Jump to content

Artificer

Members
  • Content Count

    495
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Artificer

  • Rank
    Acolyte
  • Birthday April 15

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Some branch in time
  • Interests
    Hey! I'm a Computer Science / Math Double Major @ UC Berkeley, and am interested in ML, algebra, music, and more. With regards to roleplay, I'm into anything as long as its a kick-ass adventure with lots of action and lots of story. I come with the seasons, but I think Valucre is a place where I'm going to settle and make a name for myself with regards to writing. Interweaving a net to trap your characters in some convoluted plot is just one of my specialties; however, I'm still trying to improve my narrative ability! Definitely interested in your feedback, and again, hope to see you on the threads ~!
  • Occupation
    Full-time Student

Recent Profile Visitors

2,221 profile views
  1. Artificer

    When Snow Falls

    MARCEL "SNIPE" HADLEY Marcel frowned deeply. It seemed that felines no longer bode well with him, given his new affliction. It was a pity — he had always thought of himself as a cat person. Dogs were too energetic and boisterous for his tastes. During the short period of time Sikkoran was restraining his pet, Marcel's attention was arrested by the arrival of another from the stairwell. While the man presented himself somewhat clumsily with an accent not of this region, his hawklike gray eyes and weathered hands that spoke volumes about his character. This man was a capable fighter. "It's fine...," Hadley replied, somewhat detached as he examined the man from head to toe. Isaac was thin and somewhat wiry; however, the way he moved down the stairs was with grace, poise, elegance, and discipline. Marcel made a note to himself that while Genesaran was not this man's native tongue, the blade sheathed in ornate lacquer would sing death on the field of battle. Hadley knew a warrior when he saw one. Then came a breezy chill which brushed the air like dusted snow. Did someone open the door? Marcel looked back to Sikko, and then at the door — still closed. He walked around the man whose hand he had shaken, and looked back towards the fierce ocelot. It's fur was wet with ale, and for a moment, what Hadley thought to be ice. It hissed and shivered, but remained in place. "We'll... be discussing the details later when everyone arrives. Then after, we'll be departing immediately." "I'm sorry to be rude, but also- what did you do to your cat earlier?" Marcel never did get a good look as it happened all too quickly. The only two things that were clear was that the cat was soaked and was still agitated by him. @Fierach @TheElementHunter
  2. Artificer

    Books on the mind

    Fantastic choice! The life of a struggling college student in debt XD Read it. It is fantastic.
  3. Artificer

    When Snow Falls

    MARCEL "SNIPE" HADLEY "Yes, yes we are," Marcel said. It only took a momentary glance to recognize his own penmanship. The battered, soaked, and torn flyer was indeed written by him as his family sigil was emblazoned in red wax on the letter crest. The bottom floor of the inn was relatively quiet, bar catering breakfast to only one or two. Marcel had expected more people to be there at that time, but he guessed that everyone was probably too busy working to have a good drink. It was midday after all. Revelry of all sorts, famed in the Cold South, mainly happened at devil's hour in the deepest fold of night. Regardless, he was glad of the little townsfolk present. Less noise meant more space to discuss important matters for the journey which was about to begin. Standing up to greet the man, he tugged the cloak even more tightly around himself, concealing the entirety of his right side. Underneath the faded blues of his cover was his thrice-bandaged shoulder. The thin strips of cloth were perfumed in lavender and fern to mask the slight odor of the dry blood which caked the skin beneath. If anyone asked, it was just a hunting accident. Nothing more, nothing less. Thankfully, by the graces of Samuel, the silver tonic worked wonders at preserving his form as a human. He didn't even feel the slightest antagonism towards the fiery feline perched on the man's back. Holding out his hand, the ebony-haired, amber-eyed man towering over Sikko extended his greetings. "My name is Marcel Hadley, but everyone calls me Snipe." "Are you perhaps Isaac, or one of the other members? Not everyone has arrived yet, so you'll have to forgive me if I mistake your name." @TheElementHunter
  4. Artificer

    Ruzahl's Spire

    ADIRA ELAEZAR RUETA She was unprepared for the man's sudden inquiry. His eyes might as well have bored holes in hers with that piercing green stare, a look of intensity that Adira had not witnessed before. Thinking the question was just to burn time, Adira blew it off, and responded, "I honestly have no idea — that wolf back there probably smelled some of my rations." "Hell, maybe it smelled that strange fruit on me," she laughed. "The cave was probably its den from what I imagine. Its warm, shielded from the elements, comfortable. Everything that a pack of wolves would like for their kind, you know." The man was still looking back, clearly unconvinced. "Could you please stop giving me that look, please? I don't know." He must have been able to tell a lie when he saw one because he kept staring, only taking brief glances forward to see if he was walking straight. Minutes of pressing silence passed. They continued traversing through the static white screen of snow, but no matter how far they went, he kept looking back at her — not responding, eyes prying for an answer. She stopped. Did this man know? "Look, the wolves are clearly not on our tracks, alright? This snowstorm has turned into a blizzard, and no group of animals would follow us out here, so could you stop staring at me like I'm some sort of criminal?" Adira's cheeks were red as she was flustered. It was embarassing. Nothing was more humiliating to her than to know nothing about why these occurrences were happening. Beasts, misfortune, accidents — maybe even a falling anvil in her future given her terrible luck — they all came for her. It was as if death had a stake in her life in particular, marking her with his own brand of ownership. While she knew not what it was, she wasn't going to tell Garnet. It wasn't his business. Being interrogated was the last thing she wanted, and there were already had too many questions on her mind that needed answers. There was no room for her to conjure one for a stranger. While he saved her life, Adira made no mistake. Seventeen had taken her quest. She was the contractor, and he was just some adventurer. Did he pity her? Was that all it was? Pity? "Why would I lie to you?" she said, stopping. It dawned on the woman that perhaps the reason the man had taken her quest was for that. Anger welled in the pit of her stomach, warming her from within from the biting cold. Her trust was a hard thing to be earned. She wouldn't fall prey to the smiles of strangers or faux kindness again. Adira knew from experience what was in the hearts of men, and that was nothing. Bitter memories left a bad taste on her tongue. They cared for nothing but themselves. Then, as if to defy her, they came right on queue — the wolves that is. It started with one howl in the distance, followed by another coming from the left, and then another diagonally from in front — adding on and on until individuals were no longer distinguishable. In the end, the wide circle of eerie, lupine calls surrounded them in cacophonous harmony. While the voices were far away, it was clear that they were not resting. They were searching — searching for Adira. "Just... keep walking! We'll pass them!" she muttered lowly, pulling her cloak hard over her head as she walked ahead of her guide on the path. Adira didn't know the way if there was a fork, but perhaps her guide would do exactly what his position entailed — guide her. That's what she hired him for after all. @The Hummingbird
  5. Artificer

    When Snow Falls

    KNOX "FROST" HADLEY It was absolutely disgusting. The slick, oily residue of horse carcass covered his hands every time he tried to get a better grip on the werewolf's mane. It was a bumpy, uneven, swerving ride, but there was no choice. Frost was holding onto Snipe for dear life as the man bolted through the tundra, Deepdelve Rangers right on their tracks. Looking back, Frost could see the bouncing lights of the mens' lanterns in the distance. It was a group of roughly five — maybe seven — individuals in hot pursuit, but it was hard to tell. He could not see their faces through the sudden snowstorm — a good sign that they could not see his. Still, with arrows flying, it was only a matter of time until one of them would tag Knox or Marcel with an all-to-obvious wound. Arrow narrowly missing Marcel, the man could feel the fletchings of the arrow brisk his hair ever so slightly. "Quickly!" Frost yelled at his partner, iced winds burning his lungs. Another arrow landed right in front of them. "I'm trying," his partner growled, now sprinting even faster on all fours. "You're a bit heavy you know!" "Can't help it — just run!" * * * The shack door creaked loudly, swung open as the both the man and the werewolf entered. After about an hour of being chased, the duo had finally lost them in the flurry. Knox moved some dry hay onto the floor before plopping down onto the cold, stone flooring. His legs felt like they were about to fall off, no thanks to Marcel. Holding onto the beast was far more difficult than riding the most rebellious of the young, fiery mares of Kethlerin. Knox turned to his side, rear awfully sore. Unstrapping his ice pick, he removed his cloak and took the brief moment to relax. "My god... those bastards chased us for a long time, right?" he sighed, turning back to look with a weary smile. The werewolf was sitting cross-legged, hands folded and looking away from his partner. Hadley's lips flattened at the sight. He knew it wasn't Marcel's fault — the hunger, the ravages —, and seeing what was left of the man's humanity in that form, clearly soaked in guilt, made his heart break. "Marcel, are you alright?" he asked, crawling closer. "I'll be fine," the wolf responded, voice somewhat empty, somewhat hollow. Knox put his hand on his friend, but Marcel just shied away and moved to the corner of the shed. Biting his lip, Knox could only watch. To see his one and only friend be torn up by some curse was unbearable. Snipe had always been there for him when he needed them, and the one time Marcel-the-Infallible was suffering, he couldn't do anything. It was as if there was a tower sitting on his chest preventing him from reaching out and helping Snipe. There was nothing he could do. He was powerless in the realm of the eldritch. He couldn't take away the man's curse. All he could do was provide comfort. "I'll get some firewood from the cellar," he said. Standing up, his legs wobbled, but Knox forced them to stay up. Looking side to side, he shoveled through barrels of old tools, clearly unused for years by the crystallized rust caking the surface of every one. Plucking a stout axe from the bottom, he held it up to examine it if it would be viable for the job. Other than the blade being composed of a strange, repurposed metal, the rusty, green-steeled axe was nothing special at all. "This will have to do." Grabbing his cloak, Knox went outside and closed the door softly, making sure that no intruders would see the werewolf hidden inside. He circled around the back, and with a hard swing, broke the lock on the cellar doors. There had to be wood underground, he thought. Descending into the darkness, he confirmed his intuition with a flick of flint on the oil lantern's wick. It was a firewood cellar, much like the other ones he had seen under other Valjerian houses — the ones where military were quartered of course. "This won't take too long," he said to himself before taking the topmost log and chopping it in two. He yawned. The task was painstakingly simple. One log became two, and two became four. In the end, he was mindlessly chopping logs underneath the cellar, letting out his frustrations by cracking timber in two. It wasn't fair what was happening to Marcel. After all, it should have been Knox who was bitten, not Marcel. Fatigue crept in, and without realizing it Knox sat down, dejected and utterly tired from the entire ordeal. It had been months already. He just wanted it all to be over. Closing his eyes, he thought to take a brief rest. "One minute won't hurt," he thought. As soon as his eyes fluttered, the ragged breaths of a frustrated man became the sweets sighs of a sound sleeper. * * * A loud, banging sound of the floorboards above shocked Knox awake. His lantern had gone out long ago, and the bitter chill permeating his body became all to apparent as he tried to move. How long had he been asleep? CRASH, and then a roar exploded from above. After he picked up the green axe at his side, Knox ran up through the open cellar and around, seeing a horse parked a few meters away from the shack. His mind exploded with the scenario going on inside, but there was no time to think as something slammed into the wall on the side. The entrance to the shack was swinging in the wind, and without hesitation, the hunter dived in. Sitting atop the werewolf with knife raised was another man who turned immediately at the creak of the door hinges. The man's face was wrinkled, red hair peppered with strands of gray, eyes a vivid blue and full of concern. "GET AWAY FROM HERE BOY, IT'S DANGEROUS HERE!" he yelled on the top of his lungs. "RUN!" the man yelled before being flipped on his side by Marcel, Deepdelve Ranger's silver crest flashing in the moonlight before being hidden by the fur of the wolf on top. Marcel gave Knox a fierce look, as if to agree with the man beneath him. Run, is what those eyes screamed. However, the ranger would not take the momentary distraction for granted. In an instant, the man unsheathed a knife, and drove its blade into the werewolf's shoulder before twisting it with his other hand. Marcel's pupils constricted as silver tore straight through, tip hitting the bone. Down the beast went, howling in sheer pain before it was the ranger again who had the advantage. Wrapping his legs around the beasts torso, the red-haired veteran gave a twist in his body, arms out and pushing out from the floor, throwing Marcel off. Jumping on top of the beast, the man screamed wildly as he held his knife up, ready to stab it straight into Marcel. Knox's heart quickened as the blade descended. Vision narrowed on the one weapon which would end it all. His grip on the axe tightened as he rushed inside. Before he knew it, he had swung the axe, ranger dropping onto the ground with a thud. Knox dropped to his knees, warm blood soaking into the cheap fabric of his pants from the growing pool. The ranger was clenching his neck, mouth sputtering out blood. The wound was anything but covered, and definitely not concealed, crossing a third of the way in. It had missed the spine, but it was most definitely a jagged, unclean, grisly cut. The man's shockingly blue eyes looked to Knox, expression filled with the look of the betrayed. "How could you," he seemed to mouth. With a final spurt of blood, the man's eyes glossed over, and arms went limp. The ranger was dead. Marcel ran over to Knox, but the man was frozen still. The werewolf hugged Knox tightly, whispering things like "It's okay" and "I'm sorry" a thousand times over, but Knox didn't respond. His eyes were transfixed on the corpse in front of him. "We need to burn it all." * * * When first light broke at noon, all there was left of the shack was smoldering ashes alongside half-burnt pieces of timber and stone. Before this, here is what happened: Frost had led the horse down into the cellar before slaughtering it underneath so no blood would be found outside. After moving the ranger's corpse down into the cellar to be with his horse, Knox lit it all on fire. All of the fuel that was underneath turned everything into a raging pyre, causing the entire shack to collapse down in on itself, burying all evidence of the altercation underneath a pile of stone rubble, beams of pine, and loads of other things. The flames were so hot, it might as well have turned the bone to ash. Knox suspected alchemical fuel hidden somewhere beneath in a lockbox as was common in the Imperial South for fire-starting, but he didn't question why the inferno had raged as it did. He reckoned it was simply the ranger's restless soul, screaming out in betrayal. After the ordeal, both he and Marcel sneaked in and cleaned up at a vacated home on the outskirts of Valjer. Knox had told Samuel to tell the others to meet North at the cabin, but Knox slipped a letter under the doors of those whose residence he had uncovered from the innkeepers around town. 'Change of plans. Meet at the inn at the center of town, - Frost' it would say to those who had arrived already. It was shocking what innkeepers would say if you told them 'it's for a quest' and gave them a few coins for their troubles... quite shocking indeed. Now, the two were sitting at the bottom of the inn, in clean clothes with clean wares, waiting in silence on the companions they had enlisted to either come down from their resting places or arrive in Valjer from their travels. They had scarcely gotten an hour of sleep, sun rising at a time which would normally be considered noon by most parts. They would have to catch up on their rest when they traveled to Cobran on Stoneheart's caravan as the first member arrived. @HollowCipher @Thotification @Hani @Sleepy Seal @vielle @danzilla3 @Fierach @TheElementHunter
  6. Artificer

    Ruzahl's Spire

    ADIRA RUETA ELAEZAR Easier said than done. Seventeen was far more nimble than she, scaling up to the exit with ease; however, while he bobbed and weaved through with ease, Adira was still making her way through the thick vegetation, nearly tripping on the thick tangle of gnarled roots. It was somewhat frustrating. While she was not weak, she wasn't used to this kind of gymnastic work in the slightest. Deeper and deeper she went, navigating through the thick shield of vines which had sheltered the duo and grotto from the elements. How was Garnet able to make getting through look so easy? When she had finally reached the fissure, she saw the man waiting. Grabbing onto the edge of the crack, Adira could feel the ice biting straight through the black moleskin of her gloves. Looking up, she saw her guide's extended hand and grabbed it. His grip was strong and firm like an elm branch, much to her surprise. He was steady as stone. The sound of padded feet splashing at the other entrance echoed. They had to go. "Alright, I'm ready, okay... one, two, three!" She hoisted herself up with Garnet's assistance, seconds before the cacophony of wolves shattered the silence in the cavern. Based on the beat, there were definitely more than two. If it was what she thought it was, this wasn't a miniature rag tag group of mongrels. If it was what she thought it was, this was a war pack. "Garnet... Do you hear that?" she said looking back to the mouth of the cave. "I don't think that the wolf we met was the only one." There was a lump in her throat. There was no turning back now. With all that was at stake, Adira was taking a leap of faith putting her trust in her guide. These mountains were unfamiliar to her which meant that her best chance of survival was Seventeen. Thinking back to the encounter with one wolf, she wondered why the man had decided to help her. With the clear dangers of traversing the Cold Mountains, it was a miracle that anyone responded to her petition. He was the only one who responded. It was a beggar's quest. She had little money to offer, and the risks were far greater than the rewards. What drove Garnet? The sudden rush of cold air was a slap in the face — a reminder of the frosted hell which was in front of them. There was no time for extraneous questions. The hounds were right on their tail. "Which way is the trail," she said, voice muffled as she wrapped a worn scarf around face and mouth, walking beside the man through the ever-deepening snow. @The Hummingbird
  7. Artificer

    LBS+ Testing w/ Artificer

    Welfrick Erhard Jagdhund — The Shadowbeast [FINAL SCENE] And there he was — standing triumphantly with his bloody trophy in mouth was the shadowbeast, Welfrick Erhard Jagdhund. While the elf had ran, he had not escaped unscathed. Clenched tightly between the beast's two rows of fine, ivory teeth was Dionysus's severed arm — a gory lesson to those who would hunt the one and only Beast of the Pines. While Welfrick would have liked to have chased the hunter across the woods to claim the rest of the man's limbs, he could not. The one lucky blow the elf had landed was enough to leave the indomitable staggering. The elf had struck him well. It was then he sat down in the middle of the glade. The shadowbeast took his time with the hunk of flesh. It was not everyday he had a meal that fought back. The defeat of his adversary was enough to sate his appetite for that night. He wondered.... CRACK. He was right: the bones crushed like candy, sweet marrow sliding down his throat. He couldn't wait to meet Dionysus once again, he thought, licking his lips in eager anticipation for the near future. The rare, refined taste of elves was such a treat. He would be waiting. Yes, he would be waiting.... .
  8. Artificer

    When Snow Falls

    MARCEL "SNIPE" LANCASTER The vial landed in front of Hadley, but it rolled away and hit Lancaster's padded foot. Picking it up, the lycanthrope held the strange phial in a thin moonbeam which filtered through a small crack in the barn wall. The liquid looked like quicksilver with its curious sheen, but it flowed and coalesced much like water instead of molten metal. The knight seemed genuine enough, but would he really be able to trust this strange man? The question would have to be for another time. A sudden creaking of wood seized his attention, and with his ear perked up, Marcel's muzzled face turned to the noise's origin. The backdoor to the farm was slightly ajar, a yellow light entering and purging the room of its shadows. The source of the light was a petite, brass lantern, held tightly in the unsteady hands of a short, brunette, girl. Marcel's eyes widened. The child stood their petrified, emerald eyes transfixed on his monstrous form. He held out his clawed hand to the girl to calm her, but it was too late. "W-WEREWOLF!" the little mistress screamed, dropping the oil light onto the snow before disappearing back into the night. Within moments, a horn was blown far in the distance, and with a brief glace at his partner, Marcel confirmed that they were both thinking the same thing: they had to hide quickly. Frost instantly turned to the knight. "Meet us at the gray shack due north of here. It is half a mile away, but at the break of first light, we must depart. Gather everyone. We will only have three hours of daylight, so we need to make it count." Snipe's tipped ears caught the faint sound of horse trots in the deep snow, and at the noise, he grimaced. The perks of being a wolf-man in Valjer. "We need to go!" he growled to both men, grabbing his partner by the wrist. @danzilla3
  9. Artificer

    Ruzahl's Spire

    ADIRA RUETA ELAEZAR As soon as the great wolf was knocked away, Adira greedily gasped in as much air as she could. Those few seconds where she was underneath the great weight of the beast felt like an eternity in her adrenaline-drugged state. With the oxygen, her vision cleared, catching the dull outline of her sole instrument of protection. Quickly, she scrambled towards the ice pick, springing up from the floor with weapon in hand, poised for the next attack. Eyes darting towards the sound of the fray, she glimpsed the final arc of the silvered sword as it sundered the foul wolf in two. With a wet thud, the wolf was downed. Walking closer to the body, she thought it was dead. To her surprise, as soon as she came a step closer, the wolf's wild eyes opened as jaws snapped madly in her direction, a gaze full of hate, anger, and blood lust. She stepped away in shock. The beast had undying tenacity and a furious drive to tear out her throat. Only when Garnet plunged his blade straight into the creature's skull did the beast quiet. With a twist, the last shudders of severed nerves marked the end of the wolf's life. Shivers ran down Adira's spine. Whether it was the cold, spiteful look in that beast's lifeless eyes or the chill of outside coming in, the woman felt uneasy. Walking forward, she knelt down and held her hand out to the corpse, drawing her fingers back at the first touch before finally skimming over its ebony fur. Her lips flattened. The rough hair was slicked with blood, body still warm. For a moment, the woman felt sympathy towards the monster. It was pitiful, what happened. No doubt the wolf was simply trying to survive out in the harsh, unforgiving crags. She sighed. Death never had bode well for her. The coppery scent of blood was something she would never be comfortable with. A chorus of howls rang from the mouth of the cave as Adira closed its eye. With a loop back towards Seventeen, she silently nodded her head. It was time for them to go. Hurrying over to the bag, she knew she would have to leave her rucksack. The main pocket was now permanently hanging open, contents spilled all over the floor along with scraps of fine canvas. It looked like she could only bring the bare essentials. Food would be a worry for a later time. Rummaging through the items strewn across the floor, she grabbed only what she thought was necessary. Clipped to her belt were again the two ice picks, curved at each handle, both sanded to a rough, matte finish, and one imprinted with new, teeth-marked dents. On her hip, there was a large, circular flask, sloshing with melted snow. When that was secured, Adira pocketed the few salves and tonics whose containers weren't savaged by the beast; however, it was only enough to be useful for a few minor injuries. The medicine would barely be enough to treat anything larger than a decent laceration, so the duo would have to be careful on their ascent. Any injuries left untreated would serve as deadly crutches to their journey. Gangrenous infestations were an all-too-common reality in these colder parts, and infection was no laughing matter. Throwing on her olive parka, she grabbed her cloak and boots. The front side of the jacket had many pockets, and the interior was lined with thick scraps of fur. Hardly anything stylish, but the menagerie of animal skins would stave off the cold. Her pants were simple, rugged khakis, the kind used by mountaineers on their journey, and they were tucked snugly into her newly-bought leather climbing boots. With everything in order, she enshrouded her form in the weathered teal cloak of her father. It would protect her. Her father promised her it would. "We need to go." "Do you still have any food packed in your bag? The wolf ruined all of my provisions." @The Hummingbird
  10. Artificer

    LBS+ Testing w/ Artificer

    Welfrick Erhard Jagdhund — The Shadowbeast Too fast, too sudden. The elf didn't even flinch. While his body was not able to follow, his eyes did, and the shadowbeast looked down in disbelief as the hunter drove his palm into his stomach. Pupils constricted as the beast moved back, time itself seeming to move at a painfully slow pace. Then, the unavoidable occurred: impact. Immediately, the beast lurched forward as he felt momentarily weightless, blood spewing from his throat. The blow itself did not penetrate the skin; however, it would have been more favorable if it did. Something inside his chest, perhaps a rib, was shattered — the piercing pain duly noted. It was a strike which resonated with his entire body, knocking the wind out of him as his head flung back. Still, Welfrick did not move from his spot, but instead stepped back and stood there, motionless. How could this be? A mere humanoid laying a scratch on him? There was an anger which spilled over, overwriting the excruciating agony in his side which begged his body to kneel. For so many moons he had been the hunter. He had almost forgotten why he hunted their kind in the first place. His muzzle snapped back down, face now pointed at the man, lips contorted back in a toothed expression that could only be explained as pure, unbridled fury. The man would taste his anger, that would be certain. The shadowbeast's tail which had been hidden underneath the grass suddenly wound itself around the hunter's legs, restraining them with noose-like tightness. Then, Welfrick's arms which hung at his side swung out madly towards Dionysus like a bear-trap, immobilizing the man's arms. It was in this embrace of death where he would torture his prey endlessly for that night, for as long as he was able, starting with the first act.... ... Of sinking his teeth into the shoulder of the arm which dared to touch him. His jaws slammed shut, clamping deep down on the man's shoulder at the base of the neck, fully intending to tear the limb straight off. At the taste of blood, the shadowbeast increased the pressure until he heard the first crunch, wanting the man to know what the sound of a cracking clavicle was... ... Because this man was going to hear every bone in his body snap before Welfrick would be done with him. @Sleepy Seal
  11. Artificer

    When Snow Falls

    KNOX "FROST" HADLEY These words were of grave concern to the archer, and while he trusted the knight, Frost had faith in Snipe — even if the man was half-crazed for blood at times. Still, now was not the time and place for questions. There were more pressing matters at hand. "For the moment, at least," Frost interjected, forcing his way under and past the werewolf's massive, blockading arm. "You'll have to forgive my friend's lack of tact. It is the moon, I suppose. He is usually more polite, I can assure you." "Clearly, it is the Cold South, and almost half of the mercenaries here have dealt with their fair share of lycanthropy at some point of another; however, I do believe that his suspicions are not unwarranted. It was a man who was also experienced with beastkin who led us on a similar expedition a few months back — the same expedition where Snipe contracted his unfortunate affliction, if I may add." "The bastard stabbed us and the rest of his fucking crew in the back!" Marcel suddenly growled, flecks of saliva flying onto the back of Knox's neck. It was then Knox turned and reached back, calmly putting his hand on the werewolf's shoulder. Somewhere in those monstrous amber eyes was his friend. "In short, we need to know if you are a man we can trust," he said, looking back at Samuel, eyes burning with resolve. This expedition would be the fated time where revenge would be claimed, and Knox would be damned if he let the same thing happen again. @danzilla3
  12. Artificer

    When Snow Falls

    MARCEL "SNIPE" LANCASTER "Who are you," he snarled, "And tell me why you smell like them." His knees were bent slightly as his arms were extended back, corralling Frost away from the knight. While his partner may have trusted the man, everything seemed far too coincidental. The wolf-shaped pommel, the faint scent of werewolves, and the man's lack of surprise were all hints to some other affiliation. His knowledge of remedies seemed out of place as well. The man was most definitely not a healer which meant that he was either a hunter of the supernatural beasts or was a werewolf himself. This, Marcel could not discern; however, it was clear this man had some connection to the creatures. His eyes narrowed at the knight. "TELL ME," the werewolf repeated, voice low and threatening. He would not have him on their quest if he did not say who he was — that is, the full truth, and nothing but the truth. Being fooled two times was twice enough. Marcel would not risk a third. @danzilla3
  13. Artificer

    Ruzahl's Spire

    ADIRA RUETA ELAEZAR The man's voice caught her off-guard. How long had Garnet been awake? Before she had a chance to respond back, she recoiled at the beast's howl. It was a direwolf — a creature of unparalleled savagery and cunning. Adira had heard rumors of a unique strain of White Wolves native only to the Cold Mountains, but she did not expect to meet one so soon. They were supposedly rare creatures, traveling in small packs of two to four. Meeting one usually meant there were more close behind. Without a moment's hesitation, her partner disappeared from her side, the sound of drawn steel ringing through the air. The patter of footsteps quickened as the blue eyes darted through the dark. Left, right, up, down — the creature was zigzagging its way towards the duo in a chaotic fashion. Adira was barely able to keep track of the wolf before she saw its blue eyes rise high above her. Its landing on the ground sent flecks of imperceptible mud flying towards her face, before again it roared. Grabbing in the direction of her pack, she felt around for it's strap, but touched nothing except for the smooth basalt floor. Where was it, she thought. The blues eyes came dangerously close, and she heard its wild breaths. Fingers finally brushing against the cool steel buckle of her bag, she threw her rucksack between herself and the shadowy assailant. There was the sound of tearing canvas as as an immeasurable weight pushed her back towards the ground. She was unscathed, but the the creature's blue eyes were mere inches from her face, Adira knew she had seconds, if not a brief moment, to protect herself. Somewhere on her bag was an ice pick, but the question was where. It was difficult to know where exactly it was given that her bag was currently pinned between the wolf's massive paw and her body; however, this time, luck was on her side. Her hand grasped the steel handle, and before the wolf bit down into her flesh, she ripped the tool from its strap and held the bar up against the foul beast. Teeth clanged against the rebar, and for once she could see more than just the creature's lurid eyes. It's yellow teeth were stained with hints of red and its fur was as black as the darkness which enveloped the cavern. Adira could even see tendrils of sinew from its last meal still hanging between two of its teeth. Then, she almost doubled over at the mixed stench of rotting flesh, wet dog, and fresh blood. She faltered with her grip on the bar slightly, the beast's maw inching closer. "G-Garnet!" Adira screamed, slightly gagging on the bile which rose in her throat. @The Hummingbird
  14. Artificer

    Custom user title raffle 19

    I need it.
  15. Artificer

    Ruzahl's Spire

    ADIRA RUETA ELAEZAR The gelid winds were relentless. Even the smallest breeze seemed to cut straight through her layered clothing as if she was wearing a cotton shirt in the unforgiving blizzard. Having no other way to scale up the treacherous mountain, the two found themselves climbing up one of its many sheer faces of ice. Her frostbitten hands barely were able to hold onto the picks. Still, although the weather was less then ideal, Adira knew that they had to continue climbing. Something had her on edge — something that made her heart pound —; however, when she tried to remember what that something was, her memory drew a blank. Then, Seventeen turned around, his lips moving but with no voice coming out. It was as if her ears were underwater, every sound having murky, washed-out quality. His face was calm up until the moment she drove her pick back into the ice, and that point, his emerald eyes widened as he seemed to yell something that she could not make out. Adira felt the ice crack. The pick within her hand dropped. A brief sense of weightlessness cut through her shock as she suddenly realized she milliseconds away from falling to her death. * * * Eyes flashed open as she sucked in large breath, forcing herself upright as she clutched her pounding chest. It wasn't everyday that one would catch a glimpse of their own death, but as of the past few days, it seemed to be the only thing that she was able to dream of. At first, they came rarely and seemed to be mere coincidences. Then, they became more frequent until finally she could no longer ignore them. Ever since her right hand was tainted black, death was hanging over her shoulder like a plague, and she had no idea why. Still, every premonition marked a choice, and despite the uncanny inevitability of every event, finality was never assured... at least, in all but one. Shivering at the thought, Adira wiped the crust from her eyes so she could get a better look at their surroundings. The now-stationary lights of the fireflies were fading star by star before her eyes, until finally the last light blinked out. From her limited experience in entomology at the university, she surmised it was an hour before daybreak. Hearing the calm, regular respiration beside her, she could tell even in the dark that Garnet was still fast asleep. Perhaps it would be best to wake him, she thought, heart still beating madly. Reaching out to tap the man, she froze, eyes catching a pair of ghastly blue lights that had appeared in the distance. Across the waters, she found herself looking at the eyes of some beast lurking in the shadows. Imagination running wild, she wanted to shake Garnet awake, but she didn't dare move a muscle. Based on the movement of the lights, the figure was proceeding along the rim of the pool, bending down occasionally to the ground every so often before getting back up. It could be no larger then a man, she thought, but then again, it could be crawling on the ground. Perhaps it was a lupine of some nature, or it maybe was a ghost of some sort. Regardless of what it was, it didn't seem to notice them. Then the phosphorescent, sapphire eyes turned. It was staring right at Adira. @The Hummingbird
×