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| Picking up the Pieces; Open | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 15 2011, 01:47 AM (179 Views) | |
| Balak Windous | Jun 15 2011, 01:47 AM Post #1 |
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There are times within a young man's life where he moves out from his family's house and goes to live on his own. For Balak it was not this happy way. He watched as a teenager while his mother was dragged from their pathetic hovel in the heart of the human city by his cursed father and then splattered against the walls. That day, his sister picked him up and ran from that horrible place to the safety of the outlying woods. From that moment on, Balak began his decent into the depths of depression. His sister disappeared a few years later and never came back. Alone. He was completely alone. Now, at 90 years old, he was a young elf....well...he was a young fallen elf. An Erapor, cursed and fallen from his original form for a crime he had committed in ignorance. From the instant he was dragged down to The Under for that bitches crime, he knew his purpose. He was going to come back and rip her to shreds with his horrid demonic claws; claws that were her fault. He would enjoy it to, every second of revenge would be the only solace of this entire situation. However, first he wanted to go somewhere to settle his thoughts. He needed to go where his life began, where the horrors started and where he wanted this new life-this horrible existence as a demon-that poor hovel in the streets of the Southern district of Stronferth. He knew that his kind were not welcome anywhere outside of The Under, but he needed the closure and so he risked his death coming up to the surface. To minimize any problems, he waited till dark to venture through the streets. He made sure his claws and horns were as retracted as possible and just to be safe he put on a plain pair of gloves and a cloak. As he walked, the sights and smells were just as pungent, still as filthy and decrepit as it once was-so many years ago. He walked slowly, his boots moving the putrid water and debris that littered the walkways. Guards moved in and out of the alleys, some looked his way as though he was a potential threat, others didn't even notice he was there. To them, he was just another filthy creature of this place. |
| Xorad | Jun 15 2011, 04:27 PM Post #2 |
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Sitting on a rooftop, Xorad simply observed the nighttime life of the city. His usual companion was off in some meeting with one of her kind, so he was left to fend for himself. Rather than sit in a mundane forest, he might as well find something interesting to do with his time alone. While the thought of being around a large number of humans was messing with his head and his ability to know peoples fears, he needed to interact with someone. When left completely and utterly alone with no distractions, Xorad became a bit impulsive in an unhealthy sense. Often turning to self-mutilation to distract himself, he was plagued by horrible and reoccurring flashbacks of his brother. Trying desperately to break the habit of drifting to those thoughts, he scanned the crowd, or lack thereof, for something or someone interesting. Passing over person after person, he let their fears come to him nonchalantly. Spiders, snakes, the dark, fire, blood, empty -wait, what? Refocusing on a man he passed over, he became intrigued. Though he could not see the man's face, the fact that he could not read his fears deeply interested him. The only explanation that came to mind was that either that man was a demon or he had a way to block his ability. Both possibilities provoked questions. If he was a demon, why was he here in Stronferth; if he was not, how the hell was he blocking him. |
| Balak Windous | Jun 16 2011, 03:25 AM Post #3 |
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Balak continued down the street and had to hold his breath a few times. The scents here were so familiar and so wretched. He remember the times his mother had come home and told him how she'd worked hard making dresses for rich women of the city.. and how he knew she was lying. Work down here was reserved to the dregs of society and from that she and his beloved sister had worked by selling their bodies to these filthy men. It turned his gut even to this day. Clenching his teeth he continued on for another few blocks till he saw the place he'd left so many years ago. It was still there! There was another family inside; a little boy and his father sitting on a mat that looked to be as clean as the rest of the streets and a plump woman with a small loaf of bread and an apple. They ate their meal with happy smiles as if that bread and apple were a feast. Before long the smiles turned to deep frowns as the woman put on a shawl and began to fix her hair with her fingers. The man hugged her from behind and began to weep as the child watched on. She was going to get more for them to eat and the man could do nothing about it. Helplessness. That was the tune of this place. Balak stood watching in the shadows as the woman left the hovel. Soon after the man left as well, most likely off to a darker part of the area to work like his woman in the worst parts of town. The boy was left alone. He lay on that filthy mat and feel right to sleep. Balak wept for him. It was brief but it was undeniable what he felt. Balak approached the hovel and could still see the bloody hand prints and smears on the walls and the doorway. It appeared as though someone had tried to scratch it out, but scars like that could never be torn away. Balak knew what he wanted to do, but this boy...this family was in his way. Against his better judgement he was still going to do what he had come to do, but he needed to move the child out. Stooping down, he entered the place and with sheer willpower kept his cool. Being in this place was tearing his resolve. He carefully picked up the boy-who stirred at the movement- and gently lulled him back to sleep with a gentle rock of his arms. So innocent, so pure yet left in this place. Life was so cruel. He walked out until the hovel was out of site and put the boy down. He would get him out of the city when he left. He walked swiftly back to that hovel and stared at it. Awaiting his chance. |
| Xorad | Jun 17 2011, 11:34 AM Post #4 |
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Continuing to observe the hooded man, Xorad was puzzled. The man had stared at an insignificant place and pulled out an unfortunate, yet insignificant young boy. Wondering silently what this man's purpose was, he weighed the options of approaching him. Would he be overly defensive with someone he did not know, or would he be civil. Deciding that his curiosity would be satisfied this night, he pushed himself off of the building. Landing with a soft thud, he approached the hovel, leaning his tall frame against the door. "May I ask who you are?" He did not want to seem arrogant, or creepy. Especially not creepy. Still, he was curious about his inability to read the stranger and why he was so interested in this unremarkable place. |
| Balak Windous | Jun 18 2011, 01:58 AM Post #5 |
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Balak, lost in thought, didn't notice the other man till he was in the door frame of the hovel. He started and stepped back with alarm. For a moment he was taken by surprise with his hands raised in a defensive pose. It took him a few seconds to calm himself and stand back at attention. He watched the stranger with raised eyebrows when he was asked who he was. He remained silent and just stared at him. Then he shifted his weight and inched forward as he tried to get a closer look, this person didn't seem like a person, he smelled like something from The Under...perhaps another demon, but what kind was yet to be seen. You may ask, but I wouldn't hold your breath for a response. I have business here and you in the doorway won't stop me. He sniffed the air and realized a slight breeze had picked up. That wasn't a good sign, he had hoped this calm nigh would be perfect, so that the blaze he intended to start wouldn't spread, but perhaps, in its own way this whole place deserved to burn. |
| Xorad | Jun 27 2011, 03:17 PM Post #6 |
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Interesting, the demon thought. "No one is trying to stop you. You just struck a sudden curiosity, so I may be following you until you divulge the information I seek or until I grow bored of you." Xorad needed a distraction and didn't care if the man did not welcome him. He was not one to get in the way, or to be involved in anything that could kill him. "Who are you?" Xorad asked with certainty this time, instead of asking permission to ask a question. "I offer my assistance, if it would be of any use. Perhaps you can tell me what you intend to do with the child, innocent as he is." The man's tenderness toward the child intrigued him and he would indulge in his curiosity this time rather than being smart and staying out of it. |
| Balak Windous | Jul 7 2011, 05:22 PM Post #7 |
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Balak rolled his eyes at the first comment. So, it was playing games; how........wonderful. He scoffed and fished inside his pockets, searching for his vial of burning potion. He was desperate to burn this place to the ground, every memory of his old life here and the final cataclysmic event that shattered his youth were creeping into his mind. The flash backs were unbearable as nightmares and here they were more horrific. The smells and sights setting him back and increasing his desperation 10 fold. His hands shook in his pockets as he finally felt the damn glass thing and yanked it out unceremoniously. Taking a deep breathe, he recomposed himself from his hectic search and find then looked towards the odd man asking him questions. He looked over his shoulder towards the crates the boy was still resting on and held his pose for a moment--his left hand in a white knuckled fist by his side and his right hand cradling the vial as if it contained the elixir of life. Here it was, his moment of preemptive triumph and he was hesitating. Befuddled, he sighed and loosened his grip on his fist, only to discover his claws had left bloody marks on his palms. This was his reason, he thought, the need to revenge and then a fresh start. My name is Balak and I'm here to do a good deed for a wrecked world. The boy will be kept safe so long as I have a say in it. Then in an icy voice, filled with the echoes of memories he added And whoever you are, I suggest you duck.... With that, he threw back his arm and hurled the entire vial, still with its stopper into the dwelling. As it left his hand, he was already turning towards the crates and was making a dash to pick up the boy. As his hand reached to pick the sleeping boy up, the glass shattered in the hovel-spilling the contents upon the floor and splattering on the walls. Without any further warning the house erupted in roaring flames, the light and heat covering the surrounding area before sucking in the air to feed itself. It was a monster there as it consumed the building in seconds then made its way through the area. Gorging itself on the wicked streets and filling the air with thick black smoke. The boy woke up with a start at the sound of the fire's initial roar and sat up in Balak's arms, in the light he could only make out a face inside a dark cloak, but his instincts told him something dark was inside. He screamed and kicked until Balak had no choice but to let him go. The boy ran and disappeared into the smoke. |
| Xorad | Jul 17 2011, 03:00 PM Post #8 |
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The man seemed frantic, and a bit strange. Probably a little bit mad, crazy, loony, but Xorad could deal with that. Twitchy, fumbling and shaky. Yes, probably a bit crazy. But that interested the Azuatm even more. Curiosity held his attention as to what was held in his pockets, but then his attention returned to the boy, still sleeping. Only catching his name and the word "duck," Xorad backed out of the hovel not needing to be told twice. The explosion of flame was glorious, holding his attention like a moth drawn to flame. Standing still, observing and basking in the fire's warmth his ears tuned into the screaming of the boy who had previously been unconscious. This was why he hated being in cities, too many people pulling Fear in too many directions for him to remain focused. Approaching the man calmly and in a non-threatening manner, he spoke the only wisdom in his being, "Good is not in a Demon's repertoire. Any good we try to do turns to ash." He did not mean it to be rude, or comforting. To Xorad things were very black and white. It was either logical or it was not, either right or wrong. Demons were individually capable of stepping outside their shadowy nature or they were not. The results of the efforts, however, he found were rarely desired. The Demon placed a hand on the other man's shoulder in a comforting manner and backed away, curious as to what he would do next. |
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2:08 PM Jul 11
