Shu's Quest

[rn7]

"Oy, you're looking for Stark, are ya? Too bad we buried that ol' kidder back in the potato garden. Died from medical complications, and after he did all that super badass stuff too! But hey why don't you talk to Jeph instead? I'm pretty sure he'll tussle with you. Oh, hey Stark, done hallucinating? Great guy, superbadass and all, but he has a bit of a problem with that."

[mr_e_s]

Stark

His current dream was one of flight. He was soaring over the countryside, below, two large trolls were massacring a group of merchants. Minutes later, he passed over the town of Alabaste, only better somehow. The wind felt amazing, like it wasn't even wind, but some kind of healing spell cast by mother nature. He looked down again. He saw monsters. Lots of monsters. They were attacking... everything. Stark kept his eyes to the sky, not wanting to watch the carnage below. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him, though. He looked down to see Oakheim burning. He recognized his own running form fleeing the town, leaving a child to die. The kid was simultaneously torn apart by wolves and burning to death. Stark could hear the screams as though he were right back there beside the child. He wanted to help, but he found himself unable to turn around, or even slow down or descend. A new wave of panic kicked in. Why couldn't he control the path of his flight, where was he going?

The clouds ahead loomed over the horizon, fast approaching. Ominous bolts of lightning accompanied by deafening thunderclaps wove into Stark a sense of dread and hopelessness. He couldn't even turn himself around, let alone his direction. He struggled feebly against it, the winds now cutting into his face and arms as the storm drew nearer and nearer.Bright blue flashes growing ever closer threatened to strike him down if he approached any closer, their bellow now almost immediately after the flash, and loud enough to drown out all rational thought. Stark's struggling against this fate he knew was coming was wild, but still hopeless. There was no avoiding it, why was he even trying? Even realizing that, he couldn't let himself accept it. He needed to get through this somehow, to find a way to-

A bolt came down and struck him. The pain was more then he could he imagined beforehand. Every fiber of his being screamed out in unison. He wanted to die. Just to have it be over with. He thought that that's what was happening. Until his eyes opened again. He was in a bed. In a fancy room. Likely that of a mansion. He was alone. No.... No wait, he wasn't alone. There was someone else. He could hear them breathing very lightly. They didn't want to be seen, they wanted to remain hidden for some reason. Stark tried to look around, but found, like in the air, his ability to move hindered. At his attempt, though, his companion in the room stirred as well. For someone who had tried to remain undetected, they seemed to not care any more. Indeed, Stark saw their face appear upside down, leaning over him from the head of the bed.

"Hiya."

Stark's eyes opened again. There were three medical sages focusing healing magic on his arm. It seemed most of the other patients from the fight had either been given up on or fixed to an adequate degree but Stark, for he had somewhat full attention on him now. A medical doctor was applying some salve to his shoulder as well, while another inspected the various cuts and bruises on his body, applying something different to them. Stark suspected it would have hurt a lot, if not for the much greater pain in his shoulder. It was a good enough sign that the sages were working on him though, he wasn't a lost cause. He didn't see any of his... Well, he couldn't call them his friends. He wasn't sure they would be traveling with him any more, either... Maybe they'd all left him, seen him as useless with the damage he'd taken. It wouldn't be the first time. He remembered when he lost his eye. A lot of his old friends stopped calling him for gigs. Eventually they just stopped calling on him altogether. Maybe it was about time he settled down. He clearly couldn't cut this lifestyle any more.

Dear Lightkratos his shoulder hurt.

[Ragnell]

Blaine

"What?! Stark is dead? Or he's... in... what is going on?" Blaine couldn't hide the confusion in his voice. The other man's casual conversation had taken him completely by surprise. He had come barging in hoping to make a menacing impression, and then that guy had just struck up a conversation. Now it looked like even Blaine's Plan B for getting food was blowing up in his face.

Blaine took a deep breath and, before waiting to get an answer to his last question, asked as calmly as he could, "Who is this Jeph? Is he an arena champion? Where is he?" As he spoke, he realized just how much he didn't want to have to duel a different person. Even if Jeph was another arena champ, the old man had mentioned Stark's name first, followed by a Flaro (or was it Farno?), so that's who should fight to get the most recognition and the best chance at scoring free food. This Jeph guy... whatever, if Stark was dead there wasn't really much of a choice.

Blaine sighed, shifting his right arm under his cloak. This was not part of his plan.

[Purg]

Stark was awake. He hadn't said anything, not yet, which was probably for the best. It would be preferable if he would rest, let the healing finish, before he tried to speak or rise. But this man, this challenger, needed addressing, from more than just Fargo. He stood calmly, gesturing to the seat he had just vacated, to offer the stranger a place to sit. "Stark is currently being healed from the fight in the arena. I doubt he's ready for a fight right now, nor would it be a good idea to have one as soon as the doctors leave him. If this is a personal quarrel between the two of you, then I suppose I have no right to intrude. However..." He stepped forward, away from the chairs lined against the wall. "I am also a champion. If it is only a fight for a title that you seek, I would be willing to duel in Stark's place."

He hadn't expected this to happen, but he had the utmost confidence in his weapons, and more than enough in his skills. It all depended on the talents of his foe, then - if they were to fight, of course. Perhaps seeing the wounds endured by the warriors of the arena would change his mind. He looked like no stranger to battle himself - in fact, he appeared to have more scars than Dom did himself - but one could never know the workings of other minds. Or even one's own, he thought with a small smile.

[Ragnell]

Blaine

Blaine sighed again, even more heavily, as the newcomer explained the current situation to him. Even as the man offered to fight, Blaine felt all the drive for battle leaving his body. His original plan had been to charge into the coliseum, yelling at the top of his lungs, and take out the famed champion in an awe-inspiring duel watched by all the arena-goers. Now he was here, with some other champion fellow (how many champions were there?), deciding whether he should fight in some backstreet duel for a useless title. All the other people in the arena had gone back to what they were doing, ignoring the cloaked idiot making a fool of himself. Being the champion wouldn't help Blaine one bit if no one knew about it. And he had no desire to actually take part in a real coliseum round.

As he stood there, longer and longer, he began to wonder if he actually could duel this newcomer. The man looked tough as it was, but the eloquent way with which he spoke only made him seem more threatening. This was obviously not a man you took lightly. Blaine had known all along that whoever he fought would be tough, and he had promised himself earlier not to be intimidated by their looks, but he now realized that that was a lot easier for him to say when he wasn't actually facing his opponent down. Even in his baffled state he determined that he could have likely defeated the man a year ago, but with only one arm, he decided that his odds were quite a bit less friendly. He had yet to actually fight anyone since he lost the limb, so...

"Bah," Blaine growled, looking agitatedly around the entryway as he spoke, "I have no real quarrel with Stark, however... I... no. I can't... ah, dang. Look, I... never mind." He had never in his life encountered a situation quite as awkward as this. Words escaped him as he fumbled to reply. Finally, he managed to mumble, "Forget it. I'll go find a less interesting way to die. Sorry for troubling you."

Blaine turned slowly from the fighters and rubbed his face with his hand. How was it that he always ended up apologizing to the people he was trying to take advantage of? And what were the odds of him finding a Plan C?

Edited July 30, 2010 by Ragnell

[rn7]

"Dude, what's eatin' ya?" Fargo addressed the challenger guy. Guy wasn't the oddest person he met, but he came close. Fargo neared him and offered something. "Here, have a meatstick! These things are delicious! And cheap! Guaranteed to eat away at whatever's eatin' ya!"

"Ha ha, that was pretty super badass and all though, you charging in like that! Don't recommend doing it too much though, last guy got eaten by lions." Fargo paused thoughtfully, then shrugged, as if that train of thought wasn't worth riding, or was horridly derailed with casualty counts in the hundreds. "Man are these good! MMM-mmm! Man ,it's goooo~ooood to be champions, it's grrrrrrrrrreat to be winners...."

Fargo went off into the background, singing and dancing.

Edited July 30, 2010 by rn7

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

The fight was over, and everyone was being treated for their injuries. Suddenly, some asshole burst in and challenged Stark to a duel, then apologized and backed off. Jeph stood from the chair he was sitting in and walked over to him.

"You wanted to do it for the money, right?"

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Stark heard Fargo loudly chatting about something, as usual. At least he'd stuck around. That was something. Stark turned his head meekly and saw Jeph being all Stoic, and Rutem helping some doctor keep a thrashing gladiator from the other team down so he could be treated. Dom was talking about...something with some guy Stark didn't know. Striking up a deal? Eltiar was...gone. Stark only vaguely remembered something about him leaving. Or maybe he'd dreamed it. Not that he had the presence of mind to really remember his dreams past the pain. The looks on the mages' and doctors' faces were encouraging, though. They didn't seem worried like they did when he first woke up. Now they were just finishing up. One was even quietly talking to him, telling him that there would always be a fairly noticeable burn mark on his shoulder, and that the wound would still hurt for a few days, and itch for a while after that, but that he should be fine. Stark was still squinting through the pain to be able to see at all, but he remembered all too well what it felt like before that. He was thankful for this pain, and vaguely made a note that he should start traveling with a proper healer.

Stark made to sit up, but didn't quite manage that Herculean feat. With a little help from his saviors, he was able to come to a somewhat respectable sitting position. This was actually welcome, as it gave the healers more access to the back of his shoulder, and they seemed to be working faster and more confidently now, worrying more about the long term appearance and comfort of the wound then the immediate threat of it. Stark was going to make it. This time, at least.

With his new found ability to look around the room, Stark took in his surroundings. There were more patients still in the beds then he thought. Maybe he just needed more urgent attention then them. Indeed, as he had the back of his shoulder tended to, two of the mages and one of the doctors left to tend to others, with another two doctors and a mage already doing rounds. Stark took not that Dom and Fargo were chatting with that smae guy, still doing something... Stark din't have the focus to really listen in or eavesdrop,. Better to get the conversation to him, so he could know what was going on. "We pick up a new guy while I was out? We gotta split the winnings with him, too?"

[Ragnell]

Blaine

Blaine stood yet again in utter confusion as the first man he'd met in the coliseum came up to him and handed him what smelled like an absolutely revolting meat-on-a-stick, asked him what was bothering him, and then danced away singing something about winning before Blaine had a chance to answer. Was this guy seriously a champion too? Blaine brought the questionable meat up to his nose and sniffed it briefly, taking in its odd scent. Half of him wanted to throw the disgusting stick away, but the old phrase "beggars can't be choosers" came to his mind, and he decided that a little gross food was better than no food.

Before he had a chance to eat the meat however, yet another man stood up and approached him, saying only, "You wanted to do it for the money, right?"

Blaine paused and lowered the meat-on-a-stick from his open mouth, pondering how to answer. He hadn't exactly done it for the money, but he supposed that that was the simplest way to explain his predicament. But then again, he didn't want to get thrown in line with all the refugees in the arena, just clambering for cash to live; Blaine didn't plan to set up a home anywhere near this ridiculous town in the near future. This was just the first stop on his journey to find his new life's meaning. With a sigh, Blaine began, "I really-"

Thankfully, yet another voice called from the medic center beds before Blaine finished his answer. It was a man sitting upon one of the beds, surrounded by doctors still patching up what looked to be some nasty wounds.

Rather than finish his answer to the question posed to him, Blaine simply gestured to the sitting man and muttered, "I think your companion there would like a word with you."

[ReformBlade]

Aiduen

"I finally made it!" she exclaimed as she walked into Alabaste, a bit proud of herself for making it this far by her lonesome. She had only been there a few times as a child, so she didn't know what to expect from the city these days. Aside from sightseeing and making mental notes, she really had no idea why the prices were so high in the markets, and she wasn't about to ponder why, as she wasn't planning on purchasing anything from them. She had all she needed for the moment, and a small sum of money to get what she needed, preferably elsewhere since even she knew the prices were outrageous...

As she meandered the city, scribbling down on a piece of paper with a pencil, she kept hearing about something going on at an arena. Something about new champions or something, she didn't pay it much mind for the moment as she was more fixated on getting her map down correctly. "Sheesh, this place is bigger than I thought it'd be..." she muttered under her breath. She was getting a few strange looks in her direction, but again, she didn't notice.

Moving along, Aiduen made her way on to her final stop for her mapping in the city, the arena. Just what she was looking for, a place to find an escort! After the shit storm that happened to her hometown, it was clear the world wasn't a very... forgiving place. Speaking of unforgiving, she forgot what she was going to do when she found someone who looked capable enough! She had nothing of any real value, and nowhere near enough money to hire someone as a bodyguard for a trip around the world, much less a trip on the road. "Son of a..." Still, she came all the way here, she may as well wing it at this point. Just as the world was unforgiving, it had its moments of easing up on someone.

[Purg]

And now Stark was well enough to start asking questions. If only Dom knew the answers to them. He'd just have to tell him what he knew, along with a little bit of what he could infer, and hope that any contradictions were understandable.

"I'm not sure if we can call him an ally. He came here to challenge you as a champion, apparently. When he saw you were injured, I offered to stand in as a replacement, but it seems his fighting spirit has expired, for now at least. He may decide to leave, or he may choose to accompany us. Judging by his demeanor, though... I'd have to say he doesn't have much keeping him here." He slumped back down in his previously vacated seat. It hadn't been noticeable before, but now that the adrenaline had finally worn off, between the wounds from the lion's back and the shock of it's weight, his back throbbed painfully. Perhaps it was a good idea, then, that the man had backed down from the challenge - fighting would only make it hurt worse, at least until he could get a decent rest. He envied Stark, almost, for being hurt bad enough to warrant a medical bed - but he knew that if he had been hurt any more, he likely wouldn't be so grateful.

~-~

The ruins of Oakheim were still smoking, although the fires were mostly burnt out. Prophet had tied his beast to the remains of the church, sifting through the rubble carefully - it only took one wrong step to cause disaster in these destroyed houses, be it falling through to a basement or sending the remains of the roofs collapsing down. With a sigh, the ashes in the palm of his hand were dropped - even with his second sight, he couldn't be certain the cube wasn't still here. Perhaps The Brute was right - if he had simply waited until it had been secured, then they wouldn't be hunting through these charred homes and over the blackened bones of those many fools too slow to escape their doom. The village had burned well, though - a beacon, to the rest of the world, that the end was truly nigh, that the man they had cast out as a lunatic had been right. True, it had only happened because he himself had pushed fate along - but it had happened nonetheless, and his visions would continue to come true so long as he could control his army.

A cheering crowd, a flash of light, a terrible roar, the sensation of extreme cold... and that...!

As the vision ended, Prophet fell forward, catching himself on a charred stone wall. He had to find The Brute.

He knew where the cube was now.

[lunarAegis]

Jeph.

"Hmm. I need a drink, anyone else interested?"

Jeph figured it'd be best if he changed out of his armour, as well. Stuff gets mad stinky if you leave it on all the time.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Dom had a knack for cutting through what people said into what they meant. Stark was a decent reader of people, and he kind of got the same vibe off of the guy, in between vibes of pain coming from himself, now that his shoulder's pain was lessening to the point of being bearable, the rest of his body decided to remind him it was in no prime condition even without the shoulder burns. Still, he couldn't complain with so many healers focusing on his injuries. He'd have probably been left to die most places out there. He was considerably lucky, all things considered.

Turning his attention on the guy that apparently wanted to take him down and all of a sudden didn't, Stark kept a very discerning eye on him for a few seconds. He seemed to be a swordsman, if an awkward one. He was wearing a cloak, in this heat, in sunny weather. He had something to hide. Maybe he was scarred and real vain about ti, but Stark didn't think that's what it was. "Well, here's the lay of the land the way I see it." Stark said, managing to straighten up his sitting stance a bit while a somewhat flustered mage tched at him for moving in the middle of some light soothing spell to keep the burning pain away while they worked. It was only half working as it was, and Stark did indeed feel the pain come back a bit more as he moved. Doing his best not to show it though, he continued. "You're either a decent fighter, really dumb, or some mixture of the two. You seem pretty desperate, and our little group, if you could even call it that, lost a man out there today. I don't know if we're even going to be traveling together after this, but as soon as I'm well enough to head out, I wanna head for Cothrone, to see if I can't find myself some honest work guarding trading caravans or something. Everyone's gotta make their own choices, but last I heard, Cothrone is one of the few places left where a hired sword can make a living without having to break the laws of the kingdom or slice down his fellow man too much." Stark had to break his speech with something akin to a groan as one of the doctors put his hands on the shoulder, trying to set it in place or test it's reflexes after the burn or some other stupid thing that made Stark only able to focus on the blinding pain.

Composure regained as the hand left the shoulder, Stark turned his attention on the group. Jeph had said something, but Stark hadn't really heard it through all that. "I'm not looking for adventure. I just want to find a place I can be happy and live well enough."

The Brute

After the infernal fall of the township of Oakheim, and after the smoldering blaze was reduced to the merest cinders. Prophet's beasts went to work, clumsily turning over fragments of former structures and arbitrarily committing haphazard acts of barbarism upon the debris. The Brute cared as little for these vermin as he did for their taskmaster, mindless puppets forced into servitude for a marginally superior intellect to their own. Even that was debatable, questionable to be certain. The Brute found himself unable to contend with the insufferable presence of Prophet moreso then the creatures of base instinct he kept as company. It took him only a day to reconsider his priorities and the importance of the phylactery against the repugnance and antipathy he felt towards his assigned companion.

The increasing allure of departing the ashes of Oakheim didn't lessen as he looked upon the former drinking establishment of the community. Towards a spot he once filled, which was now filled with the refuse of the ceiling and walls. He'd looked upon this scene several times in the last day, occasionally monsters could be seen mulling about it's remains, searching for an object they had no hope of understanding. Sometimes, like now, it was devoid of obstruction. He couldn't help but feel that something noteworthy had occurred here. Several ordered searches of the building revealed no evidence to authenticate his intuition. Still, he was fixated on this point. It held some mystery he couldn't unravel. He sorely yearned for another opportunity to investigate the building before it combusted in a blaze of dry wood and alcohol.

[Script]

Derwood

Things were going good for Derwood. The latest liberation of overstocked inventory from an Alabaste merchant slightly less powerful than the one who employed him and gone swimmingly. Now, he walked down the merchant streets, smile on his face, hands caressing the pouches filled with all sorts of small and valuable things. The payday was going to be the best he had in months. He dreamt of all the glorious things his newest wealth would afford him. A place to sleep that only leaked a few times, sheets that had actually been cleaned within the year, glorious elevation -- no more floors for him -- maybe even meat! He hadn't had meat since that little snafu where a merchant accused him of stealing. Him? Stealing? Never! Valuables always just found their way to his pockets, it wasn't his fault. Naturally they never believed him, and he spent s few nights in -- the surprising better than his normal sleeping quarters -- jail before he broke out.

With his mouth getting all watery from even the thought of good old delicious meat, Derwood stepped into his employer's shop. "Back," he said. Apparently to the city guards who now pointed their very sharp, very deadly weapons at him. "Ah, can I help you fine fellows, preferably without those very sharp, very deadly weapons pointed at me haha!"

"Shut up maggot," the larger, and thus senior -- and scarier! -- of the two guards said.

"But if I shut up I can't resolve this obvious mistake on all our parts haha!" Derwood lowered his perfectly legitimately taken goods.

"That's him, that's the thief that's been around here!" a voice that belonged to the shop's owner said.

Self-proclaimed Master Thief Derwood Applecoat (not to be confused with the other self-proclaimed master thieves Ashwood, Bellwood, Redwood, Woodword or Treewood) protested at the accusations of his now traitorous employer, "Me a thief? Hardly! I'm just a good old fashion runner of goods!"

"Runner of stolen goods!" The portly merchant said as he stepped into view. "This fool of a thief stole from my dear friend Boscow. Even now he has more of my friend's merchandise hanging by his belt!'

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Derwood answered as he shifted the pouches out of sight.

"Come here thief!" the smaller, but no less dangerous , guard grabbed Derwood and shook him til the pouches -- and Derwood, not that anyone cared -- fell. The two armored men scooped up the bags of stolen goods and handed them over to the grinning merchant. Derwood couldn't make out what anyone was saying on account of that nasty shakedown, but after all the pouches were turned over to their improper owners, the two guards clasped some irons on Derwood and dragged him out of the store.

Now, ain't this a little bit troubling, Derwood thought as he stumbled out of the drag and into walking. Nothing to do now but let these fine gentlemen take me to jail.

"Say fellows," Derwood addressed his captors.

"Quiet criminal!"

"Might I interest you in a bribe larger that any you took from my old employer there?"

The two guards laughed, and smacked Derwood a bit, before the larger spoke back. "Yeah, and where would you have such a bribe?"

"Why," Derwood said as best he could through the slightly hurt jaw, "I just so happen to know where our old friend keeps his hidden stash." A habit that was becoming more and more common with the greediest merchants in the city.

The guards stopped, nearly tripping Derwood in the process. The two exchanged glances and nodded. "Yeah?" the larger said, "And why should we trust the word of a thief?"

"Why I'm no thief at all! And if I was, I would certainly know where a man would keep his most valued secrets in case he tried to double-cross me and hand me off to some brave, noble guards!" The brave, noble guards bit earned Derwood a quick knee to to ass.

"Ow, dammit. I'm serious! Why would I lie when you'd just hurt me?"

The smaller guard spoke up now, "He has a point."

"Does he?" the large answered and threw Derwood to the ground. "You trustin' the words of a thief?"

"It's worth checkin' out!"

Ah, I'm really not cut out for this rough stuff, Derwood thought as he rolled his slightly aching body over to look at the two arguing guards. His not-at-all-planed plan of getting the two arguing and ignoring him had worked absolutely perfectly. Now, with just a little bit of hand trickery, Derwood retrieved a set of lockpicks he just so happened to own in case there were locks that needed to be opened by someone else who had such skills. A few seconds later, and a few less inches between the guards faces, and Derwood was luckily free of any iron clasps used by local law enforcement, while the poor guards now had a cuff attached to their closest legs. If they just so happened to run poorly they would sadly trip and fall over each other and just add another thing for the two to argue over.

"Hey boys!" Derwood yelled from a few feet away. The two guards turned to shut him up, only to see that Derwood was now well out of range of their feet, though luckily for them they saw the iron manacle attaching the two together and didn't run off in pursuit. Instead the large guard chucked his spear and Derwood, who screamed, ducked and rolled away.

Ah, that's far more excitement than I ever want to experience again! I should get people angry more often, makes things easier on me. Derwood thought as he quickly made his way into the larger throngs and crowds in the city. Free from any bothersome law-types, he was now free to think about his new plans for living. First would be getting revenge on that bastard who set him up of course. Hitting the man's secret stash -- which Derwood hadn't been lying about -- would accomplish that. But it wasn't going to be the large payday he had been originally promised. And now that he thought about it, that probably should have warned him about a double-cross in the first place.

Derwood traveled through the city to the neighborhood where the merchant hid his more stolen goods. The stash was hidden in a back alley behind a low-quality bar, a low-rent housing structure and the nicest cake shop he had ever seen. Derwood rounded the corner and stopped when he saw another man already in the alley. Years of falling for obvious ploys -- and being betrayed today -- had given Derwood an extremely cautious approach to things he could liberate. Even the poor disheveled man's pleas of "spare some change" didn't do anything to ward of Derwood's paranoia. Yes, the only way to get through the obvious high-talent protector the merchant had hired would to bring in even higher talent. And Derwood knew just the place.

The Cake Shop right around the corner. After filling himself on the delicious baked goods, Derwood realized battle-hardened mercenaries and fighters would probably flock to the coliseum instead of the tastiest damn Cake Shop in the city.

[Ragnell]

Blaine

Blaine couldn't help but grin as the injured man finished speaking. Finally, something seemed to be working right with his plan, and things were turning for the better. After the days of hard work and constant hunger, he finally had a chance to get away and begin his life anew. This was the chance he had been waiting for; even if Cothrone was not his final destination, traveling with the champions was sure to make the trip more bearable. And the injured fellow seemed like an honest person, the sort that Blaine knew he could count on to keep his word. After all the back-stabbing manipulators he had met in the past, this man was a welcome improvement. This truly was an interesting batch of warriors.

Before Blaine could allow himself to become too contented, he wiped his expression and attempted to think cynically again. The injured man still did not know about Blaine's condition, and he might revoke his offer upon learning that he would be traveling with a cripple. What good could a man with one arm honestly do for a group of warriors on such a journey? But the man also seemed to be missing an eye, so there was the possibility that the man would relate and would take pity on Blaine. If there was ever a time to be choosy about words and phrasing, it was now.

"I'm not sure what I am; a fool or a warrior," Blaine began, never letting his eyes wander from the injured man, who seemed to be the leader of the group. "As I speak to you and your comrades more, my instincts seem to point more towards the former, though I may still have a touch of the latter in me. As you've probably gathered from my appearance, I'm quite familiar with the strategies of battle. But even I don't know how I would fair in a fight currently, as a recent accident has robbed me of much of my former skill."

Blaine turned slowly and pulled the cloak away from his left side, revealing his stump of an arm. It felt a bit odd showing off the limb in such a way, as if he was letting out a horrifying secret. It didn't seem right that such a small injury could change a viewer's perception of him so quickly, but all the people he had met in the market had seemed almost disgusted by his handicap. Months ago, before the accident, the same people would have been in fear of him. He hoped, as he stood showing off the wound, that these fellows could see past the wound to his real skill with a blade.

"As you can see, I have a dangerous handicap limiting me, but I promise that with a little bit of training and a good deal of practice I can be useful to you. And if you can provide enough food to keep me from starvation, I will gladly give my life defending you on your journey."

Edited August 4, 2010 by Ragnell

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

"You're taking this too seriously. You have nothing to prove to us, so long as you don't fuck up too badly, and even then we've had people get themselves killed. I'm not one for the purviews of philosophy or other shit, so in my eyes as long as you can lift what limbs you have left I've got no problems with you."

With that, Jeph changed out of his armor, granting momentary fanservice to any Jeph fanboy/girls that there might be. They'll have to think it up themselves, though.

[rn7]

"Oooo nifty, a stubby arm? Don't you worry about it none, Stark here has an eye missing, else he just wears that patch for superbadassedness, which I admit, would be pretty cool either way." Fargo came in with a new set of shields, whirling them around on his fingers, and juggling them. "Can you believe it, guys? I can afford WOOD shields now, I'm totally stylin' it. Coulda bought the iron or copper ones, but I spent most of my money on those meatsticks. I'd get more, but they're closing up for the day. Oh, wait, I spent all my money already. What'd you guys blow your cash on, huh?"

[Script]

Derwood

Derwood walked into the coliseum entrance, face beaming with pride at having travassed most of the city in record time for himself. He only had to drink three waterskins to make it! The inside of the coliseum was slightly cooler to him, just enough that Derwood took a few refreshing breathes of the nice slightly-cooler air before wading through to the front desk.

"Hi my man," Derwood said to the manly female desk jockey, "Would you be so kind to help me locate the famous champions of the arena?"

"Ward," she grunted in annoyance.

"Many thanks my friend," Derwood thanked before he walked off. Derwood was already familiar with the building's layout from a late-night patrol -- that he was never officially hired for -- that just so happened to have had a break-in that resulted in a valuable store of champion-quality equipment going missing. No one had ever officially caught the daring thief that pulled off such an insane act, but there were a couple of corrupt -- normal -- guards that managed to wrangle themselves a few new pieces of equipment later that night. Derwood never forgot that little misunderstanding, it took weeks for those bruises to heal.

Derwood rounded the corner -- or what passes for corners in a round building (was it round? He never really looked.) -- and stopped dead in his tracks at the appearance of the ward. No one in the rather clean room were the champions he was aware of being very much alive but two days ago! In panic he dove back outside and snuck a peak from around the corner. Their were a bunch of very scary, very injured people that looked very much like they could have taken the champions Derwood knew of. If their scars were anything to go by at least. You could always tell how scary a man was by his scars, it was even right there in the word itself!

Derwood looked a bit more at the gathering of the new champions. They would obviously work out so much better than the old champions! And best of all, since they didn't know about Derwood like the past champions probably did, they would fall right for his ploy -- plan.

Derwood smiled as he waited. Yes, he would just have to let them walk out, then blindside them with a dozen fullproof plans to get a lot of money. For him.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

"Jeph has the right of it. We're not an army or even mercenaries, I don't think. We're just some guys trying to get by. This whole arena thing was the idea of... Well, the guy who didn't make it, actually. As to the whole laying your life down, no one wants that. If you don't have a chance, run. S'what I'd do." Stark shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware that the soothing spell had been lifted. "Personally I just want to get out of Alabaste, keep moving. Go to Corthrone. I don't think anyone could talk me into staying here any longer then I absolutely have to."

A tap at Stark's uninjured shoulder caught his attention. He turned around to see the shortest mage was the only one left still working on him. The tap came from one of the doctors, A gangly teenager, looked like he shouldn't know a lot about medicine, but Stark couldn't complain with the work done, so he'd probably better show some respect. Take whatever advice he was about to receive to heart.

"Get out." The doctor said, cold and unemotional.

"What?" That wasn't the advice he'd been expecting. He kind of expected a lay off the fighting, bed rest for a week or something, not so much with the getting out.

"Your injuries are no longer life threatening, your wounds have been sealed. Our duty here is done, any further work will be charged to you, and the rate for an outsider is...high. Higher then your winnings today. So get out, before you get trapped in debt and forced to use whatever skills you have to feebly try and pay off your debt while getting more and more in the hole every day, with the cost of living being more then your earnings, despite your abilities obviously being worth more then what they pay you, being forced to work in some shit hole patching up idiots with dreams of fame and fortune." He lost his stoicism somewhere in the middle there, and Stark finally got at what he was saying. "You're just lucky that old guy soothed the burns that soon, otherwise your arm would be permanently limp at your side." He added, as an afterthought.

Stark took the hint, shook off the last mage who was probably looking for overtime pay or something, and stood up a little shakily. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of this city."

[Purg]

"Technically, I'm a mercenary, but I only think that my well-being matters for that job, not yours. You're welcome to accompany us - I have nothing better to do than accompany you all to Corthrone. I've already spent some of my winnings, and collected the rest of my supplies." He wondered for a moment if he should offer support to Stark - but he was a proud man, and likely would just shrug the help off, declaring his independence. Dom could respect that - he had been raised as the youngest, and, until he had left, had never been able to be act alone. It was one of the many reasons he had left - but those were thoughts for another time. He checked his knives and his whip - everything was where it was meant to be, and would, with any luck, stay that way until they arrived at their destination.

"I'm ready. I'd rather not remain an indebted champion for the rest of my life, after all."

~-~

"There you are," Prophet said as calmly as he could manage astride his mount. "The cube is not here. My sight has shown me - an arena. The closest one is in Alabaste, if my memory serves me correctly." He waved his arm out over the ruins and felt a ripple of instincts tear through his mind. Feed. Feed. Kill. Meat? Not meat. Feed. One by one, the thoughts melted into one cacophonous mix, hunting and tasting the door frames and shuffling through the charred remains of the village. With a single thought, he could feel the mix dying down, one thought resonating through his army's mind. Move. North.

"A city too large to bring to judgment... Perhaps this will be something more suited to your talents." He smiled, pulling the reins on his behemoth's muzzle. "Of course, I can leave my minions elsewhere and accompany you. It'd be a shame if you found your way within the walls without knowing just where our prize might be."

[Script]

Derwood

Derwood had been casually overhearing as much of the conversation that the people he assumed were the new champions were discussing. They wanted to get out. Derwood didn't want them to get out; at least, not yet anyway. That meant trying to convince them to stay and possibly risk their lives for an unknown payment -- that Derwood was most definitely not going to supply a number for, even when he lied. So now he was effectively screwed out of getting revenge on the mangy shopkeep that had screwed him over. Just bleeding great!

Derwood scowled and began thinking up another plan to get his glorious payback. The only viable one being get hired by a rival of the merchant he had screwed over. Which was near impossible with the miniscule supply of merchants that didn't have Derwood on their shit list. None of which he could think off hand that were rivals with his old boss. So everything was out of his hand as always.

He sighed and slumped down against whatever he was leaning against. Nothing ever went his way in this city. This city. A smile crept unto Derwood's face at the thoughts of 'this city'. Yes, all he had to do was get out and make a fresh new start somewhere else! Sure, he wouldn't have his revenge -- today -- but he'd get it after building up somewhere else. Maybe this Corthrone place the champs were talking about. Sure, he didn't know where it was -- or anything really since he had never left Alabaste -- but he was fully confident he could purchase the services of the champions to escort him there and never pay them once he arrived.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

On the way out of the arena, Stark was limping, hobbling even, one could say, but he realized that was more due to soreness then actual injury. His shoulder actually felt manageable, which was more then he expected 15 minutes ago, doing his best to hold in the screams. It still hurt like a motherfucker, but not to the point of demanding his full attention. He gave a few hopeless glances around for Eltiar, as though his old friend had just wandered off to buy some peanuts or use the lavatory. He knew there was something more important going on, that fact had hit him like...well, a bolt of lightning. Stark had no idea why or how, but he was involved in something big, bigger then a guy who spent the last year of his life getting drunk and taking bribes so he could keep it up should ever be involved in. The only reason he was alive several times over was a man Stark had made the very smart choice of befriending several years ago. He literally owed him his life, and he was never around to thank. Eltiar had always been a mysterious man. He was friendly and smart and kind and all that, not to mention powerful, but as long as Stark had known him he had a penchant for disappearing without any notice. At one point, Stark had stopped thinking about it, figuring Eltiar just had some important mage stuff to do like reading or meditation or something. He never really understood anything about magic, himself.

A pang in his shoulder brought his head out of the clouds. Maybe one of the doctors had slipped him something, cause he felt a little lightheaded. Still, gotta focus, gotta move on. Be strong, keep everyone together, find something better. Stark kept his little limp march going at a pace slightly above walking, heading for the exit. Some onlookers gawked at his wounds, others recognized him from the arena fight and congratulated, one patting him on the back a little too near his shoulder burn and getting a look from Stark that clearly said sticking around him would be a bad idea. Ignorant motherfucker. Who pats a burn wound? Sadistic bastard. Stark walked up front, alone, not even checking back to see if anyone was following him (though he heard Fargo loudly chattering away, so he knew at least Fargo was around, probably with someone to talk to).

Alabaste used to be such a great city. Well, not really great, they were never too fond of foreigners for some reason, and the prices were always a little high, taxation and all, but it never used to be this bad. Stark wondered if Corthrone had become some variety of terrible shithole since he'd last been there too.

The Brute

Not bothering to conceal his disdain for this lesser specimen of man, he shook his head at Prophet's stratagem. For one who had the endowment of precognitive capabilities, he had an amazing lack of forethought and cunning. "If my information is correct, the entirety of the shizen cell should be stationed in Alabaste. Dispatch one of your less noticeable underlings to them, if your abilities so allow. The last thing we need is for your less than subtle methods to attract the wrong sort of attention, if they haven't already." The Brute looked around the former township one last time before making his way out, past the behemoth atop which Prophet still sat. The large creature stepped aside, recognizing the dominance of The Brute. "I find myself weary of this incinerated hamlet. I'm off to search for civilization, and indeed, some civilized company."

Something still pestered at his senses about this place, but he would not allow himself to turn back and investigate once more. The pride of both asserting his dominance over the behemoth and it's...master would be enough to quell any nagging concerns he had for the moment.

[Purg]

Prophet laughed. "If my abilities allow... The things you willingly ignore about me, partner, could fill a book." He focused on the link over his minions and closed it, precisely so as to not confuse them or make them forget their instructions, before searching out- ah. That would do perfectly. Scavengers had already begun gathering in the ruins, vultures and ravens and all manner of beasts, but one with wings would suit his purposes better. He pulled one off of the slain innocent it was feasting on, allowing it to land on his steed's saddle. He kept it there for a brief moment, enough time to write a small message and tie it to it's leg, before planting an idea in the bird's brain - Fresh meal. Alabaste. North. He flashed memories of the Shizen cell into the bird's mind, before replanting the message about food. He'd monitor to make sure, but, with any luck, it would find the members of the other group - and if not, he would find the bird, and either replant the ideas, or simply feed it to his mount.

~-~

Somewhere better... Was it going to be easy to find? Even at the best times of his life, at home, Dom had never been particularly thrilled at waking up in the morning, or doing a day's work. Oakheim, while boring, had at least given him the freedom to decide what he wanted to do each day. And Alabaste was xenophobic and expensive - but as a recognized champion of the arena, he would be treated better than just another traveler.

It didn't matter. He could remember stories of people happy with their lives, with their families, and he had yet to feel that spark. He would continue to travel, to fight, to work, until he found it, and he would know what to do from there. For now, though, Stark's idea was the best - better to travel elsewhere than to be kept as a prisoner in an arena. He wondered about the previous champions, particularly about the armored girl, and the refugees they had been slaughtering. Did either of them really have a choice? If the champions owed a large debt, and were unable to pay, even with their winnings... were they any different than the refugees, who couldn't have ever afforded their bread or a bed to sleep in? No, no, they weren't. And for that matter, were he and the others any better, for fighting so fiercely against those so disadvantaged?

The gates closed behind them, rousing him from his thoughts. A short distance away, caravans were preparing for their journeys - perhaps one of them would be heading to Corthrone.

[CATS]

In the arena of Alabaste, a new figure entered the ring. The building was now almost completely empty--the fights were over for the day, and the crowds were gone. Only the arena's staff and the bodies of the dead combatants remained behind. A few people were busy dragging bodies away as the new figure entered. He wasn't supposed to be in there, but no one really cared enough to tell him that. The mysterious figure was shrouded in a heavy cloak; his face was obscured by a low-hanging hood with a cryptic symbol painted onto it. An aura of wisdom and purpose accompanied his presence.

"Whoa, cool!" Klints exclaimed, throwing back his hood to reveal the face of a teenager, only eighteen or nineteen at the most. His platinum-blonde hair gleamed in the sunlight. "What a huge fight this must've been! Sucks I missed it! So hey, guys, my buddy Mr. Light was supposed to be somewhere around here. Anyone by that name come by?"

"Uh, not that I know of, but you said he's called Mr. Light? There was this one guy who just randomly showed up and started fighting the champions, no reason at all, the crowds were lovin' it. He had some serious lightning magic going on. Maybe that's the guy?" one of the random arena guys answered.

"Yeah, that's him! Where's he at?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. He's, uh, he's over there. Tough break, dude."

"....What?! He's dead? No way! Must be the wrong guy."

Klints examined the devastated corpse a bit closer, but the results of his examination were exactly the opposite of what he was expecting to see.

"Man, poor Mr. Light! Bet that hurt like a son of a bitch. I just don't know how this could've happened! The only person I know who's strong enough to beat Mr. Light is Eisig!"

"Yeah, well, there's more than two powerful mages out there. The one who beat this guy, he was like, doing lots of stuff with water and ice. Older sort of guy, you know? He came off like really wise and powerful and all that stuff. What do they call that, a sage?" said the random arena guy.

"Eisig?! No way!! This is crazy!"

The ground around Klints rippled, then a few thick pillars of dirt shot up from it. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the pillars slowly retreated back into the earth.

"Whoa, dude! You better check yourself before you wreck yourself!"

"Sorry, it's just that I'm still learning how to deal with this whole geomancer thing. It's really hard to control, and sometimes when I'm upset or excited, I just get so carried away! But it's ok now, I think."

"So, what, were these dudes like your dad and grand-dad, or something? Was your mom a pyromancer or something? Cause I'm totally sensing a pattern here."

"No! Well, they--actually, yeah, let's go with that. Thanks for the help! I gotta figure out all this crazy stuff now! Bye!"

[Script]

Derwood

The scariest looking champion had walked past Derwood's not-that effective hiding place, not paying the least bit attention to the poor man. All much the better than.

"Hey, Henry old buddy!" Derwood yelled at the champion and bounded up to him. "It's me Harris, I got those stones you wanted. So when are we departing for Corthrone eh? This city is such a drag on my prices you know. Oh well, you would know you shrewd business man you haha! Damned if it wasn't a hassle getting these things for you, but hey, I'm just that good haha! So, how many guards you got set up? They any good huh? We merchants gotta stick together these days! I may even pay them a bit myself!" Derwood lied and lied and lied.

Please tell me he's buying this, c'mon, I need a break here! Derwood rubbed his gloved hands together in anticipation of the answer he knew he was going to receive.

Edited August 12, 2010 by Script