? Of all the tiny faux pas one could make, speaking with the mouth full was probably the one that irritated Kristen the most.

Kalix, then, had some rather sobering things to say about the future in the Guard many soon-to-graduate Dreadlords could expect. Kristen's expression morphed about for the duration: a solemn frown when he was describing the conditions of the Army of the North, a disgusted grimace for the imagery prompted by him suggesting he'd make someone dine on their own genitalia, and then pursed lips to greet the statement that was turned toward her—venom or no venom.

She was poised to interject (certainly with something that would be much easier to assert than to endure, such as "I shall not grow complacent within the decorated halls of my House, but instead will endeavor to fight!"). Alistair spoke first, and she was content with his answer and how it addressed Kalix.

She nodded. "Yes, Alistair, I think so as well. I hope so, I very much ought to say. A bit more forward is something that, in this regard, I would greatly prefer." And it was here that her face, her tone, took on a slightly darker tone. "The world is rife with scum, villains, and barbarians alike. They with their lustful eyes leer at what we have accomplished in Vel Anir, and they wish to plunder and despoil it all. I shall not stand for it."

Dominic Foresend. The Cerak Warlord, along with his lackey Duresh—her kidnappers. Curse their wretched names.

Her gaze was cross and far away, gleaming with the shaded reflections of the past, and oh how she wished that she had the strength then that she might yet attain in the future.

"I shall not."

Raf Kalix Alistair Krixus
 

Raf

The Mimic
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Raf sat quietly.

Well, what he thought was quiet. The sound of his chewing echoed out as everyone stated their far too sobering intentions.

It felt as though he had been slapped in the face. His quiet considerations thrown to the wolves as each of them state the purpose they planned to take up. Fingers tightened against his thigh as Kalix spoke, even more so as Alistair offered a harsh truth upfront.

Nerves began to flicker, fray.

The conversation had suddenly turned serious, the air within the tent dark and drab. He wondered what ghosts haunted his fellow Initiates, what followed them during the quiet of the night. He couldn't help but wonder if they were the same as he.

"I uhhh." No food was spilling from his mouth this time.

He tried to form some happy thought, interject a bit of mirth into the moment...but he found it all stuck inside of his throat. Anything he could have said in that moment felt like an empty gesture. Like pulling a blanket over your head to protect from a monster.

So instead he looked down at his meal, and slowly continued to eat.
 

Kalix

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Kalix snorted the moment Alistair and Kristen began giving their advice. Before everything he had said had been mild, a good-natured share of ideas and preferences. Perhaps his had been rather biased, he was a man who relished action, someone who sought notoriety and violence. And despite his rather rebellious streak when it came to academy standards, the truth was, Kalix was built to love Vel Anir. He never thought of what the academy did wrong, didn’t necessarily think that the academy had been wrong.

Punishments had hurt. His brother had been hurt in front of him and vice versa. Kalix was well aware of the fact that he would have had to kill someone to graduate, but that meant little to him— even if it would have been a friend, he felt that there would be no hard feelings. A fight to the death. A true fight to prove one’s strength. That wasn’t violence, that was true friendship: an ultimate test.

But then the revolution happened. And while Kalix could appreciate that punishments were less intense, or some now entirely banned, and that they had a free period for him to do whatever he pleased, there was an icky feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach.

Currently he was feeling that right now.

Any sort of camaraderie he was feeling, or had felt, vanished and he looked at Alistair with narrowed gold eyes as he sneered.

The fuck you mean don’t join the Guard?” A harsh chortle soon followed and true to his nature, Kalix stood up. He held in his wince, although he turned his hands into fists. “Newsflash rich boy, anyone who doesn’t have a fancy last name either joins the Guard or sits on their ass. Houses can’t have their own little… mini armies anymore to do whatever they want.

He pointed an accusing finger at Alistair, the wicked sneer still on his face, goading for a fight.

Aren’t you lucky you’re a noble, huh? I bet you’re too scared to join the guard with your pathetic magic. Runes? Ralene does that shit and I’d kick her ass in a second. And she actually has the balls to go crazy on the battlefield.” Kalix then jammed a thumb at his chest. “I’ll graduate as a first level dreadlord, just you watch. Then I’ll join the Army of the North and I’ll be the one who’s actually doing something for Vel Anir, not just for daddy and mommy dearest like some spoiled rich kid.

Alistair Krixus Kristen Pirian Raf
 
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Character Biography
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Just like that, the good mood of the tent was gone. Maybe Alistair had been the one to do that. He hadn't meant to, but sometimes people did not like hearing the facts of the matter.

Like the flick of a switch, Kalix had gone into confrontation mode. Alistair had to hold himself back from challenging Kalix, knowing that the fellow dreadlord was still injured.

He tightened his fist, for once just wanted to let loose and show Kalix that he couldn't just walk over people because unlike him they actually thought about things.

That restraint almost snapped when he was poked in his chest causing Alistair to finally stand up from his seat to stand face to face with him.

"First, there are loopholes around that requirement like everything else in this new republic. Second, Ral would kick your ass and it would not even be a contest..."

His nostrils flared in anger as he refused to back down from this sudden argument.

"Finally, before you start questioning my willingness to help the republic. Let me tell you what will actually happen...You will join the guard, where some incompetent officer has bribed their way to a command that they don't deserve. They will treat you like some normal soldier, even though you could knock over buildings with a punch. Your talents will be completely wasted. Meanwhile, I will not be restrained like that. I will be free to do what is best for Vel Anir, while you stand in rank and file like a good little boy."

The last bit was probably unnecessary and would only serve to piss Kalix off, but it came out before Alistair could gain control of himself. He had not realized how angry he was. There was nothing that made him for angry than inefficiency and waste, especially when what they were wasting was the Dreadlords.

Kristen Pirian Raf Kalix