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And Jill Came Tumbling After (open)

Started by CherryFlare, March 22, 2016, 08:07:17 PM

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CherryFlare

Given the unplanned nature of her recent outing, Ellsea was not at all prepared to spend a cold night outdoors. All she had at the moment were the clothes on her back and the pouch of wages she fortunately received the afternoon before her unexpected flight. She rubbed her hands together then rubbed her arms for what little warmth it could give her as she trudged along the middle of a wheat field somewhere in the outskirts of Castavar. The sun had set a little while ago but she was simply too cautious to settle down somewhere. The mordecais that were trailing her could still very much catch up to her at this point. It has only been a day since afterall.

She stopped in her tracks when her stomach rumbled. With muscles taut and ready for action, she quickly looked around for any sign that anyone could have heard her. After a moment of quiet observation, all seemed well; yet she was still on the alert. She wanted a brief respite so much but at the same time she was scared that any delay could result in her capture. She didn't exactly have a plan where to go; she was just making things up as she went. That's what she and her mother did when they were forced to flee from their home all those years ago; that's what she plans to do now. Eventually, she'll be able to find somewhere safe to settle again; she hoped.

Now, she was somewhat angry. Her strides lengthened to match her passion. She was livid that she was forced into this mess just as she was now living a peaceful life. That was all she ever wanted. But some people just love drama. It really was not her fault that the butcher was a very lusty man. It really wasn't her fault that the butcher's wife couldn't control him. And it DEFINITELY isn't her fault that being amiable could be misconstrued as being a flirt.

Envious wives are very dangerous, especially ones that are not above libel. At least in these parts, it can have very dire consequences. So, when she found a pack of mordecai had come barging into the inn looking for her, she knew it was not a good sign. Luckily, she had just come from tending to the horses when they arrived. She was snooping under the window when they commanded her nice employer to direct them to her room. "On charges of magic-use" they announced was the reason. She was shocked! Appalled! Scandalized even that someone would slander her in such a way. And when all this is proven false, she would still be plagued by it for the rest of her life. But either way, she had to go in there and clear things up. With her innocence to protect her, she resolved to clear up the matter. But just as she was about to take a step into the doorway, she heard one of the mordecai exclaim something. Taking a peek through the gap between the hinges, she saw one of them holding the necklace she kept as a keepsake from her mom.

It was the first that she knew it was magic. That idea wouldn't be farfetched though because her father was a mage back in the Duchy of Harmond where she was born-- a mage who was executed when the grand duke of Connloath decided to wipe out all supporters of magic. She had no choice now but to disappear.

Now here she was, a refugee again but this time, mother was not around to guide and reassure her anymore.

As she reached the side of the hill, she saw the faint light of a bonfire amidst a grove of trees that grew on the base of the hill. The wind blew and the whiff of something edible passed her nose. Oh how she was tempted to run to the fireside to warm herself and fill herself with something. But she resisted. She squinted her eyes in hopes that it would help her see farther and better in the darkness. She needed to know who it was. It could be dangerous. But she was no bird of prey nor a feline that could hunt in the dark. For safety's sake, she asked her protesting stomach for an apology and decided to move on.

The wind had other ideas. A strong gust blew just as she lifted one foot. Unbalanced, she fell and rolled and rolled all the way down the slope. It wasn't a very quiet descent either.

KingTyrant

At the base of the hill, his massive form obscured by thick, clustered trees and tall shrubs, Vaan leaned against the tree closest to the fire that he had made earlier, at dusk. He slept soundly, the usual glowing lights to represent his eyes both snuffed out, his entire body still without even as much as the sounds of breathing to alert of his presence. Vaan entered this dormant state very rarely, but when he did, it was mostly out of pure exhaustion.

The forest was peaceful this time of night, very little to disturb the Pursuer's rest. In fact, the only thing to indicate that this forest was alive were the sounds of crickets and frogs, and the faint hooting of an owl every now and then. Every area that the light of Vaan's fire didn't touch was obscured by dark shadows. The Pursuer was situated next to a running stream, but it was both out of sight and nearly silent, being that the current was slow, and the water was shallow.

The peaceful atmosphere of the blackened forest was cut in two as the girl tumbled down the hill, coming to a halt just inches from his fire. Though she had escaped from being burned by the white-hot flames, that was the least of her worries. She had fallen into a wolf's den, and she was Vaan's biggest prey. The Pursuers hated mages, and were invented merely to eliminate them. Vaan was no different, other than the fact that he had some level of sentience. If this girl was smart, she'd exploit that side of him and do her best to talk him out of cleaving her head off.

Vaan was awake as soon as she rolled into his line of sight. Taking in a huge breath of air, both of his eyes lit up, slowly turning to red as he reached for his weapon, which was stabbing into the earth next to him. Standing, he let out a low roar of hatred as he pulled the sharp end of his weapon from the ground, gripping it in both of his hands tightly as he brought the hammer-end back behind him, preparing to crush her.

CherryFlare

Her head was still rattling from the fall when she spied by the corner of her eyes a hammer hurtling straight at her. "Dodge" her mind shouted and her body obeyed as best it could under the circumstances, rolling out of the way by mere inches. She then quickly got on one knee before the hulking form can aim for another attack. "Wait wait wait!" she shouted, hoping the person was in a talkative mood this evening.

HighLordMhoram

Graven was not in the mood for this.

Traveling down out of his mountain hideout had been dangerous enough before; there was every chance that a mordecai, or worse yet, one of tho gods-damned Knights of the White Lily, would discover his true nature and do their very best to disassociate his head from his body. Traveling these days was even worse, as the person killing him might not even be doing it because he was a mage, but simply for the scant food and coin on his person.

At least he had his bodyguards. Three of his once-dead were escorting him to the town. Their eyes were bright and alert; they were not the puppet-corpses of a necromancer, but rather people who had been restored to life by his unique magical abilities, as though they had never died in the first place. Graven felt slightly safer with them around, though he knew most of that feeling of safety was a mere illusion.

A roar of fury from a nearby clearing cut through his thoughts, followed by the desperate cries of another voice. A female voice. Graven turned to Orson, the once-dead who had been with him the longest. The two met eyes, and Orson nodded. Together, the mage and his dead made their way towards the sound.

What they stumbled upon was like a scene out of a nightmare. A giant of bronze and iron towered over a young woman, who knelt before the behemoth and pleaded with it to wait. From Graven's viewpoint, it didn't seem that the hulking brute was going to take her advice. He should leave her to her fate. But despite his years in the wilderness, and despite the fact that he was so feared and hated that he had been made into a monster of local folklore, he wasn't heartless. He indicated to his once-dead with a hand motion, and they began fanning out just beyond the treeline. At his signal, they would leap out and come to the girl's defense, if it was needed. Hopefully she could stay alive until then.

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