70th of Zi'Da 717
The Trial had been young, with a massive cerulean dome of blue painted with pasty white clouds above their heads. Early, on the brutal cold came along and swept through the Trees, and various buildings throughout Almund. The Zi'da was beautiful despite it being the forewarning of a vile Cylus to come. The several inches of snow nearly covered his knee-high boots, and with his every step the crunch of snow echoed about the streets. They were emptied, and several homes were alight with visible candles in several windows. People who had the desire to remain warm and did not have the intention of being cooled beyond reason remained in the comfort of their homes. Merces on the other hand had never been one of those people. A protagonist is someone who defeats the odds, and goes against the grain rather than behaving in a normal manner like everyone else did. Even in the brutal cold where hands trembled, bodies shook, and the flesh became frost-bitten he had no time to rest. White mist exited his lips with every breath he took, and the wind did not chill him as it normally would. It refused to touch him, and while he questioned the motive behind the lack of contact at first; he truly did not care. The elements were wild, and spontaneous. They did as they pleased just as he would and cared little for the opinion of others; they were forces after-all and not meant to befriend the typical person.
With several hesitant steps he approached one of the several infamous locations in Almund. “Port Diablo” he spoke aloud as he read from his journal the name of such a location. This had been the area that flourished with ships, secrets, and various trades. People from all over Idalos came to visit this location, and he had been another one of the many. Odd individuals like himself who took advantage of the cold, windy and hailing weather walked about. While the remainder of the town had been silent, this place buzzed far more loud than a colony of bees. The feathers of his extravagant looking cloak fluttered, and shook off snow with each of his steps. There were several men and women alike who carried he same sorts of weapons. Cutlasses, dread-locked hair, decorative beads, and the smell of ocean air accompanied those individuals. They obviously lived a life filled with travel, adventure and exploration, but he did not have the desire to approach anyone who so openly displayed their arms. They spoke with heavy accents, and wore thick layered clothing with abrasive boots as to not slide around the deck of a moving ship.
Yet, with his flaming eyes one of them grew intrigued and approached him hesitantly. The Biqaj seemed to have known all too well what sort Merces had been. She was beautiful, with blonde, beaded lengthy hair and an imperfect body type. She had wide hips, a slender stomach, large breasts, a flat backside, thick thighs, and muscular calves. She was a woman who had obviously been battle hardened, tired and bored. The young woman had been clad in nothing more than a top which left her navel exposed to the elements. It had been made of fur and had white sheep hide surrounding the neck, her boots, gloves, and trousers too were made of a various combination of animals. A survivalist, a combatant, and a ferocious woman all at once? She wanted something from him, and did not stop her continuous gaze until he ceased all motion. Merces approached her with caution, and both hands tucked into the pockets of his leather shorts, beneath his feathered cloak.
There he stood, black clad in his simplistic leather armor and he had been the one to initiate their exchange of words. With white steam that exited his lips in between words he spoke. “Hello there, I am Merces. I noticed that you had a rather intrigued look on your face. What is it you desire?” He spoke confidently, clearly, and audibly as several other individuals bypassed the two engaged in conversation.
“I am Velatha, Your eyes are what made me stop and look at you. Not every person walking around Sca'voris have eyes that are entirely too bright. Your eyes are unlike any other pair I have ever seen, and they tell me you are powerful, yeah?” Velatha spoke aloud and did not bother to be anything other than blunt with him. She had been obvious with her choice of words, and required a favor. With a single hand placed about the circumference of her cutlass's hilt; she stood her ground before the sorcerer.
Merces took a moment to think, but he had been given no time. A cutlass rested against the very flesh of his carotid artery long before he had the opportunity to speak. She had been far more than capable of defending herself even against the likes of him. “You're going to do me a little favor yeah? There are a band of fools who leapt aboard my ship! They stole from me, and you're going to go get em'! Otherwise I will behead you, and the remainder of my Crew will be here to pick up the pieces! They were headed towards a place called the... Sweetwine woods. Go find em' and they could not have gone far considerin' this only happened a few bits ago yeah? Go, now!” She voiced aloud, and Merces felt his heart race at her every word. She had not only been stolen from, but she had been equally as deadly with a sword as he had with magic.
“Dead or alive?” Merces spoke aloud as he pushed away the cutlass, and stepped backward.
“Either or, They'll die if you bring them to me, and they'll die if you kill them first.” Valatha spoke as she turned away. She returned to her ship, and Merces ventured off to find the band of individuals who made the unwise choice to steal from a pirate. Who in the right mind would dare tread upon a ship that does not belong to them, let alone steal from a pirate?
The Trial had been young, with a massive cerulean dome of blue painted with pasty white clouds above their heads. Early, on the brutal cold came along and swept through the Trees, and various buildings throughout Almund. The Zi'da was beautiful despite it being the forewarning of a vile Cylus to come. The several inches of snow nearly covered his knee-high boots, and with his every step the crunch of snow echoed about the streets. They were emptied, and several homes were alight with visible candles in several windows. People who had the desire to remain warm and did not have the intention of being cooled beyond reason remained in the comfort of their homes. Merces on the other hand had never been one of those people. A protagonist is someone who defeats the odds, and goes against the grain rather than behaving in a normal manner like everyone else did. Even in the brutal cold where hands trembled, bodies shook, and the flesh became frost-bitten he had no time to rest. White mist exited his lips with every breath he took, and the wind did not chill him as it normally would. It refused to touch him, and while he questioned the motive behind the lack of contact at first; he truly did not care. The elements were wild, and spontaneous. They did as they pleased just as he would and cared little for the opinion of others; they were forces after-all and not meant to befriend the typical person.
With several hesitant steps he approached one of the several infamous locations in Almund. “Port Diablo” he spoke aloud as he read from his journal the name of such a location. This had been the area that flourished with ships, secrets, and various trades. People from all over Idalos came to visit this location, and he had been another one of the many. Odd individuals like himself who took advantage of the cold, windy and hailing weather walked about. While the remainder of the town had been silent, this place buzzed far more loud than a colony of bees. The feathers of his extravagant looking cloak fluttered, and shook off snow with each of his steps. There were several men and women alike who carried he same sorts of weapons. Cutlasses, dread-locked hair, decorative beads, and the smell of ocean air accompanied those individuals. They obviously lived a life filled with travel, adventure and exploration, but he did not have the desire to approach anyone who so openly displayed their arms. They spoke with heavy accents, and wore thick layered clothing with abrasive boots as to not slide around the deck of a moving ship.
Yet, with his flaming eyes one of them grew intrigued and approached him hesitantly. The Biqaj seemed to have known all too well what sort Merces had been. She was beautiful, with blonde, beaded lengthy hair and an imperfect body type. She had wide hips, a slender stomach, large breasts, a flat backside, thick thighs, and muscular calves. She was a woman who had obviously been battle hardened, tired and bored. The young woman had been clad in nothing more than a top which left her navel exposed to the elements. It had been made of fur and had white sheep hide surrounding the neck, her boots, gloves, and trousers too were made of a various combination of animals. A survivalist, a combatant, and a ferocious woman all at once? She wanted something from him, and did not stop her continuous gaze until he ceased all motion. Merces approached her with caution, and both hands tucked into the pockets of his leather shorts, beneath his feathered cloak.
There he stood, black clad in his simplistic leather armor and he had been the one to initiate their exchange of words. With white steam that exited his lips in between words he spoke. “Hello there, I am Merces. I noticed that you had a rather intrigued look on your face. What is it you desire?” He spoke confidently, clearly, and audibly as several other individuals bypassed the two engaged in conversation.
“I am Velatha, Your eyes are what made me stop and look at you. Not every person walking around Sca'voris have eyes that are entirely too bright. Your eyes are unlike any other pair I have ever seen, and they tell me you are powerful, yeah?” Velatha spoke aloud and did not bother to be anything other than blunt with him. She had been obvious with her choice of words, and required a favor. With a single hand placed about the circumference of her cutlass's hilt; she stood her ground before the sorcerer.
Merces took a moment to think, but he had been given no time. A cutlass rested against the very flesh of his carotid artery long before he had the opportunity to speak. She had been far more than capable of defending herself even against the likes of him. “You're going to do me a little favor yeah? There are a band of fools who leapt aboard my ship! They stole from me, and you're going to go get em'! Otherwise I will behead you, and the remainder of my Crew will be here to pick up the pieces! They were headed towards a place called the... Sweetwine woods. Go find em' and they could not have gone far considerin' this only happened a few bits ago yeah? Go, now!” She voiced aloud, and Merces felt his heart race at her every word. She had not only been stolen from, but she had been equally as deadly with a sword as he had with magic.
“Dead or alive?” Merces spoke aloud as he pushed away the cutlass, and stepped backward.
“Either or, They'll die if you bring them to me, and they'll die if you kill them first.” Valatha spoke as she turned away. She returned to her ship, and Merces ventured off to find the band of individuals who made the unwise choice to steal from a pirate. Who in the right mind would dare tread upon a ship that does not belong to them, let alone steal from a pirate?
Boxcode Credit: Poppy
