Mutant_Lorenor
11-28-08, 01:19 AM
Time: 1:30 A.M.
Date: July 2nd C.P. 1813
These days, Lorenor made trips across the world of Althanas very regularly. He never stayed in one place longer than necessary. Business and the state of affairs in Corone kept him coming back to Salvar. Lorenor was now a wanted man with a price on his head. He had to make a cover identity for himself. He had to adapt to the times that were coming, this second age of darkness.
No longer opting to simply ride the wave of the future, the mutant opted to take control of the future. Not just his own, but all of Althanas! He played an important role in the things that were coming and his role in the Church of Ethereal Sway was cast into doubt. With shadowed eyes, superior officers looked down from the spires of crooked noses to the small mutant killer. They doubted the mutant's capacity. They doubted his will and faith to do the work of Saint Denebriel. Whispers of the workings of N'Jal filled the halls of the cathedral at Knife's Edge.
His superior officers cast doubt upon the future of the professional assassin, and with doubt came disloyalty. Lorenor knew that the disloyalty and politics would affect his professionalism. And so, he accepted the writ without questioning its contents. Thoughts of his superior officer's words echoed in his head. This is a test of loyalty and faith Lorenor. Prove that Saint Denebriel is your one true Matroness! Lorenor stormed out of the office with a solitary companion at his side. A fellow cloak of the order.
"Do ye knowest what the bureaucrats ask of thee brother?" The voice was thick, gruff. The sound of someone who spent many unforgiving winters in Salvar's cold lands. In the hallway of St. Denebriel's stronghold, the mutant stopped and looked at the taller Salvarn man. "Art thou blind? Of course I see well through this shadowed task. They art not ordering me to striketh down but any foe. They art ordering me to striketh down a foe who is a friend and dear ally. A thousand crows shalt feast upon their withered corpses and I am asked to take down a friend in the name of the Matroness! 'Tis a sham!"
The taller Salvarn looked down upon the mutant ally he called friend. He placed a large, titanic hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Thou knowest the risks of joining the Holy Order before thou did decide to joineth. The escutcheon of our Order is what keeps Salvar from falling apart. The rule of the Saint is absolute. We must obey her command! To not obey the rulings of the Matroness is treason punishable by death."
"So I havest no choice in this insane matter?" Lorenor shook his head, the weight of the writ in his hand feeling heavier than a crate full of adamantium ore. The mutant felt tears forming in the energy wells of his eyes. It was easy for the politicians to hand orders to the knives at their command, they weren't the ones who had to deal out the violence. The mutant looked down at the writ for a moment and then to his companion, they had stopped walking for the briefest of moments. "I implore thee shadow me. To be sure that the deedeth is complete. "
"Lorenor. Thou art an old friend, and I wish thee nothing but the utmost success. I will see the day through with thee."
******
That was four hours ago now. Lorenor still had the writ in his possession and he was on the mission. His superior officers gave the orders and the mutant followed. He didn't like it, but that's the way it was going to be. Snow flowed across the four winds in an endless pattern. Lorenor's thick hide boots crushed the layer of the substance as he walked upon the rooftop of a small building in the residential district. He was taking his time. The bastards of the Church were asking that he kill an ally. A friend. Nay. A brother.
His boots made soft sounds as he crossed the empty rooftop of the building. He'd abandoned his companion several blocks prior. They parted ways to ensure that neither of the two blades were caught in the process of their dark deed. Assassination was a serious business, especially in Salvar.
A thick hide cloak, surrounded the small mutant and flowed in the ice-cold winds of Salvar. They came in from the wastelands further North making the temperature colder somehow. His bones hurt from the cold despite the extra warmth provided by the thick animal hides that he wore, as was a primary custom of native Salvarns. Lorenor scanned the horizon around him with supernatural senses.
It was an invisible field of energy that wrapped itself around the mutant within a certain proximity. He ignored the distinct howl that traveled with the wind from the wastelands. The howl sounded like the suffering of armies of lore. Scanning now, the mutant allowed his senses to reach their peak, and within that peak sensory grid, the world opened itself up for the mutant's mind to play with. Within the sensory grid he saw with a frightening level of accuracy, even with his eyes closed. He could see in every direction, and even through certain surfaces.
As long as objects were within his sensory grid. Though Lorenor could see the various buildings around him, for a total of eight feet in every direction within the sphere. The mutant allowed his senses to work their magic. The name on the writ fresh in his mind, heavy in his heart. He visualized the name until he memorized even the shape of the font in his imagination. He whispered the name to himself over and over as he walked towards his final destination. With a new writ came a new target.
This time, the target was a friend.
This time the target was an old ally.
Torin Reahkari.
Spitting on the rooftop of the building, the mutant caught the faint scent in the air of his old ally. He began to follow the general direction of the scent, sticking to shadows and back alleys as he moved, carefully staying out of sight at all times. As he walked, he kept a hand on one of his trusted weapons. He avoided the routes of guards as he made his way towards the position of his comrade. And just like that, the killer was on the hunt once more.
Date: July 2nd C.P. 1813
These days, Lorenor made trips across the world of Althanas very regularly. He never stayed in one place longer than necessary. Business and the state of affairs in Corone kept him coming back to Salvar. Lorenor was now a wanted man with a price on his head. He had to make a cover identity for himself. He had to adapt to the times that were coming, this second age of darkness.
No longer opting to simply ride the wave of the future, the mutant opted to take control of the future. Not just his own, but all of Althanas! He played an important role in the things that were coming and his role in the Church of Ethereal Sway was cast into doubt. With shadowed eyes, superior officers looked down from the spires of crooked noses to the small mutant killer. They doubted the mutant's capacity. They doubted his will and faith to do the work of Saint Denebriel. Whispers of the workings of N'Jal filled the halls of the cathedral at Knife's Edge.
His superior officers cast doubt upon the future of the professional assassin, and with doubt came disloyalty. Lorenor knew that the disloyalty and politics would affect his professionalism. And so, he accepted the writ without questioning its contents. Thoughts of his superior officer's words echoed in his head. This is a test of loyalty and faith Lorenor. Prove that Saint Denebriel is your one true Matroness! Lorenor stormed out of the office with a solitary companion at his side. A fellow cloak of the order.
"Do ye knowest what the bureaucrats ask of thee brother?" The voice was thick, gruff. The sound of someone who spent many unforgiving winters in Salvar's cold lands. In the hallway of St. Denebriel's stronghold, the mutant stopped and looked at the taller Salvarn man. "Art thou blind? Of course I see well through this shadowed task. They art not ordering me to striketh down but any foe. They art ordering me to striketh down a foe who is a friend and dear ally. A thousand crows shalt feast upon their withered corpses and I am asked to take down a friend in the name of the Matroness! 'Tis a sham!"
The taller Salvarn looked down upon the mutant ally he called friend. He placed a large, titanic hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Thou knowest the risks of joining the Holy Order before thou did decide to joineth. The escutcheon of our Order is what keeps Salvar from falling apart. The rule of the Saint is absolute. We must obey her command! To not obey the rulings of the Matroness is treason punishable by death."
"So I havest no choice in this insane matter?" Lorenor shook his head, the weight of the writ in his hand feeling heavier than a crate full of adamantium ore. The mutant felt tears forming in the energy wells of his eyes. It was easy for the politicians to hand orders to the knives at their command, they weren't the ones who had to deal out the violence. The mutant looked down at the writ for a moment and then to his companion, they had stopped walking for the briefest of moments. "I implore thee shadow me. To be sure that the deedeth is complete. "
"Lorenor. Thou art an old friend, and I wish thee nothing but the utmost success. I will see the day through with thee."
******
That was four hours ago now. Lorenor still had the writ in his possession and he was on the mission. His superior officers gave the orders and the mutant followed. He didn't like it, but that's the way it was going to be. Snow flowed across the four winds in an endless pattern. Lorenor's thick hide boots crushed the layer of the substance as he walked upon the rooftop of a small building in the residential district. He was taking his time. The bastards of the Church were asking that he kill an ally. A friend. Nay. A brother.
His boots made soft sounds as he crossed the empty rooftop of the building. He'd abandoned his companion several blocks prior. They parted ways to ensure that neither of the two blades were caught in the process of their dark deed. Assassination was a serious business, especially in Salvar.
A thick hide cloak, surrounded the small mutant and flowed in the ice-cold winds of Salvar. They came in from the wastelands further North making the temperature colder somehow. His bones hurt from the cold despite the extra warmth provided by the thick animal hides that he wore, as was a primary custom of native Salvarns. Lorenor scanned the horizon around him with supernatural senses.
It was an invisible field of energy that wrapped itself around the mutant within a certain proximity. He ignored the distinct howl that traveled with the wind from the wastelands. The howl sounded like the suffering of armies of lore. Scanning now, the mutant allowed his senses to reach their peak, and within that peak sensory grid, the world opened itself up for the mutant's mind to play with. Within the sensory grid he saw with a frightening level of accuracy, even with his eyes closed. He could see in every direction, and even through certain surfaces.
As long as objects were within his sensory grid. Though Lorenor could see the various buildings around him, for a total of eight feet in every direction within the sphere. The mutant allowed his senses to work their magic. The name on the writ fresh in his mind, heavy in his heart. He visualized the name until he memorized even the shape of the font in his imagination. He whispered the name to himself over and over as he walked towards his final destination. With a new writ came a new target.
This time, the target was a friend.
This time the target was an old ally.
Torin Reahkari.
Spitting on the rooftop of the building, the mutant caught the faint scent in the air of his old ally. He began to follow the general direction of the scent, sticking to shadows and back alleys as he moved, carefully staying out of sight at all times. As he walked, he kept a hand on one of his trusted weapons. He avoided the routes of guards as he made his way towards the position of his comrade. And just like that, the killer was on the hunt once more.