Inheritance: It Stays Mine

[Raelyse]

(Closed to Nero, Bohemia and Poetra)

In Alerar, the dwarves rule supreme. It is a known fact that no one opposes and no one dares to argue with. If you did, you might find yourself "sleeping with the elves."

In Myrusia though, about two decades ago a being emerged that had the willpower and the determination to succeed and to challenge all laws and all rules. And now, he is in Alerar doing just that. Everywhere he goes, people are treated to rare sights and things that they would not have thought possible. He is after all, a mere human. Here in Alerar, they are nothing.

Raelyse was never used to being called nothing.

"Tell me, dwarf," he spat. Beneath his boots lay the dying body of a Dwarven miner. His hand axe was in the right hand of his assailant and since he possessed no other weaponry, he could do little more than groan and hope for the best. Raelyse on the other hand, held all the cards. In his left hand, his fingers tightly grasped around the handle of his cane while its base lay just inches to the right of the dwarf's eye. His feet stood on either side of him. His face tilted downwards, contorted as if it was restraining the urge to laugh hysterically every time he saw him. "How does it feel to be succeeded?"

The hand axe that Raelyse held in his right hand was not just any ordinary weapon. Although he thought it to be foolish, Raelyse knew that it symbolized leadership of the dwarves' former clan. After defeating their leader, the rest of the dwarves fled into the mountains, where they presumably lived.

The dwarf coughed in response, though he did not say anything. Raelyse moved away from the Halfling, throwing his silver hair back into the wind and laughing loudly. He then raised his voice, shouting in the area all around him. "Members of the Katuz'Veit!" he probably pronounced it wrong but he did not care. All he knew was that he was entitled to leadership of them. "Your new leader summons you!"

The prince moved forward towards the road junction where they ran. Turning his head to the left, he saw a relatively small mountain. "Your former leader," the prince said softly. He cocked his head back, his lips twisting into a sadistic smirk as he looked at the fallen dwarf. "...appears to have relinquished his position."

Raelyse felt the handle of the axe as he slowly began to walk up the hill. It was rugged with the grip almost worn down to the wooden shaft. The blade itself was double sided and seemed to be proportionate enough to be thrown effectively. The curved edges were well sharpened, though the prince doubted it was any stronger than steel. At the bottom of the handle, there was a small hook. "At least you were smart enough to implement something useful into this weapon," he murmured to the dwarf, though he was already about twenty feet in front of what was now a corpse. Raelyse slotted the weapon into his belt, letting it hang off it as he slowly moved towards his destination.

His eyes wandered towards that mountain which the dwarves had run up before. At night, he could barely see what the height was. With their short little legs and bursting beer bellies though, Raelyse assumed that they would not be able to run that fast.

The prince looked down at the axe one last time, his mouth smiling once more. "The Naug'Cora, symbol of leadership of the Katuz'Veit clan," he whispered to himself, remembering what he had learnt before. He then turned his attention to the road ahead and began to walk slowly towards the foot of the mountain; the only sound remaining in the silence of darkness was the slow, almost rhythmic tapping of his cane.

There was no need to rush. Soon, he would have nine Dwarven servants to rush for him.

[Poetra]

Though the storm had passed hours ago, the rain kissed land still smelled sweetly of renewal. Dark clouds milled about overhead, blotting out the moon and illuminated eerily by it at once. Tide was high for now, buoying a few private fishing vessels that were docked on either end of the beach. Somewhere in the middle, a dark haired beauty lay unconscious; face down in the cold sand. Twigs and remnants of the sea peppered her hair, skin, and clothing, the cloak she wore covering her like a blanket of bloody velvet.

Waking from a horrible dream of chaos and pain, Ren Maear, Cleric of the Goddess, woke. Breathing deeply, she choked on the sand and sea water she had swallowed. Sputtering, she tried to lift herself up on her forearms, but a sharp pain prevented her from succeeding in the task. Looking down with blurred vision, she could see the outline of a jagged cut in her flesh, though it did not appear to be bleeding at this time.

Confused at first, she rolled over on her back, simply trying to regain her thoughts. There was the storm, and then... Suddenly, with crystal clarity, she saw the ship, its bloodthirsty crew stalking toward her with cruel intent, ropes in hand. Before she could scream, she had been tied, beaten, and ... somehow ended up here. I must've passed out... Tears welled up in her eyes, the bruised lids closing to prevent them escaping. What did I do? Goddess, please, tell me what I've done?

A chill wind chose that moment to blow across the shore, causing the girl to shiver. Within moments, the aches, pains, bruises, and cuts all flamed to life, leaving her shuddering in pain, unable to do more than cry. Struggling for composure, she pushed herself to sitting and looked around for anyone, anything, she could identify that would help her. "Please, someone! Anyone?!" Her sobs overtook her, and she shook violently as the burning tears streamed down her face. "Help me...," she whispered.

[Nero]

“Not positive, but screaming for help might not be the best idea right about now.” Nero answered, tossing a piece of broken lumber he’d been toying with down the hill.

Above Ren’s prone body, Nero had earlier seated himself atop of the coast bank near ten feet therefrom; left leg fanned out with his right against his chest. Releasing an exasperated sigh, Nero rested his right arm across his knee while scanning the ocean’s horizon and the coastline with a calculating expression molded his façade.

“We’re somewhere off of the Alerar coast, I’m guessing,” the Lycan stated, wincing in thought. “If you’re up for it, we should probably get moving.”

Nero stood, and with a short hop slid down the embankment leaving a trail of dust behind him. A short breeze kicked across the area, effectively chilling his bare arms as it blew past. However, the consequence brought a sense of hushed relaxation that he was finally on dry land, regardless of the method of arrival. Left hand leisurely on the pommel of the blade resting on his hip, Nero smiled softly, intentions reassuring as he delivered a wink to Ren who appeared so heavyhearted for reasons unknown.

Apparently, his charms weren't working.

Kneeling down beside her, Nero wrapped her in his furs. Tears poured down her cheeks, cutting away at the layer of dust on her face. Brushing his thumb under her eyes, Nero soothingly wiped away the tears that were only replaced by more.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said empathetically. “You’re safe now, and nobody is going to harm you. I’ll make sure of that.” Nero added prior to adjusting the heavy, though equally warming furs around her shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he ran a comforting right hand across her back in a kindhearted fashion as he took another glance at the terrain ahead of them. It seemed rather easy to travel across, which was nice considering her condition, but he still had no idea where they were going. His senses tingled with each unfamiliar scent that passed by, so needless to say he was more on the alert than anything. This young cleric would be taken under his charge regardless if she wanted his help or not, and though he severely doubted the latter, he was still a stranger to her nonetheless.

In all fairness, the Lycan held a soft spot for the girl and her innocence. More importantly, Nero was gratified that she was whimpering rather than not breathing. It was evidence that she had some fight in her after all, and given their lack of intelligence on what was to be found on their upcoming journey, that realization in her was all the more reassuring. Standing and extending and welcoming right hand to aid her stance, Nero motioned with a small wave for Ren’s acceptance.

“Come.”

A short pause.

“I’m all the help you’ll need.” Nero ended with a playful grin.

[Bohemia]

This long grass was all the bed that the boy needed.

Jon King groaned through gritted teeth as he eased himself down, feeling the throbbing ache in almost every muscle in his body, tongue included. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal arms purple and blue with mottled bruises, dotted in between a score of white bandages. The goblins weren't the smartest of all people, but in their defense, they knew how to hurt someone. "I'd be in the next town squeezing some drow's melons too, if those damned dwarves hadn't grabbed me."

He could remember it well, even through the pulsing, dull red haze in his mind.
Just a case of mistaken identity, they joked, after he'd been shot at, cut up, dashed all to hell with rocks, and shot at by some crazy damned goblin with cannons strapped with rope to his shoulders. Remembering how they'd laughed at him as they dropped the gold coins into his hands, he couldn't help but lose that glimmering light of humor that had always been in his eyes. The blue sky rolled by sneaking closer to night above eyes bruised slightly with a lack of sleep.

All he wanted was to sleep, and not the dreamer's sleep. The dark, bottomless sleep of the dead, the kind well earned after a hard and painful days work, but any wishes of a good rest was abolished by the heart wrenching wails of a woman.

Jon's eyes popped open instantly and he scrambled to his feet, head whipping around violently and spinning in half circles, trying to pinpoint the location of the cries. As they escalated, common sense became fleeting and he dashed off blindly in whatever direction he'd been facing. He crested a hill, and fell haphazardly from it's sudden drop off into a dune of sand sculpted smoothly by the sand, and once again scanned the horizon. The cries came again, and now he picked two figures out of the blue and brown, one sitting, one standing, a cape flowing from his back. Bent low, the boy went rushing down the sands, resisting the urge to draw his knives.

His quick steps slowed and halted as the figure of the woman came to focus easier, until he was shuffling, mouth hanging open in disbelief, eyes wide, trying to grasp what he was seeing. Tears streaked down bruised and battered cheeks, her pained form shaking terribly with each sob that wracked her body. Jon barely registered the fact that his lips were moving, for there was suddenly a terrible fire in his belly. Not the sort one gets when drinking tequila, or when in the throes of rage. No, it was different in that it was cold, but viciously burnt at his insides. It grew, and he hissed in pain as he clamped his jaws shut, sinking to his knees even as his eyes remained on the lovely, abused form of the cleric. A black stain spread across the breast of his formerly clean white button up shirt, a gasp of agony slipping past heis throat as he threw back his head, some strange wound blistering in his flesh and breaking violently. The black ichor oozed down his stomach and dripped there on the sand, where it steamed and hissed angrily.

Still, as utterly terrifying as this was, he was far too angry to worry about his own body. Jon struggled to his feet and shuffled in closely towards Ren , one hand reaching out tentatively to her shoulder, as though to disspell this gruesome illusion. But when she shuddered and pulled away quickly, seeming to crumple in on herself, he knew that it was real, and any thoughts he had before that this world was his own personal playground were scattered. "Who..." he mumbled at first, shaking his head slowly, hands fumbling at his jeans.

"Who did this?!" It was more a command than a request, as his angry hazel eyes moved up to lock onto Nero. His posture lost that defeated stance and stood rigid, those formerly aching muscles tense and burning. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and drew a pair of the Peacekeepers, spinning them once around his finger before his knuckles turned white in a tight reverse grip. "You? Was it you?"

[Raelyse]

For someone that had trouble even walking properly without the aid of a cane, hiking up a mountain is almost impossible. However, few with such a disability have the drive and determination of Raelyse Salidan. Add in pride and ignorance and it soon becomes evident that there was no way this prince of Myrusia was going to give up. Still, he was still a little disheartened as he limped slowly around the base of the mountain, trying to find the easiest or at least, the most achievable way of scaling the mountain. Sadly, all he found was that he began to lose hope that he would have Dwarven slaves. His eyes could not help but rise slowly, gazing upon the impressive form of the mountain. It was definitely tall, but was fortunately not unclimbable, as it was easily dwarfed by its nearby neighbors.

Raelyse stood there for a few moments, gazing at the mountain, wondering where on earth those bastard creatures could have gone. His eyes reverted back to the ground and he spied the road that he was slowly leading to the mountain, though it ceased at its base. Upon closer inspection, he could just barely make out footprints and by comparing them to his, he noticed that they were smaller. "Definitely those bastard dwarves," he smirked to himself as he made his way towards it. The way up the mountain from the dirt path seemed to be the easiest. The angle was not as steep as other parts while at about one hundred meters above ground, Raelyse thought he could see a dirt path that looked walk able.

Looking around to make sure that there was no one around, the prince spat out a large chunk of spit from his mouth. "Time to get dirty, unfortunately..." he said softly to himself.

Though no where near an experience rock climber, Raelyse could at least call on his intelligence and peak physical condition to help him in this task. At first, he tried to let his right leg hang free while using his arms to pull the rest of his body up but found that at about ten meters, he was already incredibly tired. He let his hands hold onto the footing that had already been worn down, presumably by the dwarves before using a large bit of strength to pull his disabled leg to a foothold. As he stood there resting, he could not help but wonder to himself... was this worth it? At this point, he was still low enough that it would be much easier to climb down than at higher altitudes.

But then, he spat again. He found this as disgusting as the gathering dirt on his precious clothes, but felt the situation warranted this. "Fuck, Raelyse... you bastard... Gather some strength, won't you?"

At this, the prince focused for a moment. He did not have the endurance, the stamina nor the tolerance to climb this mountain with the annoyance of his right leg behind him. Since he could not well unsheathe his sword and cut it off, he did the next best thing. His eyes glanced downwards at the two rings around both of his middle fingers, Lechery and Perversion. Stupidly named but incredibly useful, he thought to himself before shutting his eyes briefly. Expectedly, he felt newfound strength and power surge through his entire body, starting from those middle fingers. The two main waves of energy started at those digits before they zoomed towards the centre of his body, meeting at his groin. There, they consolidated themselves and merged to form a mass of energy before dashing towards his right leg. Instantly, the prince felt his entire limb lighten before the muscles tensed.

Smirking, the prince began climbing again, this time at almost double or triple the pace before. His fingers almost instinctively grabbed the holes in the rock wall, seemingly weathered down by continued use. His feet followed suit, though this time his right leg assisted his left, pushing the prince upwards at such a pace that he almost felt as though he was flying.

[Nero]

“Please Ren, we’ve got to get moving. I don’t know wha-- ?!”

Nero cursed himself for not picking up the stranger’s scent beforehand.

In a cinematic display of flair, Nero pounced infront of the new arrival, left hand white knuckled in a conversed grasp around his blade. With a frigid and malicious façade Nero inspected the man who, for all intent and purpose, managed the most intrusive greeting possible. With a quick jerk, the Lycan fractionally unsheathed his sword as he strafed in-between Ren and the man, disregarding his questions as a guise for intentions unknown.

“Step back stranger,” he said, “I’m only going to tell you once.”

Typically, Nero wouldn’t have been so susceptible to anger and preemptive confrontation, but given the prior circumstances he wasn’t going to take any chances. By now the searing sentient within him was at it’s boiling point as he struggled to hold it at bay. His sense began to elevate, mouth watering with the subconscious urge to shift and rip the intruder limb from limb. In that moment of raw, primal aggression, Nero’s eyes glazed over as they lost all evidence of ever having pupils.

Booted feet plowed through the sand as they shifted for a foothold, readying himself as would-be opponent brandished a set of daggers. Battered and bruised, the man still managed to uphold a sense of threat, and while this was more a less frivolous to Nero, he couldn’t ignore it for Ren’s sake. No, neglecting the possibility of risk would most certainly lead to her death.

“And I’d appreciate it if you held from touching the girl again.”

With a leant posture, Nero fell into a narcissistic mode, chin raised proudly while the youth laid those altogether ivory orbs heavily on the man. The contestment was guiltless; Nero felt justified in his reactions. Could he have known that Jon’s intentions were true? Hardly not. Surely the possibility might have crossed a more rational man’s mind, but the Lycan was far from consequent at that moment.

[Poetra]

As Nero approached her, the sound of his feet crushing debris underfoot was cause for Ren to smile against her pain. His words were muddled through her sobs, but the touch of his fingers on her face, his hands upon her back, were soothing. Hot tears continued to bathe her face, but the sobs slowed, giving her a reprieve from the twitching and jerking of her body that had only added to the pain. Never in her life had she had so much as a bruise, and to be beaten so that her skin split and bones fractured was impossible for her to comprehend. Only men get hurt! This isn’t right! her mind screamed.

Nero’s voice penetrated the revolving door of her mind, pulling her back to the present. His words were still difficult to understand, but they calmed her, nonetheless. Slowly, she realized that he was trying to get her to stand, his offered hand the main clue. She stared at it, not sure if she could comply. Lifting her hand carefully, she tried to reach for his. A sharp pain lanced through her ribcage, causing her to cry out, and her arm jerking back against her body instinctively. Red fog filled her mind, and for a brief moment she was unconscious of what was going on.

Ren realized she was sobbing again, and simply understood that pain that unbearable would cause anyone to cry. When her vision cleared, a second person was before her, a man with strange hair and a face that spoke of kindness, sadness, and anger. His rage became more evident as he stood, drawing his weapons on Nero. Her surrogate protector leapt between her and the newcomer, and they yelled incoherent but obviously hateful words at one another. Someone is going to die if I don’t do something…

Using the arm beneath her, she did her best to ignore the pain and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her side burned and tingled, her head spun, and her entire body felt like it had been through a meat grinder. Gritting her teeth against it, she turned her head and glared at the two men. ”Stop it… The words were little more than a squeak, and she swallowed, trying to clear her throat. “Stop it! Both of you, just stop!” Still a bit quiet, she hoped it was enough to break through their arguing.

[Bohemia]

"You didn't answer my question," he hissed menacingly, this absolute fury very unlike him. The pain from that strange blistered wound perhaps was amplifying the anger. Unlike most of his past injuries, the pain wasn't levelling off, but escalating, as though an unseen hand was grinding the sand into it that lay under his feet. His breathing had become hard and ragged, sucking in deep breaths of the crisp ocean air through bared teeth. What was more, that black gunk continued to ease from it, and fiinally came the unpleasant smell, bitter and acerbic. As Nero's words reached his ears, and he struck his snobbish pose, a red veil drew itself over his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to slit open his belly and pull out his slick bloody entrails with his bare hands, to reach up into his ribcage and feel the heart still beating there, feel it try to escape his hand with each beat, feel the veins protest and rebel and finally tear and rip it free from his chest...

He seemed to bob to the surface of that lake of fire, and the snarl distorting his face faded. The boy slowly sunk to his knees, his hand going to his chest, letting his head fall. This level of hate and rage was something disturbingly alien to him, and even as he seemed to have a lapse, he felt it tugging at his arms, wanting him to embrace it again. A terrible headache alit itself in his skull as it seemed a war between his good sense and fury erupted. From beyond a curtain of shaggy black hair, Jon's eyes peered up at the lycanthrope, filled with a terrible fire. "Answer me, you pretty boy motherfucker, or I'll mess up your fucking face so bad nobody'll be able to tell you apart from a god damned troll." He spoke through clenched teeth, spittle flecking his lips as he struggled back to his feet.

It was apparent why he held such animosity for Nero; the man reminded him of that sonuvabitch Letho Ravenheart. God, how he hated that dark knight motherfucker, the lengths he'd go and the sacrifices he'd make to take his revenges. Though, that world perspective was twisted; he hated every man and woman who marched down the streets in shining plate and carrying the King's sword. All so high and mighty. For every child or woman that Jon pulled out of the fire, they liberate a ship full of slaves, and he's all forgotten. His eyes peeled open and it was all the woman's voice that kept him from lunging in and bloodying the Peacekeepers.

The girl's voice cut through the red clouds hovering over his mind, visibly jarring him. His hands popped open like a machine's locked digits, and the knives fell to the sand below. Dumbly, his head turned towards her, and he blinked, giving her a puzzled look. "I only wanted an answer," he mumbled, rubbing at the wound over his heart, feeling the scabs that had already began to set over it. Moments later, he seemed to have regained some vestige of reality, his eyes regaining a sane, calm look, and he bent to pick up the knives, the weapons vanishing in a few quick movements over his body. "We should take her into Kachuck, or something, so someone can tend those injuries. And I say we cause I'm not entirely sure I can trust you alone with her, considering the condition I came across her in with you. Dick." Jon took off back the way he came, and returned quickly, holding a heavy black metal staff. "Can she walk?" He asked as he stopped in front of them, shoving the staff into it's holster over his shoulder. "If not, one of us ought to carry her."

[Raelyse]

It was strange.

At times, Raelyse would never stop feeling the pain even when he was walking a short distance. But now, when he was literally scaling a mountain, he could ignore fatigue as if it did not exist at all. Now that he had a mission and the drive to accomplish it, that was the only thing on his mind. It did not matter that his precious clothes were literally drenched in sweat, it did not matter that as he climbed up, his body rubbed against the dirty, dusty rock surface. No, because nothing mattered at all. Raelyse looked into the future, knowing that if he could get those dwarves, his life would be that much closer to being perfect.

As the cliff face began to grow smaller and smaller, the prince's pace began to increase. His right hand grabbed onto the edge when it was within reach, his muscles then pulling with the last of his strength. His whole body geared itself up as he slowly but surely managed to pull itself over the edge. Raelyse did not even think about standing up, he rolled onto his back, panting loudly and swearing repeatedly to himself. As he raised his dirty sleeve to his face and began to wipe away whatever sweat or dirt had gathered there, the smirk on his face only seemed to grow wider and wider. That was something even the most proficient maid could never wipe off his face.

The prince rested for a few moments, feeling the lightness leave his leg, the crippling heaviness returning over time. He sighed softly, before grabbing his cane and using it to push himself to his feet. He looked over the edge of the cliff, feeling a great sense of achievement making his ego swell with pride. The distance from here to the ground was quite high, especially when he looked at it from here. And he had conquered it. Not that there was any doubt in his mind.

But there would be enough time for self-praise later, Raelyse turned his attention to something that was much more important, the road to the Dwarves. A winding dust road path to his right led into the mountains, where the prince presumed his destination would be. He swore he could still smell the disgusting stench of those little creatures, even though that was probably himself and his drenched clothing.

He walked for almost ten minutes on the path, the only progress that he seemed to be making was the occasional tree that would appear on the horizon. Raelyse stopped for a moment, clenching his fist and wiping more sweat from his body. Before he decided to move again, his eyes inched downwards towards his sleeve, which was literally a shadow of its former glory. He could still see the original color in patches, but most of it was now covered in brown dirt or drenched in sweat.

"This... is... succubus... silk..." the prince said slowly, rage emanating from every part of his body, from his body language to his tone. He ripped off the piece of clothing, revealing his bare torso, which was also considerably less attractive after being disfigured by the dirt. When he noticed this, he grew even more frustrated and began to scream loudly into the canyon, his voice echoing for miles. His hands were not docile either, beginning to tear and tear at the shirt that was once one of his favorite things in the world. Within mere seconds, it was his favorite shreds in the world.

"You know," a heavily accented voice came from his right. "You should control your temper."

As his head instinctively turned and the remnants of his clothing slipped out of his sweaty finger and onto the floor, that smirk began to form again. Oh and how it was missed.

[Vorin]

This thread hasn't been posted in a month. I'm closing it up due to inactivity and moving it to the "Unresolved" Forum. Please Private message me to retrieve it if you intend on completing it further. Thank you.