Post by Deleted on Apr 11, 2016 19:26:25 GMT -5
Late Morning
"By the blood..." the vagrant swore weakly staring at nothing. Absolute nothing.
Through the darkness, there was nothing for him to see.
Drunkenly the haggard vagrant stumbled forward out of that unnatural void and into the softer shadows of something. He lurched forward at once and fell to his hands and knees. He felt, for just a moment, better before his stomach jerked and the contents of which splattered against the packed dirt of the alley. Now, the drifter felt ill. Years of abuse had hardened the half-man's gut to the abusive motions and methods of alcohol. That which he had just felt seemed to brush away the protective dirt of the years and made his stomach feel as pink and vulnerable as a babe's.
The drifter slowly came to his feet, no longer unsober but in fact sodden with fear even as the bootfalls of the guards who had been on his tail faded into silence.
He jerked his head back to stare at the shadow which had assailed him and saw that it was gone. There was nothing left in the place which that shrouding darkness had been. Like Death's own Mask, it had hidden him from the living world. The vagrant, who possessed no name worth telling, shied back—to leave the alley and its soft shadows for the hard light of day.
"Justice's blood on the ground." he swore again and stared out of cloudy eyes at his own hands.
"Did... did I do that?" he asked shadows.
Behind the wiry and stained beard that lay out over his ratty garments, the derelict began to grin.
Early Afternoon
The tramp sought refuge where tramps might. The low districts wherein the destitute ply their small wares and lay about. The ramshackle abodes seemed to often set against the teeth of the Justean Guard. The drifter sarcastically thought it might be because of the disease, or perhaps the leaking of the roofs which offended the sensibilities of responsible and just men. He was in a somber and curious reverie giving thought to such things as justice as he passed the haphazard estates that lined the muddy street.
The nameless half-man spied about, looking for a place which might be free from relative observation. There was... something, he needed to see. Something he needed to know. Hours earlier, he had stolen—or rather been accused of such. He stole away from the accusation and the guard gave chase. In the heat of it he, sore of knee and burnt of breath, snuck 'round a corner into relative muted darkness in hopes that he might be bypassed as the guard overtook his position. Once he'd settled his back against wall, he was struck blind and freezing.
He had been embraced by darkness. By the very hands of Fate itself.
It was here, in the humble poor sector of Helkorth he would see if he could call Fate's hands once more.
The vagrant slipped between a pair of rickety and broken homes as quietly as he could to avoid detection. Once there, he focused as he knew a mage must. Blessed by the grace of Power, the vagrant once was in a house of wonders. In this house of wonders, there were mages. Some were servants. He knew well that their Art was plied by concentration and will. Two things that he had never possessed. He remembered the welts he had been given for distracting a mage. It happened only once.
The drifter settled with a stifled grunt against a sturdy part of the oak wall and focused. He focused on darkness and poured his concentration into the idea. His mind strayed, and he thought of those things that may hide in the darkness. His concentration was broke and his expression soured.
This he repeated once, or twice. He thought of bleakness. Of darkness. Of cruel fate and the black nails of death coming to drag him down like he had thought had happened when he was struck blind.
As the darkness—his darkness, eluded him he grew angry. He felt a mind to strike out against the wall which would no doubt cause great distress to those within, but he stopped himself.
A strange thought occurred to him then, and he recalled what precisely he was thinking at the time the darkness swallowed him.
"Oh" he said quietly. He then thought of a singular concept. He worked it over in his mind, solidifying and then crystallizing the ideal.
Once it was complete, once it was perfect, he poured his concentration into it.
He thought of nothing.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
9dDNCOpj - Failure
His good eye opened slowly and he saw the wooden wall across from him.
"Damn-" he swore aloud.
"Who's out there?!" a voice cried.
The vagrant startled, and fled.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Success
He fled into absolute darkness, and out of it again. He could hear someone bickering loudly nearby at nothing, but the vagrant could not bring himself to care of that. Instead, a smile consumed his face and shifted his beard into a friendly way.
The shadow then dissipated, and the space 'tween alleys was filled abruptly with the visage of an angry resident.
"Shit!" he swore, turning tail and fleeing.
Late Afternoon
Magic. I have magic! thought the drifter's giddy mind, right about something for once. It was unhindered by alcohol's freezing and locking touch. The drifter had wandered and walked to a new part of town, still within the poor district. He didn't want to risk backlash should he be found out. Anonymity was what he wanted.
As a tramp among the poor, it was given freely. He found a new, discrete location nearabouts an old home from a time when the poor did not traipse about the district like cockroaches on the walls. He pried, peering through the hole which once housed a window and saw a few sleeping bodies within. Likely sick he thought.
He hunkered down, neath the dead shrubbery and worked his magic once more.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Success
The drifter clutched a grubby hand over his giggling lips, stifling that sound. He warped the shades, moving them around his person and peered out of the darkness to the afternoon streets. He looked around for shadows that he might be able to travel along and found none.
His spirits dropped, before he remembered where he was, and he peered up to the window. With a grin, he pulled himself up and into it.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Failure
He then landed with a loud crash. The men and women here were disturbed by the racket. One woman sat stock upright and stared into the apparent darkness. She then issued a high-pitched scream; the drifter abandoned his shroud of darkness and he made for the door. The occupants in the old home were either too sick or detached to give chase.
The vagrant fled this part of town, and made for another.
Early Evening
There was a cat. It was an orange tabby, and a tom judging by the coin-purse 'neath its tail. It was far from friendly, being that it was feral and hissed at anything that moved.
This, the drifter figured, would be his next mark. He followed the tabby from the places that a tabby might go, walking along the houses whose roofs the tabby scaled. He watched as the tabby drank water, then hissed at an urchin before scratching her and darting into a pipe. The vagrant followed the length of the pipe and waited for the cat to arrive. Eventually, it did.
It was when sunset encroached that the vagrant decided to make his move. The cat had taken a rat, and the vagrant was intent on stealing said rat.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Success
As an amorphous thing of darkness, the drifter bent low and snatched the rat from the cat's claws and teeth. The startled cat fled, and the tramp threw the carcass after the tom and laughed. He laughed, and laughed as the darkness receded. Then he continued to laugh. For once in a very long life of hardship, he found something worth laughing over. He was exultant.
Midnight
In the darkness, the derelict wandered through the streets. There were still those strangers who would lay about in the streets. Some men here were just sleeping off their last draught. Some men had ill intent.
The stranger took it all in. Helkorth. A beautiful city beneath the stars and above the grim. For some, home. For others, hell. For him? Paradise he thought. This is what freedom feels like.
In the distance, the walls rose to meet the towers and tall buildings which loomed. In the distance there was a figureless rise which might have been the bloody foothills, or it may have been some more distant mountain or incline. The stranger knew not. He looked into the immediate distance and found the few stragglers who kept the street at midnight a more interesting sight.
There was a resigned peace here. The stench of death and illness mingled with the city's foul perfumes. The drifter wanted to watch the night unfold from a vantage of peace. One apart, that would not disturb nor could be disturbed.
Once more, he thought of nothing.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Failure
The drifter stood in the street, arms outstretched when a voice rang: "Feck're ye doin'?" it growled.
The drifter blinked, looked at the large man standing post outside of an alley and promptly high-tailed it away.
"Feckin' sick feck." the brute muttered. The darkness remained silent.·····
"By the blood..." the vagrant swore weakly staring at nothing. Absolute nothing.
Through the darkness, there was nothing for him to see.
Drunkenly the haggard vagrant stumbled forward out of that unnatural void and into the softer shadows of something. He lurched forward at once and fell to his hands and knees. He felt, for just a moment, better before his stomach jerked and the contents of which splattered against the packed dirt of the alley. Now, the drifter felt ill. Years of abuse had hardened the half-man's gut to the abusive motions and methods of alcohol. That which he had just felt seemed to brush away the protective dirt of the years and made his stomach feel as pink and vulnerable as a babe's.
The drifter slowly came to his feet, no longer unsober but in fact sodden with fear even as the bootfalls of the guards who had been on his tail faded into silence.
He jerked his head back to stare at the shadow which had assailed him and saw that it was gone. There was nothing left in the place which that shrouding darkness had been. Like Death's own Mask, it had hidden him from the living world. The vagrant, who possessed no name worth telling, shied back—to leave the alley and its soft shadows for the hard light of day.
"Justice's blood on the ground." he swore again and stared out of cloudy eyes at his own hands.
"Did... did I do that?" he asked shadows.
Behind the wiry and stained beard that lay out over his ratty garments, the derelict began to grin.
Early Afternoon
The tramp sought refuge where tramps might. The low districts wherein the destitute ply their small wares and lay about. The ramshackle abodes seemed to often set against the teeth of the Justean Guard. The drifter sarcastically thought it might be because of the disease, or perhaps the leaking of the roofs which offended the sensibilities of responsible and just men. He was in a somber and curious reverie giving thought to such things as justice as he passed the haphazard estates that lined the muddy street.
The nameless half-man spied about, looking for a place which might be free from relative observation. There was... something, he needed to see. Something he needed to know. Hours earlier, he had stolen—or rather been accused of such. He stole away from the accusation and the guard gave chase. In the heat of it he, sore of knee and burnt of breath, snuck 'round a corner into relative muted darkness in hopes that he might be bypassed as the guard overtook his position. Once he'd settled his back against wall, he was struck blind and freezing.
He had been embraced by darkness. By the very hands of Fate itself.
It was here, in the humble poor sector of Helkorth he would see if he could call Fate's hands once more.
The vagrant slipped between a pair of rickety and broken homes as quietly as he could to avoid detection. Once there, he focused as he knew a mage must. Blessed by the grace of Power, the vagrant once was in a house of wonders. In this house of wonders, there were mages. Some were servants. He knew well that their Art was plied by concentration and will. Two things that he had never possessed. He remembered the welts he had been given for distracting a mage. It happened only once.
The drifter settled with a stifled grunt against a sturdy part of the oak wall and focused. He focused on darkness and poured his concentration into the idea. His mind strayed, and he thought of those things that may hide in the darkness. His concentration was broke and his expression soured.
This he repeated once, or twice. He thought of bleakness. Of darkness. Of cruel fate and the black nails of death coming to drag him down like he had thought had happened when he was struck blind.
As the darkness—his darkness, eluded him he grew angry. He felt a mind to strike out against the wall which would no doubt cause great distress to those within, but he stopped himself.
A strange thought occurred to him then, and he recalled what precisely he was thinking at the time the darkness swallowed him.
"Oh" he said quietly. He then thought of a singular concept. He worked it over in his mind, solidifying and then crystallizing the ideal.
Once it was complete, once it was perfect, he poured his concentration into it.
He thought of nothing.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
9dDNCOpj - Failure
| HP: |  | 0000/0000 |
| SM: |  | 0019/0000 |
| MP: |  | 0105/0110 |
His good eye opened slowly and he saw the wooden wall across from him.
"Damn-" he swore aloud.
"Who's out there?!" a voice cried.
The vagrant startled, and fled.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Success
| MP: | | 0100/0110 |
He fled into absolute darkness, and out of it again. He could hear someone bickering loudly nearby at nothing, but the vagrant could not bring himself to care of that. Instead, a smile consumed his face and shifted his beard into a friendly way.
The shadow then dissipated, and the space 'tween alleys was filled abruptly with the visage of an angry resident.
"Shit!" he swore, turning tail and fleeing.
Late Afternoon
Magic. I have magic! thought the drifter's giddy mind, right about something for once. It was unhindered by alcohol's freezing and locking touch. The drifter had wandered and walked to a new part of town, still within the poor district. He didn't want to risk backlash should he be found out. Anonymity was what he wanted.
As a tramp among the poor, it was given freely. He found a new, discrete location nearabouts an old home from a time when the poor did not traipse about the district like cockroaches on the walls. He pried, peering through the hole which once housed a window and saw a few sleeping bodies within. Likely sick he thought.
He hunkered down, neath the dead shrubbery and worked his magic once more.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Success
| MP: | | 0095/0110 |
The drifter clutched a grubby hand over his giggling lips, stifling that sound. He warped the shades, moving them around his person and peered out of the darkness to the afternoon streets. He looked around for shadows that he might be able to travel along and found none.
His spirits dropped, before he remembered where he was, and he peered up to the window. With a grin, he pulled himself up and into it.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Failure
| MP: | | 0090/0110 |
He then landed with a loud crash. The men and women here were disturbed by the racket. One woman sat stock upright and stared into the apparent darkness. She then issued a high-pitched scream; the drifter abandoned his shroud of darkness and he made for the door. The occupants in the old home were either too sick or detached to give chase.
The vagrant fled this part of town, and made for another.
Early Evening
There was a cat. It was an orange tabby, and a tom judging by the coin-purse 'neath its tail. It was far from friendly, being that it was feral and hissed at anything that moved.
This, the drifter figured, would be his next mark. He followed the tabby from the places that a tabby might go, walking along the houses whose roofs the tabby scaled. He watched as the tabby drank water, then hissed at an urchin before scratching her and darting into a pipe. The vagrant followed the length of the pipe and waited for the cat to arrive. Eventually, it did.
It was when sunset encroached that the vagrant decided to make his move. The cat had taken a rat, and the vagrant was intent on stealing said rat.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Success
| MP: | | 0085/0110 |
As an amorphous thing of darkness, the drifter bent low and snatched the rat from the cat's claws and teeth. The startled cat fled, and the tramp threw the carcass after the tom and laughed. He laughed, and laughed as the darkness receded. Then he continued to laugh. For once in a very long life of hardship, he found something worth laughing over. He was exultant.
Midnight
In the darkness, the derelict wandered through the streets. There were still those strangers who would lay about in the streets. Some men here were just sleeping off their last draught. Some men had ill intent.
The stranger took it all in. Helkorth. A beautiful city beneath the stars and above the grim. For some, home. For others, hell. For him? Paradise he thought. This is what freedom feels like.
In the distance, the walls rose to meet the towers and tall buildings which loomed. In the distance there was a figureless rise which might have been the bloody foothills, or it may have been some more distant mountain or incline. The stranger knew not. He looked into the immediate distance and found the few stragglers who kept the street at midnight a more interesting sight.
There was a resigned peace here. The stench of death and illness mingled with the city's foul perfumes. The drifter wanted to watch the night unfold from a vantage of peace. One apart, that would not disturb nor could be disturbed.
Once more, he thought of nothing.
Vanish: -5 Mana
Thaumaturgy I, Dark Arts I, Illusion I, Sneak 0, Hide 0
K: 10 + 15 (Knowledges) + 30 (Simple)
Threshold 55
- Failure
| MP: | | 0080/0110 |
The drifter stood in the street, arms outstretched when a voice rang: "Feck're ye doin'?" it growled.
The drifter blinked, looked at the large man standing post outside of an alley and promptly high-tailed it away.
"Feckin' sick feck." the brute muttered. The darkness remained silent.·····