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Mist-eries
Topic Started: Sat Mar 9, 2013 10:04 pm (1,118 Views)
Sentry
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Nearly invisible in the shadows, Sentry crouched atop a time-worn structure. A stony wall in complete disrepair, the Mistwalker's perch might have once been a small portion of somebody's home. But now, in the abandoned ruins, it was simply a rotted monument to an ancient, fallen civilization. The calculating eyes of the monster-hunter peered through the dim lighting of the evening, focused on a small band of figures sitting around a campfire. There were four of them there, but Sentry knew there was one more somewhere. This was the third evening he'd watched them, and the third site across the plains they'd set up camp. They were moving quickly, but not quickly enough to outrun an invisible pursuer. The Mistwalker had heard very few of their exchanges, but he knew they were headed for the coast. This was normal for criminals, but Sentry was no longer following them because of the bounty on their head. He had become more interested in them alive than dead. They weren't going to the coast to outrun the law; they were seeking Sentry's birthplace.

From what the Mistwalker had gathered over three days of silent observation, this group of mercenary-highwaymen, wanted in Taras, were sent to Aldenrath by some unknown employer from the west. They were sent with the promise of treasure, but Sentry knew better than that. There was no treasure in the City in Mist, certainly nothing worth three days of travel into dangerous territory with no guarantee of finding it. This employer had deceived them, but what was his motive? Sentry was more interested in the employer than he was in the bandits themselves. There was little chance these men would find Aldenrath so easily, but if they did, what would the employer gain? Access to the City in Mist, for one. Sentry, screwed up his face behind a bone-white mask, wracking his mind. What could this mysterious employer want with his hometown?
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Dyson Bremer
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The sun was beginning to set as he made his way back home to the Village of Kellen. It had been a long two weeks and he could scarcely believe what he had been involved in since leaving home for the first time. Already he had fought off the bandit leader known as Bear upon the Debon Plains, dealt with a Djinn in Istan City, and brokered a peace between the druids and farmers within the Calmonah Forest. But now he was returning home, but as the skies darkened he knew he would not make it on this day. He would need to find a place to set up camp and wait till first light. If he was lucky he might reach Kellen tomorrow evening.

He continued along his path looking for a place that could provide him with some sort of shelter and safety but could only see the ruins of the ancient city a way off. He had heard many rumors about the place but had never dared to venture there. People in Kellen believed the place to be haunted by the spirits of those that lived there ages past. For now however, with his mind drawing a blank as to where else he could possible rest he made his way there, hoping the rumors proved false.

It hadn't taken him long to find himself within the confines of the ruined city. Walking along the deserted streets he found himself on edge. Every little sound caused him to jump and the shadows seemed to dance along the walls and streets.

Coming across a dead end he decided that this would be as good a place as any to rest for the night. Beside him was a rundown building that looked to have been some kind of shop. Pushing what was left of the wooden door aside its creaking noise echoed down the street and he flinched looking around. Hoping no one had heard that he quickly went in and allowed it to close behind him.

The floors were littered with garbage and rubble and there was no ceiling to be seen as it opened to the skies. At the very least it would protect him from any winds but if it were to rain... He shook the thought from his mind as he gathered a few old and rotten pieces of wood and lit a small fire to keep warm. This was going to be a long night he thought, rubbing his hands together and placing them next to the fire.
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Sentry
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Sentry's patient surveillance was interrupted by the sudden sound of a muffled door hinge, whining just above the sound of the crackling orange fire below him. The Mistwalker noted the direction the sound came from, almost directly behind him. He was almost certain that this was the fifth member of the bandit party, scouting out the rotting city. Sentry's lips curled upward as he silently slipped down the side of the wall, carefully repelling down the twenty-foot drop and landing virtually noiselessly on the soft dirt road that wove through the ruins. The bandit would find no clues here; Sentry himself had scoured the place long ago.

Mentally measuring the distance between his current position and the sound of the rusty doorhinge, the Mistwalker crept down the street, keeping his position masked by shadows. Before him stood a worn-down building, probably an old shop or tavern. Its structure was still in-tact; the building stood as soundly as when it was first built, but its ceiling had caved in, leaving the inside completely open to the elements. No doubt the inside of this place would be chaotic, to say the least.

His eyes found a door, closed fast against the stone wall. Apparently it still shut tightly, but eyeing the old brass hinges, Sentry could see the century-old metal was worn and stripped. There was little doubt in his mind that, upon opening the door, he would find the bandit leader.

Placing his hand on the knob, he muttered a brief incantation; the door was not locked. In a burst of movement, Sentry pushed open the door, slipped into the building, and shut it tightly behind him. He made no attempt at subtlety. Whoever was inside would be aware of his presence immediately.

Once inside, however, he was surprised to see that there was a visitor to the ruins he had not accounted for. Crouching before a small, cold fire was a travel-weary man, short blond hair crowning a kindly, attractive face. Sentry's hand jumped to his belt, immediately withdrawing a tiny bladed star, fingering the cold steel beneath the sleeve of his coat. From behind his mask, the Mistwalker studied the stranger, waiting for a sudden movement or sign of hostility. Any excuse to let his shuriken fly.
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Dyson Bremer
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Crouching near the fire Dyson was just thinking that tonight might not be as bad as he had first thought when a figure burst through the door he had just entered from. His sudden appearance and the noise of the door as it fell to pieces as it was shut behind him caused Dyson's head to jerk up in response to look directly at this new stranger.

As he stumbled and fell backwards from the stranger and fire both, his back slammed into the wall behind him. The man before him was wearing a white mask of some sort that made it impossible to see who he was dealing with. It could be a woman for all he knew. Putting his hands up before him, palms out, as if to ward off the new arrival he looked around for something or anything he could grab if things turned south. His sword which he had foolishly removed from his belt lay by the fire closer to the stranger then himself. No good he thought.

Slowly rising to his feet, hands still outstretched and back to the wall the only thing he could think to do was try and talk himself out of whatever was coming. The mask he wore made Dyson believe that he was a bandit of some sort. He would likely way money, or some other sort of valuables. Dyson however had little on him. Finding the courage to speak he kept his voice low as to not alert any of his friends that would likely be in the area. Bandit didn't travel alone that often.

"You're wasting your time. I don't have much money and I'm not about to give it to the likes of you thief!"
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Sentry
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Sentry shook his head in frustration as the door behind him fell to pieces. This was no good. The bandits—the real thieves—would be alerted to their presence before long. And Sentry was outnumbered at least 5-to-1. "Hold your tongue, fool. I'm no thief, and I don't want your gold. Now put out your fire," he hissed, tapping into the mist-entity that was bound to his mind. He grunted with effort and a wave of energy washed over the fallen-in shack. There was no sound. The fire, still burning as brightly between Dyson and Sentry, no longer popped and crackled. Sentry's breath was dead silent, and he no longer heard his own racing heartbeat. His ears rang faintly, grappling with the utter silence, the complete lack of ambient noise in the area. All sound within twenty feet of Dyson's campfire was completely nullified.

Carefully, Sentry removed the mask from his face, and his wild, light-brown hair fell around his neck. His eyes were gray and tired, and his jaw was speckled with thick blond stubble. However, it was doubtful that Dyson could see his face clearly through the darkness. Without words, this was the only way he could show good will. He was convinced at this point that he had stumbled upon the camp of some unfortunate, lost traveler. This man was no threat to him; his presence correlating with the bandits' was only coincidence.

He still concealed a small, bladed star beneath his sleeve, in case the stranger tried anything rash, but his anxiety now was owed to the potential of the bandits hearing the caving-in of the door, or seeing the bright red glow of Dyson's fire. In the noiseless space he had created, time seemed to crawl, and the anxiety was tenfold. He moved towards the fire in the center of the room, one eye on the doorway and one on the stranger. While his eyes were trained to see through even pitch darkness, the bandits' position was completely invisible to him from where he stood; their own campfire was far along the winding dirt roadway from here. He couldn't see them, but he was certain he had heard their shouts when the door fell in and suspected they were coming. The fire needed to be put out before it betrayed them.
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Aevis
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"Ruino vin atendas."

The voice spoke without form that night. Far too familiar. Far too familial. The witch doctor raised his head to the direction the voice came from. There was nobody in that direction, at least no body that he could see, and no wind of which a voice could be carried. No more was said, but he was certain that the direction he now faced was where the voice had come from.

"Manipulanta min au gvidante min, patro?" The gray-skinned man questioned, but found no response. The voice was gone, even if the speaker was not. Ga'Rica was never far once he began to play with fate. and his son knew his father's voice well. No doubt working to guide him, once more, to a possible alignment. Ga'Rica truly could never leave anything alone. Perhaps Ga'Zulu's aimless wanderings had been infuriating for his father, continuing to watch as his first-born did nothing. Nothing good, nothing evil, nothing selfless, nothing selfish. What Ga'Rica did was for entertainment, what Ga'Zulu did was for nothing, and the god always hated that.

"Voku vian filon por historio? Bone, mi ludas rolon, se nur al sidis mia scivolemo." The witch doctor spoke with a slight sight before beginning to walk off in the wrong direction, though not the wrong direction for him. If he were to investigate any message that he believed to come from his father, then he would be sure to have his most faithful of companions by his side.

__________________________________________________________


"Ruino vin atendas." The Witch doctor repeated, reminding himself of the words with a smile hidden beneath his mighty mask. Before him lie an old city, long since abandoned and no doubt overtaken by the unrelenting forces of nature. To him, the city stood only as a testament to the mortality of man and the unending and patient power of nature, itself. The city crumbled away slowly over the years, and one day it would be nothing more than dust if left to the grip of Chaon.

Ga'Zulu looked to his companions; a clutch of chickens surrounded him, twitching their heads quickly as they took their steps forward, though some hopped, and gazed upon the wonder of their new location. Whenever their master took his extended trips into the desert, they were left in the boring confines of Istan City, doing little more than scaring cats and waiting for their master to return. Even the turkey, who stood out among the group, could not deny to himself that he had been, in fact, eager for his new-found master's returns.

"Well then," The humanoid spoke in the common tongue of the land, looking to those around him as they returned the gaze, "Shall we see what my father wants me to find?" The roosters crowed, the hens clucked, and the turkey gobbled; each bird sounded more excited than the last, and then the last would make sure to try and sound more excited than the next. Once their master began his trek to the city, their noise died down so that they could focus on following him and keeping him safe.
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Dyson Bremer
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Though unsure who the man was or what exactly was going on there must have been some reason he wanted the fire out and quickly. He could only assume that there was someone or something else in the city that was no friend to the stranger before him. Already on his feet Dyson continued to glare at his "guest" as he dropped his hands to his sides. Then in order to avoid another verbal lashing he swiftly walked to the fire and snuffed it out with the bottom of his boot.

Without the light the room became dark once more. He could still see but small details would be lost to him into another source of light was found. Light he thought, as he remembered the faded star like tattoo upon the back of his right hand. With this he would be able to see clearly again but doubted the stranger would react kindly to another new light source that might give away their position to whatever he was hiding form. For now it would be best to leave his mark inactive till he had no choice.

As the stranger removed his mask he could see that it was indeed a man, though much of his figures were hidden in the darkness. So perhaps he was not a bandit after all but at this point there was still no reason to completely trust him. Looking to the ground next to the now dead fire he slowly reached for his sword and strapped it to his belt. He would feel much more confident with this back in his possession. Then looking to the stranger again he spoke again, still keeping his voice low.

"So if you're not a thief who are you and who did you think I would be to come bursting in like that?"
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Sentry
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The moment Dyson snuffed out the fire, Sentry allowed his stifling ward to fade. The smoldering remains of the campfire would make no sound to betray his position. The stranger was fast to make use of his voice, confronting Sentry after quickly reattaching a blade to his hip. The Mistwalker's eyes flitted back and forth; even in dim moonlight, he could see just as well as when the fire was alive. After several moments of scanning, his eyes finally rested on Dyson.

"I was expecting to ambush one of the very same people we're hiding from," Sentry breathed, his ears still straining to hear approaching footsteps. "I was not expecting a campfire and a refugee," he explained, slowly moving towards the door. Peering around the battered doorframe, Sentry saw no living creatures outside the building. He still heard the sound of the crackling bonfire, rushed footsteps, and muffled voices. They were still searching.

"Follow me," he hissed, looking back at Dyson before slipping through the entrance. "It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long." Just as he finished his sentence, somebody rounded the corner.

"Haha!" the newcomer shouted, one of the men who had been sitting around the campfire. "Somebody's he—augh!" The bandit was cut off, dropping a rusty longsword and grasping at his bloodied throat. Sentry's bladed star had struck its target.

"You've got a sword at your belt," Sentry called back to Dyson, no longer bothering to be quiet. "Use it." At that, he drew his own blade, a frightening black longsword, shrouded in void. The Mistwalker rushed the criminal who was now on his knees, fighting to stop the bleeding from his neck. Sentry's star had merely grazed the target; the wound was not lethal. However, a black blade run through his stomach would be. He wrenched out his weapon as the bandit dropped before his boots, dead. Sentry paid the corpse little heed as he rounded the corner and suddenly disappeared, only to rematerialize on top of the building he had just exited. He understood that Dyson could see no better than the bandits in the dark; from a higher point of vantage, the Mistwalker could see for him.
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Aevis
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On the surface the city seemed almost peaceful in its rest, waiting as it was for wood, stone and even glass to be reclaimed by the very world from whence they came. For all things came of the world and of the world was made of all things.

"Por ĉiuj aĵoj en vivo venis de la mondo, kaj de la mondo venas ĉiuj aĵoj en la vivo. Ni scias ĉi tion al esti vera, ĉar sen la mondo ni estas nenio." It was an old lesson which Ga'Rica taught to all of his children, a law of existence which they found to be both relevant and of necessity. For being a god of whom delighted in often shallow manipulation of others, he could prove to be quite the philosopher. Perhaps such was a slight gift given to the god of Fate, Lies, and Manipulation; Truth and Deception intertwined to create a singular deity prone to boredom and deep thought. Ga'Zulu remembered his father's story behind his existence, yet still found the story to be quite unfathomable, even by the standards set for him by the society of which he was raised within.

Perhaps when his journeys on Chaon were finished, Ga'Zulu would return to his world as the next great god to join the pantheon, perhaps even having his own followers, yet there was still the question as to his fate, which even Ga'Rica admitted to having trouble determining.

"Tedas." He muttered beneath his helmet, drawing a quick twitch from Godrick as the strange group continued on their way through the old, worn streets.

'Haha! Somebody's he--augh!"

That was not an echo of one who was already dead, that was the precursor to the rattle of one would soon join the dead. The chickens panicked slightly, clucking and flapping their feathers at the sudden sound of death carrying through the streets. Perhaps the lamp which dangled from the planetouched's walking spear would not prove as helpful as he originally hoped, not if there were people killing one another in the already dead city.

Before the Witch Doctor had a chance to react or even comment on the way his situation was developing, he heard the sounds of footsteps trodding down a road toward the sound of the dying man. If only it were not the witch doctor who stood on the road the footsteps were headed. Such an unfortunate night, yet simply as Ga'Rica had no doubt planned things to go for his son.

Ga'Zulu simply turned toward the rushing sound, knowing full-well that he could not easily snuff the flame of his lamp and make his escape before they arrived. As such he resigned to his unfortunate fate and readied himself, raising his spear high to the sky, head pointed to the stars before he began to call out.

"Ahh, bo tong, alko kan'tross Eezan, Eezan, Ahh, bo so tong larion!" It felt good to release the power within him, as it was not something he made regular. It was merely the beginning though, letting the heat begin to permeate the night air in perfect time. The two pairs of feet stopped suddenly, staring at the strange sight of the large helmet supported by such a frail-seeming body.

The spear's blunt end came down and tapped against the old stone beneath his bare feet, almost seeming to roar as he pointed to the two before him.

"Garazul, fintaos calir suurs" He growled, shifting his long, gray finger first to the man on the left.

"Kantis Aris, zanahas karaas impar, dalasss-carzan bas jroh kroj akana gis tin. . ." He began to chant as he shifted his dirty digit to the other man, the first beginning to panic and see his worst fears brought to life before him. It made for an excellent distraction as the second man readied his blade, fully aware of the sweat dripping quickly from his brow, stinging into his eyes. "Kantis Aris, zanahas karaas impar, dalasss-carzan bas jroh kroj akana gis tin." His hands began to shake, his body weakening either from rapid dehydration or utter fear. Before long his weapon dropped from his hand, abandoned as its owner began to run away, screaming. "Kantis Aris, zanahas karaas impar, dalasss-carzan bas jroh kroj akana gis tin." The men escaped, alive, but the air remained hot and the feel of power resonated sweetly within Ga'Zulu's being. There was a reason he tried to not use magic too often, and he almost had forgotten why it was so difficult to not.

Luckily the magic he used was trivial, honed within Istan, the witch doctor could resist the taste of the heat within his helmet. Now that the pesky intruders had been properly scared away for the time being, hopefully to continue fearing him after the effects of his magic wore off, they would believe him to be some sort of monster. Yet meanwhile whomever had killed the man earlier, or at least what Ga'zulu believed to be the sound of a man being killed only moments prior, was sure to have heard his somewhat rushed incantations. If they were to begin searching for him, he did not wish to keep them waiting. Certainly by beginning his search for them then they could find him that much quicker.
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Dyson Bremer
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Dyson continued to stare as the man stated that he had expected Dyson to be one of a group of people they were now hiding from. But as time continued he began to feel less like they were hiding and more like that had already been found. The noise from the door breaking apart was sure to alert any nearby and it would draw them hear like moths to a flame. The man quickly stated that he should follow him, that it was best not to linger in one spot for too long, in this Dyson agreed.

Shortly after the remark was made however the two were quickly spotted by one of who he had spoken before. Before Dyson could even begin to register what was happening the man fell to his knees clutching his throat. He had not even seen the attack coming and neither had Dyson. Whoever this stranger was he was quite skilled. It did not take much longer after that for his new ally to draw a darkened blade and finish him off. Then calling for Dyson to use his own blade he rushed off around the corner. Dyson tried to follow by rushing out onto the darkened street but soon lost track of where he had gone.

It was then however that he saw two more men coming right in his direction. They were hard to miss as there were running and screaming like mad men on fire. Dyson raised his sword to fight but knew his sight was not at its best in the darkness. It seemed to matter little however as the two ran past him and continued beyond, completely ignoring him. What had driven those men to act as such he thought as he tried to see something moving about in the darkness.

He had heard a foreign voice and could only see a small bobbing light further up ahead as if it were handing from something. To hell with this darkness he thought as he brought his right hand up and let loose the magic that was darkening the star upon his hand. The light and the warmth were both welcome as made his way toward the newest arrival.

What stood before him was like nothing he had ever laid eyes upon before. He was unsure whether this was man or beast but thought it best to keep his guard up either way. Keeping his sword drawn he continued to make his way inch by inch toward whatever it was, guided by the light emanating from his hand. And as he addressed this newcomer the only thing he could think to ask was,

"Who or what are you?"
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Sentry
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Sentry was perched atop the building when the second and third bandits rounded the corner. Clearly they were in no faculties to fight, fleeing and screaming towards the mountains. It wasn't long, from his vantage point, before the source of their terror came into view: a strange, skinny man in an enormous, decorated helmet. From the distance, it was difficult to tell whether this creature was a man or not, but Sentry could almost feel the hot mana resonating from him; this uninvited guest was certainly a proficient magician. Where did you all come from..? Sentry said to himself, shaking his head as he mentally prepared a spell.

Turning away from the magic-user momentarily, the Mistwalker's hand shot out in the direction of the fleeing bandits, and he barked a short incantation. Suddenly, the two bandits collapsed, immediately dropping to the ground and snoring almost comically. Sentry couldn't let them escape; they were useful and he couldn't have this strange, helmeted creature waste the three days he spent tracking them. With one bandit dead and two incapacitated, it left two unaccounted for: one had been at the bonfire with the others, but the fifth one, the leader of the pack, was still missing.

Next, he blinked down to Ga'Zulu's position, appearing between Dyson and the witch doctor in a swirl of mist and shadow. "What did you do to them?" the Mistwalker asked blunty, giving the witch doctor plenty of time to answer Dyson's question first. His voice was firm, but he sheathed his sword to show he meant no harm. He had no intentions of making enemies tonight. He had not even planned on drawing a blade until moments ago. Sentry cautioned a glance over his shoulder; the man's blade was still drawn, and a powerful light shone from his right hand, casting eerie, bobbing shadows around the edges of the intersection.
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Aevis
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Zulu stopped at an upcoming intersection, his lantern swaying for a moment as he turned his head to help his ear catch a sound which sounded almost immediately, and vaguely, familiar. As he stood, his small swarm of fowl creatures, he could have sworn that he heard the screaming of. . . yes. He would have sighed, but he wasn't entirely what to think of the sight of the two men he had already scared having turned. Had they thought he was following them? Were they trying to lose their supposed pursuer, only to find themselves running back at him? He didn't bother saying anything to them, simply choosing to watch as they tripped over themselves at the realization that they were running to the very thing that they had been running from. The witch doctor could have sworn that they had shouted some rhetorical question before the turned down another road, but he couldn't be entirely sure given how incomprehensible their fear-addled rambling was.

Finally, he let a sigh pass beneath his helmet as he turned to look to his equally confused companions. Nobody had expected the two men to return, but there was clearly nothing that they could immediately do about such a thing. However Ga'Zulu did find it intriguing that his "victims" had chosen to run in the very direction which he was already headed. Did they even realize where they were running to? They evidently didn't possess the mental faculties to combat anything that they were originally intending to meet. Oh well, that was something for them to deal with and nothing for Ga'Zulu to be immediately concerned with.

Seeing no available option, the godling simply continued forward on his way, curious to find out what exactly the two were originally intending to meet.

What he came across, Ga'Zulu found somewhat intriguing. Almost immediately he was greeted by a glowing hand, wielded by a male voice hidden in the dark behind it, inquiring as to the nature of the gray-skinned individual which the other two had been fleeing from.

"A traveler." The witch doctor responded simply to the glowing hand's question, tilting his head to try and see the owner's face. Unfortunately his attempt was short-lived as his attention was stolen away by another voice in the dark, this one behind him and eliciting a chorus of aggressive noises from the birds at his side. They didn't like surprises, especially those from shadowy figures who decided to blink behind their master. Needless to say, it was only at Ga'Zulu's command that they did not violently peck and scratch at the individual to allow their master to respond.

"I taught them a lesson in manners." The witch doctor answered simply, not even bothering to turn around to the mysterious individual as he saw him to be no immediate threat to his safety, "Let us leave it at that, for I mean you no unprovoked harm."

"That being said, and now that I have introduced myself," He continued, straightening himself slightly so that he could shift his weight to his spear, "I do believe it is the turn of you two to do the same."
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Dyson Bremer
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Dyson listened as the strange creature stood there a few moments longer in silence. He seemed to be trying to peer around the light that Dyson was creating but was unaware how much it could see or how good its eye sight was. When his question was answered Dyson let out a small sigh. He had hoped for something more than a traveler but knew not how to press the issue. For now he would leave it alone, he was after all still wondering where the other had gone off to so quickly.

No sooner did his thoughts turn to him however, that he once again appeared before him. Whoever this person was he was highly skilled to be appearing and disappearing in such a way, magic was surely involved. It wasn't till that moment that Dyson paid notice of the other, smaller presences. Whoever this was had a small grouping of birds that reacted poorly to the sudden appearance. This was turning out to be one strange night. And as the strange thing gave yet another simple explanation for what he had done, he then asked for them to introduce themselves as it had. Dyson was about to point out that he hadn't really introduced himself but held his tongue at the last moment. Lowering his had slightly so that it could possible see better Dyson spoke up.

"My name is Dyson, and like you I am but a simple traveler."


OOC: (I apologize for the shortness of my post)
Edited by Dyson Bremer, Tue Mar 19, 2013 3:23 am.
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Sentry
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A traveler? Not much of an introduction.

Dyson had just finished his own sentence when Sentry interjected. "Some introduction that is. Do you have a name, Traveler?" the Mistwalker asked, narrowing his eyes at Ga'Zulu. He didn't fully trust the gray-skinned man, but it was just as well. The witchdoctor seemed to be on his side for now. He turned towards the bandits, sleeping rather peacefully on the filthy stone. So long as no more bandits needed to be killed, Sentry was happy. He supposed he wouldn't be able to follow them into the Hills undetected anymore. In fact, he doubted if they would even carry on with their mission.

Still watching the bandits, he spoke, changing the subject. "There are two more of them unaccounted for," he explained, "and they'll be along soon. We'll have time for proper introductions later." he was brief in his manner of speaking, and promptly, he returned the bone-white mask to shield his visage. He drew his sword just in time for the remaining two bandits—the one who had been around the fire and their leader, a bear of a man with scars peppering his face—to return. The former of the two was relatively harmless, wielding a rusted iron longsword like his previously incapacitated comrades, but their fearless leader was showing a side of himself the Mistwalker had not yet observed—perhaps he simply hadn't had a chance to reveal it yet.

The leader's entire form crackled with leaping purple electricity. Violet lightning jumped between his limbs as he held one arm outstretched to the nearest target, Sentry himself. The Mistwalker tried to disappear before he could take the hit, but he was a fraction of a moment too slow; a blast of lightning engulfed him, shot out of the criminal's arm like a canon. As it struck Sentry, blowing him backwards seizing and spasming, smaller forks of bluish electricity leaped towards Dyson and Ga'Zulu on either side of him.
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Aevis
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"You creatures truly enjoy throwing names around like stones, don't you?" The witch doctor mused aloud, even though his name held little weight against his actual being he still found the lack of concern in a world of magic to be no less than entertaining. Names could be powerful tools used by anybody who could become the giver's enemy, yet they wished the world to know who they were. It was almost baffling, but not nearly enough so that he dare comment on it more than he already had. They would do as they had done and nothing could stop them, and the one who called himself "Dyson" was no different. Oh well, thankfully for his sake he might not have given away his full name, as creatures of Chaon so seemed to make regular of a surname and a middle name. To one such as the witch doctor it all seemed a tad unnecessary to separate one's name into so many different parts like that, but it was not his place to judge any deeper and so he refrained from such an active hobby. Of course, that didn't mean that he was about to readily divulge his spoken identity to strangers of whom he had met in a dark and ruined city which bustled with the spirits of the long since dead.

The scene seemed to grow silent for a moment, save for the idle clucking of his fowl followers. Clearly something was happening behind Zulu which, had he chosen to remain facing forward, would remain a mystery to him. As he turned to look upon the cause for such silence, he dare not say a thing. A large, thuggish man seemed to crackle with purple energy, the other looked as well-equipped as the two who were currently fast asleep on the ground not too far away. Clearly the bigger, special-looking one, would have to be the leader. It was simple situational comprehension, though founded on sheer speculation it remained the most likely result. Zulu would have allowed himself a shudder at the realization he was beginning to think as his father spoke, but the air seemed to carry for too much static to allow a misconception of weakness while surrounded by such dangerous strangers.

The gray-skinned man took all of a moment to look through the eye holes in his mask, to follow the purple-ish man's gaze and see where it first landed. Zulu's mind worked through the possibilities listed among the obvious possibilities, shifted his spear to his left hand, and gave a silent command to his companions to disperse for the time being. This would surely prove to be far too dangerous for chickens and a turkey, so he would not allow himself to see those he cared for injured by such a dangerous looking being.

As expected, purple lightning shot from the man's arm and struck out against his primary target: the man who had alerted the birds to his presence only a moment prior. As planned, the spear's metal point was shifted towards the unfortunate individual who had been struck by the electrical force and, luckily, intercepted the blue, crackling energy and fed it through the insulating wood of the shaft, making a quick stop off at the lantern to tinge it blue for a moment with energy before deeming itself useless and dying away like its short-lived kin.

"I pose no threat to you." Zulu spoke aloud, not obviously phased by what had just transpired, "Two on two is much more balanced, I believe. It is not my fault that the first one has already fallen, after all." With the words spoken with a disinterested tone, he would take a few steps off to the side, hoping that the bear-like man would take the warning for what it was rather than trying a surely pitiful attempt to instruct a stranger on proper spontaneous-combat spectator etiquette.
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