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Post by Iracundus on Aug 31, 2008 12:00:12 GMT -5
Iracundus stared at the lanky islander. His yellow eyes, his spiky hair, to be sure he was the genetic template of his people. They were renowned warriors, and this...Mirthil had shown himself to be such by eliminating some of his best warriors with such little effort. Still, that smile perturbed him. Dug into him like a thousand sharpened hooks, piercing his mental flesh. Struggling, it just made things worse. But Iracundus always struggled. He struggled to live. He had struggled to die.
"You are needed in this land. Before I can make things right for you, you must make things right for me..."
The dream echoed hollow in his mind, much as it would if the presence itself had started speaking in this very building. The stone was gray, falling apart in areas. It had been here far longer than he had, but Iracundus bent it to his will. The place belonged to him. He no longer wore his public ceremony dresses. The white trimmed with gold...some sort of representation of hope to the people. He smirked dryly. People don't deserve hope.
The tower was covered by a bulbous, yet still elegant roof. It passed his precipice and was its multiple in height several times over. If someone were to look up, even from the Monarch's position, they would see nothing but infinite blackness. The only areas lit were his tower, and the larger platform below. Hundreds of his assassins knelt calmly, patiently, at his presence. They would wait their entire lifetimes if they had to.
"Hm. Mirthil, is it? My lord has spoken of you. You are dangerous, but you are a part of his will. It is in my best interest to keep you here, to decide what to do with you."
He smirked off into the darkness almost absentmindedly, his deep green eyes penetrating it without fear. Looking it down, even.
"Unfortunately, this calls for a conclave. Not of my discretion, of course, but by law of Nillea. I will need at least one more Monarch in my presence to decide what to do with you. If it were my will, you would have been kept in the dungeons until the very day you are needed."
Mirthil just looked up at him and grinned. Why won't he stop smiling?
Iracundus felt himself being...studied by those dim yellow eyes. They knew they were getting to him. That's what they wanted. Mirthil was familiar with mindgames...all too much so for Iracundus, unfortunately.
"Keep up that ugly grin of yours. Your fate is in our hands either way."
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Post by Fantasma on Sept 2, 2008 16:54:19 GMT -5
With a loud and triumphant sigh, Fantasma entered with less grace than she could have.
Mind you, it wasn't all her fault, the stairs were mostly to blame. Her skin glistened with sweat from the effort and she had caught the skirt of the outfit on something during the journey, tearing apart at the thigh. In her left hand she held a pair of high heels minus the heels bit, and her hair stuck to her skin with moisture. She ran her free hand under her hair to give the ebony locks some air.
Without so much as a greeting, Fantasma said, "You know, I was saying to myself the other day 'Fantasma, why don't you ever visit dear Iracundus?'. And on my way up to see you, it suddenly came rushing back to me. You have too many bloody steps." She hissed, scratching at the back of her neck. Her eyes flashed a brilliant pink as she looked up at tall man with annoyance.
It was then she noticed the other being in the room. Fantasma eyed him slowly, drinking in his features. She wasn't exactly sure what to think of the islander, but he was most certainly... different from what she was used to seeing. Hurriedly, her eyes switched back to Iracundus.
"My apologies. I'm interrupting, aren't I?"
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Post by Iracundus on Sept 2, 2008 17:52:46 GMT -5
"Not at all," he smirked. "Still have a problem with my steps?"
His smirk turned to a twisted grin. Her form caught his eyes, and he stared for a moment. She certainly fit her namesake. Up and down he caught all he could of her figure. Flustered and sweaty, just the way he liked 'em. He turned to Mirthil, who had just been attempting to rise. A swift kick straight from his throne denied the islander an opportunity.
"In fact, it's most beneficial that you have come, or else I would have had to force him to climb the steps again."
The thought wasn't entirely repugnant to Iracundus. Watching people writhe around and struggle had its certain...pleasures. He had quite enjoyed Fantasma's pithy attempt at climbing to the top his Step. He thought of teasing her a little bit, but threw the thought aside.
"I may have to wait for more of the Monarchy, but for now, let me bring you up to speed. This islander is fit for punishment. He went against my rule, refused to meet my custody. I'm trying to come up with a correct execution for him. I'm assuming your kind has...interesting ways going about that?"
He nonchalantly smirked toward her, allowing his eyes to meet hers, for the moment.
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Post by Fantasma on Sept 3, 2008 8:43:49 GMT -5
Although she'd grown used to a man's eyes on her, there was something about Iracundus that always made her uneasy. Being the proud beast she was, she refused to show her anxiousness outwardly and masked it with a thoughtful look.
"Execution?" Fantasma mumbled, switching her weight from one foot to another, "Darling, succubi make love, not war. We're not naturally vengeful beings..."
She set her broken shoes on the ground carefully and leisurely drew closer to the men. Chewing the corner of her lip, she observed the stranger from another angle with quiet curiosity. He didn't look like much of a threat, but she had come to the conclusion she didn't like him, or those eyes.
"That is not to say we don't kill," She smiled, "It's just usually by accident. Sometimes a succubus doesn't know when to stop, and she might feed off a man for days on end. Death by sex, and it's not as great as one would think. Death's gentle embrace comes as a blessing to those boys."
A frown spread across Fantasma's face. "Although, slicing off the fun parts was a popular method with particularly vindictive or wanton succubi. It's a messy way to die, painful and slow..." She shook her head sadly, but stifled a smile at the thought, "It just ruins a perfectly good meal in my opinion. The wasteful creatures..."
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Post by Iracundus on Sept 3, 2008 16:17:53 GMT -5
Iracundus looked towards Mirthil for a moment, and laughed.
"Your people's executions are usually sexual in nature, interesting." He continued his gaze over to the other Monarch. "Even in death you won't let lust leave their minds."
Seductresses, all of them. To him, succubus were the perfect example of human nature, albeit greatly exaggerated. Oh how they clung to such a base and primitive act.
Mirthil rose again. Iracundus kicked again, but missed. A slight sense of shock registered in his mind, and then his eyes grew wide as the islander took his throat. Fast bastard, he thought.
Two Haiaki leaped to his aid, but they were kicked down by Mirthil's impressive reflexes. Two kicks, both lethal hits to the throat. Bone broke, the beasts yelped, and fell to the ground whimpering. Iracundus' blood boiled. Mirthil's eyes turned to Fantasma.
"I smell it on her, don't you, Monarch? The smell of a succulent, high class whore!"
Mirthil's eyes were aglow with an insane glee as he choked the Monarch, pinning him to his own throne. Mirthil dug his unkempt nails deeper into the man's flesh, to which Iracundus didn't even wince. Pain was an afterthought to the man. Right now he barely registered that he was in danger.
Mirthil then grabbed a dagger that Iracundus had reserved for any possible bloodletting during the trial. He held it to the Monarch's throat, then eyed Fantasma yet again.
"I can smell everyone you've ever consumed in the act, woman. Don't think I can't. I know the type you like, your weaknesses. But, less talk, more death!"
With a deft movement, Mirthil hefted Iracundus in the air and launched him off of the Step. Iracundus was shocked by the islander's level of strength. Sadistic laughter echoed as the Monarch fell straight into the stone below. The Fist of Naught was already at work. They scaled the tower quickly, but were cut down by Mirthil's speed before they even had a chance to attack. Barely even breathing, he turned his gaze back to Fantasma, and then to Iracundus. He only grinned as he bowed, and then pointed the dagger at her.
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Post by Fantasma on Sept 4, 2008 14:53:36 GMT -5
For the first time in quite a while, Fantasma had been left with no words. To see Iracundus over powered so easily like that... Her stomach churned with silent horror, but her face remained still, emotionless. It had been sometime since she had last felt true fear. Maybe I'll skip my midnight meal, she thought, stay in the tower where it's safe.
The paranoia sent a shiver up her spine. She knew she could take care of herself should something happen but she didn't feel like taking a chance.
"Huh. What a cruel and unneeded comment..." She finally said, smirking through her fear. It wasn't the most appropriate emotion to show at the moment, but finding humor in a situation always made her feel better. She cleared her throat and looked towards Iracundus with a sudden remorseful look. "Are you alright? I-I apologize, I wish I could've been of use to you but I wasn't prepared. I didn't come here expecting to brawl."
With sad eyes, Fantasma offered a kind hand to the Monarch.
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Post by Iracundus on Sept 5, 2008 14:46:30 GMT -5
Iracundus looked into her eyes...sadness? Pity? Remorse? Nothing Iracundus would have, nothing he deserved. Ignoring her hand he rose to his feet, and as politely as he possibly could smiled towards her. A genuine smile, of strange amusement. Mirthil was a warrior after all.
Mirthil's twisted amusement continued to focus on Fantasma.
"Lust, is it? Hmm, earthly decadence? You steal energy, and in turn provide sexual favors. There's a lotta logic going into that argument; 'oh, I want is so bad, I need it. Mm, that succubus will satisfy my urge, the cheap trick she will, and she'll take my soul in the transaction!"
Mirthil laughed viciously and jumped down the tower's height. He landed elegantly, strange for a hundred meter fall. He then looked towards Iracundus, hundreds of Fist assassins, and one very succulent Lust. With dagger in hand he proceeded to rush the conglomerate of fighters behind them. He cut randomly, but always in fatal areas. A throat tore, he heard the flesh rip like a burlap sack overflowing with meat and blood. Someone's heart made its last beat, reverberated onto the blade, and into Mirthil's hand. He yanked the dagger out with no remorse. As soon as a pile of bodies was amassed, Iracundus merely clapped, halting everyone's movements.
"Very well. Fists, leave our presence. I can handle him alone. Impressive...islander."
He said nothing of Fantasma, whom he secretly desired to keep around...for later. When this pleabian was dead, of course. Perhaps for dinner, he smirked.
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Post by Fantasma on Sept 6, 2008 12:09:42 GMT -5
She glanced at Iracundus with mild confusion, but his decision to face the islander alone aroused her interest. She wasn't sure if he was overconfident in his own abilities or simply stupid, but she said nothing. Fantasma nodded earnestly toward him before turning her attention to the remarks being thrown in her direction. In an attempt to calm her nerves, she inhaled deeply. The scent of men and of the fallen eagerly rushed up to greet her, causing a feeble smile to spread along her features. There was something about it that she found delightful and yet appalling as well. It made her body ache pleasantly.
Fantasma's eyes were livid, gleaming a sharp coral pink. "You have got some nerve. Thinking you've got my kind all figured out. As if we really were that simple... You know nothing of me or my people..." She muttered under her breath. Although, Mirthil was simply stating the facts, she refused to believe that she could be summed up in such crude terms. She wasn't going to waste anymore words on him, shouting to the unreasonable would be counterproductive in her opinion.
"I trust you'll cure him of his ignorance, Iracundus?" She inquired with closed eyes, concern evident in her voice.
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Post by Iracundus on Sept 6, 2008 13:21:22 GMT -5
"Of course I will. Rogues such as these are to be educated or expunged. If he will not learn..."
Iracundus dashed toward the islander and snatched him before he could move. You're not the only one who's fast around here, he thought to himself amusedly. He tossed Mirthil straight into the stone, and delighted at the mild cracks and pops, whether it was rock or bone. Before Mirthil could get up, an iron boot crushed Mirthil's lungs, hoping to end his defiance. Perhaps his breath as well.
"You treat women with respect, you understand?"
A harder thrust from his leg forced Mirthil to cough up blood, but still the irreversible smile persisted. He grasped Iracundus' armored leg and let out a ragged laugh.
"That's the thing...she ain't a woman!"
The pressure worsened. Any more and it would start breaking bones.
"Fantasma is a respected and elegant female of our Monarchy. You will respect all women, especially those who hold a seat in the Chateau."
Mirthil laughed again, uglier and gurgled.
"Your false sense of respect is trite, Monarch. I know you're just trying to earn the favor of these women. Especially the one that isn't!"
Mirthil forced the last bit of strength he had to come out and pushed Iracundus' leg away. He swallowed the blood and laughed. With lightning speed he grabbed the dagger he dropped and headed for the dazed Monarch. Iracudnus retrieved his sword nearly as quickly, and the blades clashed. The dagger wouldn't hold out for long, but Mirthil was smart enough to know that. He relented from taking the sword head on, and jabbed sensitive points in Iracundus' armor. My sword can't hit him...he's too quick, he thought in a state of amazement. He dropped his sword and instead used his hand. It again took Mirthil by the throat, but he had different plans. He kicked the Monarch away, their two bodies forcing each other in different directions. Iracundus lay precariously close to the edge.
Mirthil grabbed the Monarch's sword and heaved a laugh, he could now impale Iracundus at any moment. He walked towards him and lifted his own sword against him. It came down, and a noise echoed throughout the Step.
An Iron Clap.
Iracundus' gauntlets pancaked the blade's flat end in between in his palms. A smirk came across his face- one to match Mirthil's. He pulled the sword down and grabbed Mirthil by the throat again. An iron fist met his gut, and then his jaw. Held aloft by his neck, Iracundus held the islander just over the edge.
"Move and you die. Now, Fantasma, my dear. How do you suppose we rid ourselves of this cur?"
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Post by Fantasma on Sept 6, 2008 16:03:31 GMT -5
Fantasma beamed as she daintily tip-toped toward the other Monarch. It had been quite the pretentious display of strength on both Iracudus' and Mirthil's part but either way, she had enjoyed it. The bit about 'respect' was a nice touch as well. A well-rehearsed act, she was sure, but it had been the thought that count.
The succubus looked the prisoner up and down. She hummed in thought, twisting the balls of her feet into stone of the Step. "He put on a nice show. Nothing too horrible... But I want to make him eat his words. Pulling his tongue would be pretty painful..." Fantasma chewed at her fingernails, her eyes narrowing as her mind tried to come up with a suitable punishment.
"You know what, just cut the little wankers throat out and be done with it. I've had enough of his sorry face for today. "
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Post by Avaritia on Oct 4, 2009 22:11:21 GMT -5
"That is enough, Iracundus," a voice suddenly washed over the room, cold and something short of monotonous. "And would you kindly set our guest down on the floor?"
The sound of uneven footsteps echoed into the chamber as a figure made its way up from the last step. The person, feminine in shape, wasn't very grand, but indeed was royal in her stance, standing as tall as it could without putting much pressure onto her weaker leg, her chin held high. Her dark eyes examined the room distantly, looking to each face in-turn; one looked tired (as to be expected of nearly anyone after climbing so many steps to get here) and yet somewhat amused, and the others showed fresh signs of battle, and judging by the way Wrath held the tanned smiling man by the throat, the tan one was losing at the moment. Her brow furrowed gently. This was a fight no one should have been losing, and one that should not have been started in the first place. Her expression could only be described as emotionless, but she exuded a sense of annoyance or disappointment.
She continued her slight limp further into the room, passing Lust. A slight twist to her stoic frown slipped onto her face, the corners of her thin lips faintly drawing themselves up as she approached Iracundus and the islander. "Surely, such a jolly man may be of use to us. Why, dear Wrath, would we seek the aid of a sour man? Perhaps he will humour us, but first you must treat our guest properly," she paused delicately, arching a brow as her soft smirk faded, "and unfortunately, dangling our guest by the throat and threatening him does not strike me as being 'proper.'"
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Post by Iracundus on Oct 6, 2009 22:46:49 GMT -5
Iracundus acknowledged Avaritia with a quiet sigh, closing his eyes. Not a moment later, he relented his grip and let the Islander fall. Mirthil examined himself smugly before standing, appearing without an ounce of pain worn on his face.
"Yes, your kind does speak of wizards and ghosts of the unknowable past. My kind has been looked at before as some sort of oracle people- predicters and knowers as well as fighters and lovers. That doesn't matter much to me though. You're all too weak to know now what my kind is burdened with."
Mirthil smiled wanly and kicked a pebble into the air. It flew for what seemed forever, spanning the entire tower.
"I come not for my people. They will fight for themselves, as they always have. What I come for now is clarity. Your legends speak of an infinite darkness. Our people too have known this being. We warded it off with appeals to the Gods. You..."
He caught the falling pebble with teeth, grinning towards the Monarchs.
"Fought it with machines and golems and failed. And from the ashes, your kind continued forth to become this, as it is now."
He spit the pebble at Iracundus, where it deflected off of his shoulder plate, glanced off Avaritia's leg and landed squarely into the bosom of Fantasma.
"We all desire clarity. But I desire with it destruction. It is a cycle. Those of my mindset break the ground, like terrible events predicted and inflicted upon by the gods, cracking and burning the earth so that the lichens come and replace the weak and the dead with what may be stronger. Or not. It remains to be seen. Is your kind strong, or will you fall like the rest? My people survived, and yours became moss on a stone, then apes to a tree, then men to the ground. Tell me you can enter divinity through conflict. Better yet, show me. It waits, does it not, Avaritia?"
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Post by Avaritia on Oct 19, 2009 13:56:35 GMT -5
(( OoC: I hope you don't mind Ghost, but I'm going to go ahead and post. You really didn't have much to answer to that time, unless you wanted a whole elabourate post on Fantasma pulling a pebble out of her boobs.
Also, don't know if I told you about it, but the reason for the conclave has pretty much changed. Avaritia has been having odd dreams lately, and would rather like some answers. Mirthil may have them, which is why she asked for him. We probably need an explanation as to why everyone was acting the way they were before... But yeah, just so you're up to speed with the overall plot of the roleplay. )) The Monarch paused for a moment, taking in what the odd man had said. A soft, metallic cling issued from somewhere under her dress as the stone bounced off a thin, light layer of armour under her clothes. "Your words show wisdom, Islander," she said slowly, "and that is why I wished to see you. I, too, seek clarity. Perhaps the means of acquiring it were a little...rough, and I apologize for that, but I'm rather distraught by what I've seen." With a momentary silence, Avaritia stiffly allowed her hands to wander her body a little, pressing down wrinkles in her dress as drawn up by the stairs that she hadn't attended to before. It was clear that she had taken care to keep her hair as normal as possible along the way to this point. Not because of vanity, no, but of some sort of dwindling pride, to not make it seem as though she was bothered much by the climb. Perhaps she was, however, maybe more than others due to her weak leg, and perhaps she pined for a simpler way to reach this area, but right now, elevators and escalators were but a folly in this world. She sighed quietly, adjusting herself but a little futher, before finally settling for her work. She stepped forward more, approaching the tanned man, while still keeping some distance for slight masked fear. "You see, as of late, I've been having these...dreams, I suppose. It's odd, though; they feel like nightmares, but I have seen nothing particularly nightmarish as of yet. In view of this, I have sought you for obvious reasons, in fact, ones you just stated: your kind are considered to be oracles of sorts. Perhaps you could help me to...figure out these images that keep coming back to me." Her eyes left the islander for a moment, finding some random point in the room to focus on. "Perhaps understanding what I've seen will not bring me peace, but it will bring me a peace of mind." Another small silence, and she drew a somewhat small bag of something from somewhere. It jingled gently as she tossed it low into the air. "If that is not enough, of course, I will pay for your services. This is the minimum."
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Post by Iracundus on Nov 26, 2009 22:54:54 GMT -5
"Money. If that is what I truly wanted, I would not have allowed myself to be apprehended, no? Perhaps my logic doesn't apply to those of this...cultivated nation. Money is nothing to me. Perhaps to my brethren it would mean the world, but even that is meaningless in its own right."
Mirthil smirked his cat's smirk again. His eyes struck dauntingly upon the Council. Only the mystic, the lady of the land, understood the darkness that lay in wait. It did not entice her as it did him. It did not make her willing to draw it out. She understood, however, that one point or another, it would have to be expunged.
"My people wish to persevere, as they have, for centuries longer than your nations. They deserve that right. You allow Horgonia to enslave our people. Put an end to it."
Iracundus stepped forward, his heavy boot kicking dust into the air.
"No. We cannot. We've not the resources to prepare a Navy capable of handling their warships. Not as we're preparing expansion into the east."
Mirthil had fell flat on his back gracelessly and giggled toward the ceiling, hundreds of meters up. Blackness. A good place to brood, thought he.
"That," he said, correcting his position to face them. "Is not my problem. My people have long loathed the outside world. It has never helped us. Prove to me that your nation is somehow more worthy of being preserved from the cycle of destruction, and I will help you stop it."
Mirthil started laughing. He felt like a true politician. He merely wished to be burning something, or perhaps crafting. This felt like a useless engagement. Nillea never budged.
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