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Prints in the Snow; [P] Ethan Cyril
Topic Started: Wed Feb 2, 2011 11:18 am (338 Views)
Aleith Carmena
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His feet crunched into the fresh morning snow in a calm, steady rhythm. His teeth stammered together in a cold, unconscious movement that he felt would begin to be painful did he not find someplace warm to bunker down soon. His knuckles clenched and whitened from the iron-clad grip he held on his quarterstaff, which did not help his almost pure white form from blending into his surroundings.
His head held low as it usually did, he didn't notice his inevitable move to a sketchier part of the rather large town, the bustling of people soon becoming the noise of the dance of the pick-pocket, men walking off with other men's fortunes while rogue's stalked the streets for easy victims. And Aleith Carmena was a rather simple target by anyone's standards.

As his small form shifted down the wrong alley, he suddenly became aware of a few figures moving to surround him. He cursed his lack of attention as he saw that neither direction from the alley was a promising way of escape, at least not without quite a few wounds and very likely his life, knowing his usual tactic in battle.
The leader of them came forward, grinning ear to ear, "Wot've we got 'ere gents? Looks like a little mage 'as found 'is way to our 'umble little abode. Why don't you grace us with a bit of your coin then, lad? We don't wanna 'ave to take it on our own."
Aleith gritted his teeth, the look on his face one of regret rather then fear or anger. He tried to utter the words to tell them no, or to ask them to leave him be, but his voice failed him. A sigh of regret passed his lips before he took in a deep breath, waiting for them to come at him. He wouldn't likely be able to win, but he didn't want to just be another victim to these vermin.
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Ethan Cyril
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Being quite irritated by the snow already landing him in a sour mood. Why oh why did I leave the desert? He wondered to himself. He walked along noticing shady men feed on the pockets of travelers. In a moment of boredom, he took a coin from his pocket and threw it at the face of a thief. "What do you think you're doing?" The thief uttered in anger. Ethan smiled as he led the man away from the people that could otherwise be victims. The man came at Ethan with a hand axe. "To slow." He grinned as a shield of magic blocked the attack. The thief continued chasing him as he ducked into an alleyway.

"Well it seems like I lost that one. He'll be looking for a while." Turning he saw a few men hassling a small figure. Demanding coin, the small man did not respond. Is he brave, or just stupid? These men will tear him apart.. He thought.

A mans attention shifted to Ethan, "looki 'ere another one. Give us some coin stranger." Ethan smiled throwing a few coin at the man. "That should hold you over yes?" Watching the mans expression, he was obviously not pleased by Ethan's insult. A few of the men took fighting stances lowering their attention from the small man. Maybe he can escape now. He thought. Running forward punching a man in the chest and getting thrown against a wall to his side, he smirked. Kicking the second man back into the larger group. "Come on now, I want a challenge." The first man coming at him with a large blade, "way to obvious." Again a shield of magic blocked the man from the harm of the attack.

Going at the man, he slid on the snow underfoot. Falling to the ground the men closed in on him. "Alright then, first this one, then the other." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small object and threw it on the ground. It rolled for a moment and suddenly stopped. The man laughed as he quickly moved off the ground as if the air were lifting him. Landing next to the small man he grinned, "how did you happen into something like this?"

Before the man had time to reply Ethan went back at the thugs. Throwing the nearest one against a close wall and kicking another into him.
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Aleith Carmena
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The first few came in at him, stabbing at him with small dirks and daggers built specifically to kill an opponent without much fuss, or movement. He tried to maneuver his staff, but the smallness of the alleyway hindered many of the attempts, causing the blades to pass through and cut at his arms and shoulders.
As another man entered the alley a flicker of hope entered his young eyes, though a frown came to his face at the scene of the battle. He hated the idea that to save him so many people had to be hurt, or even die. He rushed forward, hitting one of the bandits running for the man in the back of his leg as hard as he could to stop him from entering combat, and then immediately falling onto his back trying to dodge the man's counter.
When the man finally got around to being near him, and asked his question, he tried to reply, tried to yell it as loud as it could and it only brought a frown to the young man's face. He couldn't reply, he couldn't cry, 'watch out!', and he couldn't even say thank you.
He felt rage welling up inside of him now, bringing him to coming at another of the thugs in the alley, trying to swing his white staff through the air with an unskilled rhythm. As his staff was pushed out of the way and he was pushed off of his feet, he felt his breath welling up in him, the feeling of magic coursing through his vocal chords, "Dico sicco quod vox vestri saevio ex aer!"

The air around his face and chest began to distort, and a source of light began to draw itself from his chest, his voice seeming to ring like a choir singing out together. As the rogue came in to bring a knife at the boy's chest, a spiraling purple light flew from his mouth, pounding the ethereal missile into the man's face with another force to knock him out.
Landing on his hind end, he felt a bead of sweat go down his face as the magical currents around him evened themselves out. His arms shook as he drew himself to his feet, the rogues around him starting to question their actions. He knew that was his only trick, but he knew that all of them were wondering what else the mage had in his arsenal.
He drew in another breath, and clenched his fists tightly on his staff. The white on his knuckles became brighter and he felt the blood leave his face as he waited for them to react, while keeping an eye on the man that had came to his aide. A frown came to his face again, wondering if he should have used his spell in the first place and made them run, and not have drawn anyone else into his own struggle. How he hated to trouble others with his own problems...
Edited by Aleith Carmena, Wed Feb 2, 2011 12:05 pm.
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Ethan Cyril
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Getting caught up in the fighting, he barely noticed two shadowy figures enter the fray. A larger shadowy man smacked Ethan off his feet with a spear. The other man seemed to stir up the dirt and snow in the alley as a seeming attempt to blind the men. Kicking forth towards the face of the man with the spear he muttered the word, "light." Creating a bright shock of light in the alley hoping to get them off guard. Perhaps making them think there were two mages. The larger man didn't seem very thrown off by this, he continued to strike at Ethan.

Rolling aside he was able to use the mans spear and leverage to hop forth into the air, bringing his foot down on the mans head, he was sent backwards with a quick jolt of air from the second man. "Great, who knew I was going to end up fighting a mage because I chose to help another.. God how I hate mages.." he sighed.

Dodging a few more blows he stumbled around and took a quick moments chance to knock the shadowy mage off balance. Blocking a feeble attempt at a spell with a quick shield spell. He grinned as he began to beat the mages face into the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his back, undoubtedly the larger man had stabbed him with his spear.

Twisting, bringing forth his foot to knock the large man off of his feet as well. The mage got back on his feet behind Ethan and began to chant, damn, I shouldn't have taken my eyes off of him now he's going to hit be with a spell of some sort. Well if I'm lucky the cowardly mage will help me at least once.. He thought.
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Aleith Carmena
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He kept on with his rather poor defense, keeping any attacker on him at a nice arm distance, though he was starting to accumulate a rather large mass of cuts going up and down his arms. He could feel his forearms shaking from the blood flowing out, and he could feel the chill wind cutting into the winds, first making it more painful then numbing them uncomfortably.
He kept on with his method of parrying and trying to strike back at the last second, the last of the few thugs that came from his side of the alley coming in at him. With another frown, he twisted his body out of the way, slipping on the snow and falling into the wall as the man over-extended his strike. His entire body lunged forward, and the world seemed to go slow for Aleith. In the moment he brought himself off of the wall, bringing his staff down on the man's skull with a loud crack.

He was breathing heavily, and he could feel his arms shaking even heavier now, if not for his wounds then for the mass of adrenaline pushing itself through his veins. He wasn't used to such an amount of action, and he was especially not used to exertion like this. But, with a look to the man who was sacrificing himself to help him, knowing that he would've likely died otherwise, he couldn't start resting now.
With a resolute intake of breath, he pulled himself off of the wall, and began to focus his entirety into his chest. The magic around him seemed to shuffle and push itself from the ether, the air distorting from it. He took another deep breath, his voice slowly starting to him, "Dico sicco... " as he spoke the first two words, he could feel the burn of magic whirling itself up in his throat. His gaze darkened as his voice hummed a bit deeper, "quod vox vestri..."
He felt his legs begin to shake as he focused the entirety of his magical powers into this one attack, not wanting to draw out this fight, wanting to scare off what was left of the rogues to help himself and this man get out of this situation as fast as he could, "saevio ex aer!"
The mass of magic focused itself into a purple ball, forming in front of his mouth. As the last word came from his lips, it focused into a hard shell, and as he exhaled what was left of his breath it shot from him, spiraling in the air and leaving a trail like a comet. It pounded into the casting thief, the force of it breaking the man's ribs, and sound of it being rather clear to anyone near him.
Aleith slumped his shoulders and slowly fell to one of his knees, a few beads of sweat coming down his face. The mage was definitely silenced, but the spear wielding rogue was still an issue that had to be dealt with, and he could feel that he only had one more missile left in him, and from the shaking in his bones he knew it wouldn't be a remarkably strong one...
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Ethan Cyril
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In the moments it had taken the mage to prepare a counter attack Ethan could hardly breath. It was as if he could see himself from above. Looking down on the scene in hand, waiting to see which mage would strike first. With a powerful jolt the boy he was helping let out another missle, relieved he let out a long drawn out sigh. The rogue mage went flying from the alley, the sound of cracking coming from his mid region.

Standing, "all that's left is you big guy, or would you rather run and pretend this never happened?" The large man answered with another thrust of his spear. While attempting to dodge the blow, Ethan slid. Using his quick reflexes he turned it into a sort of flip, and then propelling himself from the wall of the landed a powerful strike into the chest of his attacker. He let out a grin as the man fell to his knees. "Since you chose not to run, perhaps I will just finish you here." Raising his leg in such a manner that a drop of his foot onto the mans skull would likely end him.

"Unless sir mage, what would you rather become of this overaggressive fool?" He asked in a kind of smirk while addressing the small man.

In an instant not even enough for the men to catch their breath. The man on his knees collapsed. Fear? Injury? Who knows, Ethan just knew it was not his doing. As the blood ran down his back he fell against the wall. Damn I should probably get to an inn where I can lie down, a cold alleyway full of thugs is no place to recover. He thought.
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Aleith Carmena
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Aleith felt a shaking in his limbs at it all. He couldn't cry out at his protest, knowing at least a few of these men would never make it out of this alley alive, and even if they did, what then? They were simple rogues, no one would care if they died in the snow. They did not help at all to society, he was sure none of them had too many loved ones that could care for them.
He fell to his knees and tore a bit of cloth from an unconscious man's sleeve, trying vainly to tie together some of the men's wounds. He was terrible at first aid, but he had to try! The look on his face was one of pure fear as he imagined one of them dying. They attacked him, sure, but they didn't deserve this.
His mouth opened as if he was panicking as he realized his first aid was tantamount to useless, but no noise came out in response to it. He looked up at the man and just shook his head, and kept at it for another ten minutes. As his fingers began to go numb and he could feel blood trickling from his fingers, his flailing opening some of his wounds a little larger then they should have, he simply slumped his shoulders. His eyes had a feint look of loss in them as he looked over the scene, slowly using his staff to pull his weary body to it's feet.

Looking at the man that helped him, he merely smiled, reaching out his hand in a thankful handshake. He closed his eyes to show he was pleased, not even trying to speak anymore. His eyes opened and drifted to the ground around him. He began to replay the image of his missile slamming into the rogue mage, the sound of the bones snapping bringing a frown to his face. He felt mildly sick at the thought of it, not being comfortable having wounded the man that much.
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Ethan Cyril
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He grinned sitting on a heap of snow. He took the mans hand and shook. Reaching into his bag of never ending space he retrieved a few bandages and handed them to the man. "Now that that's all done, you should tend to your own wounds. The cold wont help a wounded man like yourself much." He laughed.

Picking up the mans spear he used it as a walking stick, "well I guess I'm out of here, I should find a place to lay down and rest my wounds." Waving to the man as he stumbled from the alleyway.

The scent of blood clouded his senses, oh he hated it. But he had to cause pain to help someone in danger and that was always a habit of his. For better or worse.
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