Flew Through the Air Like a Goose [OPEN]
Open
Alistair Valentus
Monster Hunter

Age: 25 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Andy Offline
Change author:
Posts: 361
MP:
#1
ALISTAIR
Life since arriving had been, complicated to say the least for Alistair since arriving into this new world. He had lost his wife to a downward path she chose to follow alone, a betrayal of everything he tried to make her believe in. Her sudden lack of faith, a sting that still didn't leave.

He joined a guild with Ronin . A much needed diversion from the troubles that had plagued him since, as well as found a mother if needed, in Vervain who kept her faith and love in him unwavering.

Than there was Rexanna . A shot of life when he felt he needed it most. She brought out of him a desire to live, explore, and relish the days and what they offered. To leave thinking at the door, and simply live in the moment.

As he sat upon the rooftop of vacant shop he examined the mask his father had given him. His thumb caressing the soft interior as he turned the mask to look at the rather imposing, mechanical design of its exterior.

At first, he didn't have the head to test exactly what it did...but he thought of what the last few days had taught him. Thinking less, living more had made all the difference. He wouldn't think, he would simply do.

"Alright father...let's see what you've done."

Alistair muttered quietly to himself with a curious smirk as he slipped the mask on. Paired inside the mask, which Alistair had noticed when he first arrived, was a glove with azure pressure switch in the center.

The glove slipped on with ease as he clicked the button and...

...Nothing...

He clicked again.

...Nothing...

Taking a breath of frustration, Alistair double clicked the switch and felt a hum through his hand to the mask.

The minute gears of the mask beginning to spin and move with minuscule hissing sounds as he began to laugh under the mask.

A level of excitement and adrenaline began to fill the young man before he clicked the button.

The world around him appeared as a distortion. A blur. Appearing to have collapsed and unfolded on its own in a blink of an eye.

A sudden rush of nausea filled his stomach as he collapsed to the ground, lifting his mask and emptying the contents of his stomach in a fell swoop.

"What...what just happened..."

He whispered to himself, at first appearing concerned before he child-like wondrous smile overtook him as he slipped the mask back on.

His breath coming feverishly as he scanned around the area. Something told him to run, run as fast as he could and see what happens. So that's exactly what Alistair would do.

Sprinting forward over the rooftop Alistair charged to the edge and jumped off the ledge, clicking the button at the same time.

Again the world collapsed and reappeared and he was sprinting off another ledge as if his momentum had never broken...which in this case was bad as he ran clear off the ledge of the neighboring rooftop landing over a stack of rotted crates and barrels like a sack of rocks.

If the sound of the crash didn't catch anyone's attention, the laughter clearly would as Alistair beamed with excitement at this gift his father had passed to him.

"Woo!"

He cheered from his painful perch, staggering out of the pile of rotted wood, tumbling back against a nearby wall as he laughed some more, collapsing onto his rear as he looked over at his glove.

Three little round azure stones rimmed along his wrist strap, only one appeared to be glowing. Perhaps it signaled the amount of times he would be able to use the mask. The faint glow of the others signaling a charge would be needed and it was slow to progress.

"Fascinating..."
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#2

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

The behemoth had paid little mind to the settlement – his eyes had been cast over woods and fields, over shadows and demon intervals, over the wonder of broken lantern lights, over the meticulous, derisive walls of his own wandering soul. He’d meandered once or twice to offer his services and brawn in the shaping and molding of shops, but otherwise, he’d kept to the tavern, to the library, and everything else in between – not in any sort of rush to claim something of his own, to ramble amidst the outlooks of strangers, to join in merriment or repose. The monster had spent a lifetime of meandering, nomadic intervals, sometimes in the rush of crusades and triumphs, in the gallant, murderous rampage of glory and victory, or in the hollowed, miserable incantations of anguish and despair. It felt odd to even begin to change the circumstances now: home had been a series of tents or barracks, home had been scolds and laughter, home had been rain and windstorms, then death and crumbling, nonchalant artifices.

Nothing appealed to him now – his narrowed, piercing gaze lingered on buildings not entirely run down or broken. He merely moved instead, savage and nefarious, every indication of a marauding, fierce peer, presumed naught or no one would bother him in his unruly movements, and he’d be back out in the untouched terrains before long, sorting out his restlessness with the claws of demons or beckoning of fiends. However, the bursting noise of someone clearly hitting something echoed past his ears, and he turned to glance in the direction of the din; arching a brow as the stranger laughed, a bark of the wilderness, harsh and unrelenting, pummeled past him. Drunk, was his first inclination, and the reticent in his soul had no need of any further interest; if the interloper deigned to reel about intoxicated, inept, and ridiculous, it was his choice (Deimos would admit he’d done all three more than once) - but then curiosity had always dealt a heavy hand with the beast, and he managed to wander closer out of boredom and investigation, pondering if the person had fallen to their death, and the last note before expiring had been the feral chuckle. He wandered closer, nearer to walls and corners, attempting to follow the brandished nuances and noises; tones uttered with whoops and cheers. His features wore themselves back into his restrained, reserved resolve, before catching the glimpse of another, mask in hand. Interest somewhat satisfied, the Reaper shrugged and continued onward, the depths of his stare registering further down the streets and alleyways.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Alistair Valentus
Monster Hunter

Age: 25 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Andy Offline
Change author:
Posts: 361
MP:
#3
ALISTAIR
Alistair had continued his examination when he turned at the large man who had taken a passing interest in his current position.

Brows furrowed curiously at the look of the gentleman, not recognizing him from Northhaven...perhaps a native to these lands? Wouldn't that be something. Someone with possible answers.

Alistair slipped the mask back on as he allowed the man to separate himself from Alistair before he stood and began to follow. The mask slipped on merely being precaution should he prove less than friendly.

There was something about masks wasn't there? Often times we find ourselves becoming the face we wear, finding comfort in the concealment.

Such was the case with Alistair. He quietly stepped closer behind Deimos with a smirk beneath his mask. His chest huffed out and shoulders lifted to mock his bulky strides.

Had Deimos felt a presence behind him and turned, he would likely catch Alistair mid-mocking stride to which he would freeze in said position for a beat before suddenly offering a wave.

"Hi."

Would call a voice through the mask with a singular wave of greeting before his body seemingly distorted and disappeared before he called out from his new position, sitting on an extinguished street lantern.

"You look like the friendly sort."

Alistair called out with a masked tilt of his head as he observed the man, before nodding.

"Mmhmm...friendly. I have a good sense of these things you see. It's a sixth sense with people. Like magic or something."

His fingers lifted, pointed and wiggled toward Deimos as if zapping him with imaginary pulses of energy.

"Alistair."

He chimed, placing a hand over his chest. Gesturing with his hand for Deimos to do the same.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#4

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

Curiosity hadn’t been to his benefit this time: all at once he’d been followed by this gnat, drifting behind him like a mocking, obstinate fly. He likely would’ve been better off wallowing and wandering towards the tavern, drunk on alcohol and misery, melancholy wiles and brooding tendencies; this cretin appeared to be of the impish, irritating sort. The beast had met his fair share when he’d gone to war – other fledgling boys waiting for their chance to kill, to strike, but not taking themselves seriously in the slightest. Some had been the first to fall, struck before they’d had a chance to defend themselves. Some managed to survive. Some had been broken, no longer offering shield and sword. Their tricks and guiles hadn’t meant anything to an enemy or adversary, all a blur, all a form, only a figurine standing in their way.

Deimos did release a sigh at the hi and cheeky wave, only turning around to watch the stranger’s frame disappear, then reemerge on a lantern, the mask’s colors harsh in the darkness. He shouldn’t have yielded to the ongoing discourse; could’ve persisted in walking further into the shadows, but intrigue and interest had caught, snared, him again, and he managed to only unleash a subtle, inaudible growl into the air, irritated at himself. “Nice mask,” was the only thing he provided: no name, no calling, no sarcasm, indifference the veil and shroud he shrugged behind. He could understand the way the man hid, the warrior had done it with apathetic gestures and intimidating statures since he’d rampaged into battle. It was a habit, a pattern, a ritual, to slip amidst reticence and indifference, insouciance and disregard, because the truth was always much harsher. He couldn’t allow it to be painted across his face, to let the world know of all his failures.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D