Threesome

[Zyta]

This RP is only for myself Risa and Andy. Everyone else can PM one of us for details of the RP, or otherwise enjoy it. ^_^

To the other two, since it is only the three of us, let's do try to have at least ONE POST PER DAY please. ^_^

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Dolor had always had horrible times glaring at them in the distance, ever since the first few citizens broke heavenly law and sought a new land, a new way of life, and freedom. In the beginning the terrain was merciful and had always brought in a healthy harvest, merchants of all kinds would often pay tooth and nail for a bottle of ale—while selling overly-priced goods to unsuspecting prey. Life was always a blissful moment, personal issues never once endangered the well-being of all and seldom would any threat surface, peeping their ugly head through soft, glowing sand. Soon it became apparent that perhaps God would be merciful and forgive any act committed: they were gravely mistaken.

Within days sharp winds sprang up viciously catching all loose sand grains and showered burning glass upon the busting town. Darkness with power that some say come directly from Oblivion canceled out all light, dust and smoke scathed the buildings easily; each one was hit with enough force to crumble downward and crush innocents in a very painful and slow death. Most however were less fortunate. Glass, made from the sand at extreme temperatures, as sharp as any well craved sword seared the skin and eyes of the homeless; most were left to live though with extreme amounts of blood loss and often times blindness. The ruthless hail of fire lasted only a fortnight, yet the land was plagued and left dying for centuries to come.

Dolor had lost everything in the God’s spiteful wrath; hundreds of centuries later that terrain was left much the same as it was then: dead. Many buildings were only makeshift huts typically constructed of straw and clay; a reminder lay all around them of what will happen if the townsfolk sought a greater existence. Their One Sin grips at their soul painfully twisting and contorting in many strange ways. From one end of town to the next scars were seen as ruins protruding at odd, and sometimes amusing, angles.

Over the years Dolor had transformed from a great city left to die in ruins to a small town forgotten in history where only those who sought a place of solitude would find. Criminals, traitors of war, merchants, and even priests found Dolor in their own way, each person seeking their own reason for serenity and escapism. There were some that took the responsibility upon themselves to return the city’s former glory and began rebuilding Dolor with little help. Little help added together for years piled tightly paid off somewhere in the last hundred years or so.

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There was laughter tonight, smoke filled and ushered in a friendly band of merchants. The room was filled with a strange sort, most covered in dark, heavy cloaks and always a mug was in hand. Red alcohol dripped from wary listeners from the merchants’ tales, disbelieving, choosing not to believe; there were just some hardships that would never slip away from memory. There was always the nagging feeling of an approaching doom and only the short laughter broke the heavy silence like a hammer hitting full on the head of a nail. There were some that chose to keep quiet away from the gathering, though most were full of mirth and showing it.

One certain individual sat with his back to them, ignoring them completely. Instead his attention was diverted to the single piece of parchment and quill, some leftover bread, and a mug containing black coffee. His hand was sure, strong, and artistic; it was like he didn’t even think of what he wrote, like the writings were an extension of his being. The man paused momentarily to sip at his drink, occasionally stealing a glance at the bartender whom was currently speaking with one of the merchant troupe. Seconds later the man returned to his exiguous work leaving the mug considerably drained. Suddenly the man could feel two eyes burning deep into him, but with a casual glance around the tavern spilled none. The man returned to his work yet again, but this time he was approached by another.

“Heard you’ll do any job for a penny,” spoke the merchant putting on a fake smile in greeting. The man looked up momentarily, and then lowered his gaze as though he wasn’t worth any time. The first thing the Merchant had noticed before sitting down was just how young the man appeared to be, certainly in his late teens but one who hasn’t experienced manhood yet. The Merchant guessed his age to be about eighteen.

Upon closer inspection the man had long hair that cascaded from head to shoulder in back and barely putting up some sort of wall before his eyes. Whether he liked the style, or maybe it was to prevent others from looking into his eyes, the Merchant could not tell. In the seconds worth of the piercing gaze he received from him, The Merchant had been rooted to the spot, feeling nothing but fear and death approaching. Though the eyes had seemed kindly, he could not shake off the prospect of biting off more then he could chew. There was no visible weapon and he felt sure enough to continue with his offer.

“There’s a stone out there called,” the Merchant said, though his voice lowered for the last word “The Angel’s Tear. Don’t suppose you’ve heard of it, have you?”

Maybe he would have had better luck teaching a cat some tricks for all the answers he got. The man was content to only listen with acknowledgement or disturbance in his writings. The Merchant nodded, “Right, well I don’t know too much of it myself,” he quickly added, looking away flushed in the face. Then, steeling himself up, he looked back to him with as an authority figure. “I’ll pay whatever you want, but first… I need proof of your strength.”

It was the first time during the conversation the man looked up with general interest, his quill hand paused and had laid the feather down lightly. A smile began curling upon his features coldly and when he spoke it was as ice blades were pushed under his fingernails. “Is that a challenge?” his reposte was quick to the point, The Merchant moved back slightly not knowing what may happen.

The Merchant chose to stand then, fumbling his thumbs automatically. The man took no heed of it. “Well…” was all he said before chaos broke out and the whole Troupe converged upon the single man who was ready.

Five minutes later, the tumult ceases, dust cleared away only to reveal everyone except one Merchant, the man, and Barkeep to be unconscious with various blows and bruises lining their bodies. Though oddly, no scratch was found upon the man’s body. He smiled at the remaining Merchant. “Three thousand Ryou is my fee,” he stated simply and walked away from the tavern. One glance back however, he addressed the poor man again. “You’ll be in charge of this mess as well.” And he was gone into the night.

[Nevermore]

Perhaps someone would notice, or perhaps, since everyone was beaten to a pulp, no one would notice, but one other man stood, he stood at the back of the bar, hidden by a shadow, near that shadow was a heap of unconcious men, piled higher than the bar. He stepped from the shadow after the young man had left, looked around with a grin and a small laugh, "Nothing ever changes does it?" he asked of no one in particular. He was a handsome man, fairly tall but no giant, his smooth, easy movements and his tall, proud way of walking suggested strength and confidence in him. Shaggy black hair hang off his head to just enough cover his ears, his bangs swept to the side and stayed out of his face, he had incredible eyes, clear and blue as the finest summer day, friendly, confident, and always playful. He was dressed in simple, yet fine clothes, black pants and boots, a clean white, unadorned shirt covered his upper body, followed by a simple leather vest and a few pouches. Over it all he wore a brillant crimson cloak, it seemed to suit him more as a part of his body, than actual clothes.

He stepped over a few bodies, grinned and apologized to each one, even the ones he hadn't beaten, stopped after a few steps and turned to look at the handsome, female bartender. She was obviously dazed and confused by it all, one minute the bar had been full of lively people, drinking and talking with friends, the next only 3 men remained, the rest lay unconcious on the floor along with splintered tables and chairs. She looked up to find him staring at her, he flashed his handsome grin, she noticed it, would have blushed and smiled back, had it not been for her shock at what had just happened. He shrugged, slightly disappointed and turned, walked out the door, completely ignoring the other man.

[Paladin_girl]

It was at this time a new face had walked into the small town where the pub's commotion had begun so suddenly. News of it passed people's lips like water in a sieve. It wasn't hard to turn one's ear to hear dozens of voices saying almost the same thing, had it not been for the obvious emphasis one normally does in excitement.

The new lady who had entered this town found no excitement in its news. Deep purple eyes narrowed coldly, strange foreign tints of brown within the mixture. A clean face, but somewhat tanned in complexion, again showing she was no village girl and was not one to be pleased easily, shown by the common look of stubborness, yet perhaps seen as stoic. Not an ugly girl, but not completely a figure of immense beauty, her walk was elegant, but quite boyish, with her hand casually in a skirt pocket.

Over an obsidian breastplate was a corset-like tunic of deep blue, with long, dangling sleeves with white ribbons tied loosely around the upper arm in a criss-cross fashion. The skirt itself was ragged, like the ends of the sleeves, showing no sense of vanity, of white cotton that went down to her knees.

The oddity were the darkened, almost worn out travelling boots that were tied up to her shin, but left at the knees to flap about aimlessly. The girl was in a rush...

Moreso was the ripped fabric by her left shoulder, showing an S-shaped mark upon it, crusted with a deep red substance and smeared downwards. The mark itself was black, twisted and ugly, as if it were some kind of blunt message. Had it not have been for the gigantic weapon upon her back, this would have certainly turned away the village's inhabitants.

It was hard not to see such a weapon. Upon her back, settled over a white cloak around her shoulders, was a great length of a spear, but the blade itself was as long as a broad sword, slightly curved which only a keen eye could notice, marks and runes embedded in both it and the pole, the most significant being the same mark that was upon her shoulder.

She stopped at the pub and frowned lightly. This was the commotion? She sighed; it wasn't truly amazing as the villagers had put it, in fact it wasn't even impressive... but of course, she had seen many things ... and she was still looking...

She turned away and looked around irritatedly. Now what?

[Nevermore]

After he had exited the bar, Rath had picked a direction at random, he didn't really have anywhere to go, he had a room at a near by inn, but the night was still young in his eyes. In the beginning Rath had come to this town as a get away, or maybe even a place to live, it was a well known spot for thieves, outcasts, the unwanted, and the unknown, he thought it might be a good spot for him. But he soon found that no matter where he went, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sit still, couldn't be idle, life called to him constantly, adventure, money, love, the things he charished most were everywhere, not just in one spot. Instead of expending a great sum to buy a house, one he wouldn't live in for very long anyways, Rath had decided to live out of the first inn he came upon, this inn proving that it was actually much nicer than most of the houses.

In reality there had been another reason for him to come to this particular town, a reason he usually kept secret to himself, he was looking for something, and this town was also a good place to get information of the sort he was looking for. Rath had heard a rumor, whispered on the wind, a foul breathe in a bar, of a peculiar gem, or perhaps it was a stone, he wasn't sure, but whatever it was it was a powerful magical artifect. It's powers were said to be immeasurable, there was nothing it couldn't do, nothing it couldn't fix, it was said to be one of the oldest artifects ever, but it's power had never run out, no one knew who had created it or where it had come from.

Or so the stories went, Rath wasn't too sure about it all, but he didn't have any missions available for now, and it was something to do. And if the stories just so happened to be true, then he would hit the jackpot, such an item would be priceless, he could keep it for himself and use it's powers, or sell it to the highest bidder. But before he did anything else with it, he would restore his left arm. No one seemed to notice, but Rath never took his left arm out from under the cloak, that was because it wasn't an arm of flesh, but an arm of metal, people seemed to be surprised by that so he kept it hidden. If this stone was as powerful as the stories claimed, it should have no trouble healing his arm, and he considered that well worth the look.

He was curious as well, wondering if the stone Zyta had been sent after was the same stone he was looking for. He was surprised to find the demi-god here, but then again maybe not, he was as much a wonderer as Rath so maybe he had the same idea. Rath had been at the bar, talking with the bartender, and listening to the exchange between Zyta and the other man. The funny thing about the stone was that it had recieved a name for each individual power it held, since it was so immensely powerful, it had quite a few things it could do, and so it also had numerous names. He was almost completely positive that the one Zyta was after was the same one he was after, perhaps he should've followed Zyta. Shrugging he entered another bar, found a seat and ordered an ale from one of the pretty serving girls.

[Zyta]

Zyta walked in the dead of night alone for all intents and purposes. There was the occasional scuffling of drunkards, some moaning of thugs, the hissing of a faraway cat that caught more attention then any of the previous. His thoughts were of distorted images, memories from places he’d rather never visit again. For a few minutes, he went on like this and allowed his feet to walk without hesitation and guidance. Soon he had found himself to a small cusp embedded inside some fallen ruin or other, most likely an abandoned building that skimmed the heavens above long ago. Zyta smiled at his crude take at finding a place to stay; this small abode had been his home for the better part of a year and held all his more precious—and dangerous—items he figured would cause ruckus in town if seen. Not that it did much good. Zyta sighed and stepped in, pushing back a leather blanket acting as a doorway.

Within wasn’t any better then not, at least while inside provided shelter from sandstorms. The ground was hard like clay, printed in deep by years of being stepped on was no easy feat. Papers old and new, moldy and dark littered the ground, most had on faces of well known criminals (now hung) while others were of documents of high importance. Zyta made his way around them to the back of his single room home, head bent; his feet had no care for stepping on the papers. Lazily he slumped down and rested his back lightly against the wall. It felt muddy to the touch. Underneath the papers was a friendly sight. He reached for the long-sharpened weapon; Zyta thumbed the pole putting on a smile.

“Time to come out of retirement, old buddy,” he called to it soothingly as though it were real and just woke from a deep sleep. There was a solemn look upon his young features that could not, would not be seen in the tavern. Despite his rugged, aged appearance, Zyta still felt like a child inside and deemed it to be of great success when passing the time. Suddenly his face grew fierce; he grunted loudly and jabbed forward hard. The naginata blade shimmered blue, it didn’t go far. Zyta smiled, “still good as new.”

Zyta spend the next few hours lost in thought. Not about his new mission or the like. He thought of how different his life would be born under a different father, how he and his brother may even be farmers right now reaping the harvest of their hard work. Nothing like this would ever happen to them. Zyta smiled once more, thinking himself a fool; even if he had been born that way, it wouldn’t have stopped him from traveling and seeing the world. He laid back; his cloak covering his while both of his arms formed a pillow. His last words spread into the night like a silent death, “First stop, Solm…”

[Paladin_girl]

Entering the tavern, the girl regarded everyone in the room slowly, taking in every detail before sitting herself in the corner after striding to the bar, muttering a few words, receiving a nod from the barkeep.

Placing her weapon beside her, she sat back to watch people again with narrowed eyes, glaring any man away who came near her (save the barkeep, though his eyes avoided her stare as he placed her drink in front of her). Her eyes were not targeting a particular someone as of yet... but she had a pretty rough idea what she was looking for.

One man dared to reach out and touch her, in which she grabbed his wrist, easily throwing the man away like a sack.

"... Don't get in my way..." she growled as the man held his wrist flimsily and scurried away back to his friends like a rat. Dain smirked coldly and looked at the reflection in her drink, remaining silent as the hustle and bustle of the tavern returned. She would have to ask later about this ... cult... but from the looks of things, the sophistication of these people was the equivalent of a teatray. This was going to be difficult indeed...

[Nevermore]

Rath stayed in the new bar for hours, until, late in the dead of night the barkeep declared it was closing time and started collecting the tabs, most payed while others claimed to pay later. Men began to file slowly out of the bar, most stumbling, some falling flat on their faces only to be dragged back to their feet by drunken companions, though most of them stumbled with their drunken walks, one man did not. Rath walked casually from the door, passed up the fallen with a grin, there was no stumble in his step, his blue eyes clear as the day they so closely resembled.

He was once again lost in thought as he made his way back to the inn he was staying at, he had two sources of the information regarding the stone, one was fairly reliable, the other was most likely worthless, but the information had been similar from both. The first, more reliable source was a trusted friend of his, a man keen on information, his only problem was most of that information was useless, according to him though, the information regarding the stone was almost common sense, even if Rath had heard nothing of it. The other, worthless source, was a drunken man Rath had shared a table with at a bar in another city, wouldn't shut up about how he would find this great artifect and use it to become rich and powerful.

Rath paused in his thinking to look up, glance around for no reason in particular, why he did this was unknow even to himself, but there was something familar in the air, he could almost sense something, or maybe even someone he knew. It was weird, he had never felt anything like this before, no matter how close the friend was, but he was almost certain someone he knew was close by, then he remembered that Zyta was in this town, and that he was no ordinary person. Rath spotted a tumble-down building in horrible repair, an ancient building from the original town, nothing but a ruin.

He slowly walked up to it, saw that the ancient, broken doorway was covered with a somewhat new looking piece of leather, he would've knocked, had it been a door and not a leather blanket. Instead he pushed it aside, stepped inside with a calm, friendly, "Anyone home?" Though he knew someone was home, and he knew who that someone was.

[Zyta]

Zyta had heard the man approaching like the annoyance of a fly and hoped it was some lost drunkard passing by. He wasn’t that lucky. The thin air told Zyta that it was nearing morning; the time to leave was quickly drawing closer. For the most of the time when he wasn’t asleep, Zyta had been dressing himself properly by donning his favorite traveling clothes on and even packed his long distance traveling pack. Somehow, he knew in his gut that this would be the last time Zyta would ever see such a place. The discarded papers would be left behind of course; he had no more use for them. He would travel light, and as always hunt if hungry. Zyta gave the single room one last thoughtful look before regarding the man standing at the door.

“And what do I owe this special occasion?” Zyta asked coldly to Rath. He stalked to the door almost silently despite what he wore and pulled back the rug. There was a fancy design of a monster that would only hold significance for Zyta standing guard over some city or other. “I’m in a hurry,” he told him suddenly.

[Nevermore]

Rath completely ignored Zyta, walked right past him and sat down heavily on the make-shift bed, gave him a hurt look, "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" He asked, then grinned as he looked around the single room, it was filthy, though there wasn't much point in keeping the dump clean. He causually bent and scooped up a handful of dirty papers, shifted through them, reading the names and dropping them. "Do you know where you're going?" He asked lightly as he looked through the papers.

After the last one left his hand he looked up, "I'm gonna assume that the stone you're looking for is the same one i'm looking for, that's reason i came to this little town, i came for information on that stone, unfortunately it's hard to come by, save for the same exact stories everytime. But you must know something, since you can so readily get up and go, so tell me, what do you know?" He grinned and stood up, "I have some information, if you're willing to slow down for a moment."

[Zyta]

Zyta allowed the man entry, though kept a close eye on him. Something felt odd about the man; Zyta was sure of it as his free hand went instinctively toward one of the hidden daggers up his sleeve. The motion would not be detected; the arm used was on the other side of his body and moved swiftly enough that none of his clothing swayed even an inch. His eyes were not to be seen under the wall of black hair but so fierce was their intensity the glare could be felt even now. Zyta spoke even before Rath had opened his mouth.

“Time’s up,” he states simply and began walking away at a brisk pace, “and now I’m late. Come! We can talk on the way,” he added to not appear rude for he certainly felt it.

His hand relaxed upon the thin blade and was limp at his side swinging as he walked. He began mulling thoughts over in his head, complete with the sudden appearance of Rath. It had to mean something; he knew that there was no such thing as coincidences in this type of job.

“I’m heading to Solm for now, the rest we can discuss on the way,” said Zyta. There was another reason for his quick leavature, one more childish then any would think of him. Truth be told, he had felt another friendly, familiar presence nearby and hastened to retreat from her. If memory served him correctly, he owed her money and left her in the worst of ways. He spoke her name as though it were poison on the lips and needed to be rid of quickly. “Dain… do you hate me still?” he whispered only to himself and quiet enough so Rath wouldn’t have heard.