Completed An Exercise in Escalation (open)

A parade ground becomes a battle ground

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Inoadar on April 20th, 2014, 2:58 am

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14th day of Spring, 514

Inoadar hurried through the alleys of Ravok. He was eager to return to Tine's Exotic Goods. He'd dropped some items off there the night before, items he'd obtained while aiding a young girl who'd shown up at the NMSS, the 'Nitrozian-Moletta Sanitary Station'. He had been going through the motions of playacting as doctor there. This was not to say that he had no medical skills. He was skilled enough to tend to the cuts, burns and bruises that most customers sported who came stumbling in, seeking aid. But this girl spoke of a burglary gone awry, resulting in the dislocated shoulder from which she was suffering.

Normally, Inoadar would have covertly aggravated the injury, speaking of the necessity for pain killers, and then warning of the high price of them. He would then offer the "client" the option of paying off the debt by being a test subject for his research. Research into the many fields benefiting from the labs he and his partners had paid to have installed there. Labs that he needed to get the most use out of when he could, since part of what paid the bills was the renting of them to citizens and non-citizens alike.

However, this situation called for partnership of a different sort. After resetting the girl's shoulder joint, he'd gone back with her and used his "alternative" skill set to help clear the way for the liberating of a few trinkets. As usual, things had not gone as smoothly as he'd hoped, but the two of them had managed to slip out with a few items of possible value. He had taken them to Tine's to have them assessed.

On this return trip, however, he happened upon an ongoing weapons and exercises display by a squad of Ebonstryfe soldiers. Their prowess was a marvel, the choreographed motions and lethal implications of the hissing steel left the growing crowd both daunted and appreciative. The squad commander shouted counts and codes and the men responded without hesitation. Kicks, punches and slashes missing flesh by hairs' widths only because the potential victim had made an equally impressive evasion, also on command.

The timing of shouts and grunts, stomps and swishes was a brilliant martial counterpoint to the spontaneous whistles, claps, and "oohs" and "aahs" of the crowd. Inoadar himself found himself in awe of such melee mastery. Being a man of the more subtle sciences of serums and subterfuge, he was always cautiously appreciative of such skills that his strengths would not easily turn aside. His appointment with Tine's could stand to wait a few chimes while he enjoyed the spectacle.

Fate, however, would not wait, it seemed. In the crowd, a man took notice of the poisoner's presence. He knew that, in the past, Inoadar had been willing to help the lingering remnants of the ill-fated rebel faction, The Rising Dawn, slip out of the city. He did not know that Inoadar had since come to embrace the worship of Rhysol. He did not know that the poisoner no longer went by that name. That a 1000 miza bounty had already been collected following Inoadar's faked death seasons earlier. He did not know that he now went by the name "Nolan Parnell", a name on a set of citizenship papers that had once belonged to a man strikingly similar in appearance. A man Inoadar had killed during the Rising Dawn riots a year ago to add credibility to the faked death.

Only a very few knew that Inoadar and Nolan Parnell were one and the same. And not even Inoadar knew who these others were. He only knew he'd received a note stating that "We know the truth" a short time after the bounty had been collected. Nothing had come of it however, and now he was as devoted to Rhysol as any man on Mizahar.

This stranger, however, only saw the man that had helped his brother escape the Black Sun dragnets that had devastated the ranks of rebels throughout town. Rotting rebel corpses still hung from gibbets as object lessons against the foolishness of defiance. This man was determined not to join them. So he called to the poisoner, to a man he thought could help him. "INOADAR!"

The squad commander took notice of the call, and his eyes quickly swept the crowd for a reaction, even as Inoadar looked around in alarm to see who had shouted.

x
Last edited by Inoadar on May 21st, 2014, 1:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Daegron on April 24th, 2014, 6:27 am

_
Precision and discipline. Dominance and might. The Ebonstryfe soldiers made their point crystal clear. Their military potency was absolute; a gauntlet made from hardened steel, meant to crush anyone foolish enough to oppose. There was harmony in their moves, unity in their grim determination and no room for doubt on their prowess. The crowd that had gathered, watched in ecstasy clearly awed by the military superiority of Rhysol's favoured.

With a dark blue bruise covering the left half of his face and a reddish swollen right eyebrow where a small cut was healing, Daegron looked like the dummies those soldiers used for practice. He didn't want to miss the show though, so he got up early and found himself a good spot where he wouldn't miss a detail. Not being much of a fighter, he was definitely impressed by their skill. The sword-blades tore the air a couple of feet from him and their synchronised grunts and growls almost startled him. Yet he watched and observed, hoping to catch a detail or a move that could help him improve his fighting skills or at least avoid a grievous wound. The crowds were constantly shuffled as curious spectators struggled to catch a glimpse of the exercise and soon he'd found himself a few inches from where two heavily built combatants engaged in a grappling choreography, almost tasting their sweat.

"INOADAR !"

At first, he thought it was another order, shouted over the fighter's grunts and looked at the officer in charge trying to decipher it. Yet the voice carried a hint of desperation and not the usual tone of authority, and he noticed the commander's change of expression into one of surprise.The man looked around the crowds to find the source of this call, as if it meant something important to him. He was looking over Daegron's left shoulder when his piercing gaze stopped. He touched a soldier's pauldron and said something to him. The Stryfer and his partner stood tall, breaking their routine and looked into the crowds where the commander seemed to have pointed out. Moving deftly amidst their comrades' skirmishes, they picked up their pace and dashed towards the Morpher while their commander moved towards another pair of warriors. The crowd seemed to disperse, almost intimidated by the soldiers' ominous stare, yet Daegron stayed put, impressed by their daunting appearance and did not move off their way in time. The burliest of the two, clad in a shiny breastplate run right through him knocking him forcefully.
"Get off the Stryfe's way, you lowly scum !" he growled and Daegron was pushed away. After a few awkward steps he crashed onto someone, barely catching the glimpse of a familiar face...

_

The Art will twist you and turn you.
It will break you and tear you asunder; from your scattered remains it will shape you.
It will engulf you and spit you out.
It will fester in your mind, disfigure your body and blacken your soul.
And so on and so forth, through an endless chain of transformations till the time comes and you are everything...
Then you'll truly be nothing...

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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Elias Caldera on April 24th, 2014, 9:05 pm

The stench was unbearably nostalgic. As Elias weaved his way around a second pair of dangling feet, he began to wonder what these poor bastards littering his path had done to deserve being strung up and left out in the sun for so long. He had seen his fair share of examples over the years, but he could have sworn there were more corpses lining the roads and gallows now than he had ever witnessed before. The rot had been allowed to eat away at much of the details each victim once could claim, leaving them all equally off putting and fetid beyond hope of distinguishing. It made identifying them impossible at that point, especially to one who had been absent to the inner turmoils of the city for so long. Elias couldn't tell if he was walking past the results of some slave revolt, a gang of thugs killed for their crimes, or the entire cast of the Rising Dawn finally caught and executed. His grimace at the sight lightened a little as the apparent death toll did, and soon enough he was free of the stink of death all together.

It was then the young man noticed the small gaggle of children clambering over each other in an attempt to climb the side of a building. They all seemed in a hurry to make it up and over unto the roof where they quickly began to pile up upon each other to catch view of something on the other side. As Elias rounded the corner, he realized what it was instantly. "An exercise" he murmured. He had seen and been a part of more than a few in the past, making it impossible not to recognize what the cacophony of roaring cadences and impeccable displays of skills were meant to demonstrate. First the decrepit warnings, and now this. The Ebonstryfe was clearly making a point he thought. Yet for all the dreaded implications, Elias couldn't help but be taken in by the show. While combat, true combat, may have been pure, it was also messy and oft times overwhelmed with the desperation of the moment. Their was an art form to be admired in the bravura of skill when it wasn't out of necessity to save one's own life. The way the men flowed into their stances and delivered their strikes, it was captivating, and in turn provided an exceptional spectacle to behold. It wasn't long before Elias found himself mimicking the squad commander's shouts and orders under his own breath, watching as the soldiers obeyed seamlessly.

Then he heard a cry go out. Being so far away he barely heard what it was, but it was clear it caught the attention of both those performing and the one's were meant to be watching. Before long the Stryfe had descended into the crowd, clearly searching for the one who had spoken. Whatever the yelling had been about, it had obviously set the two men off. Maybe some old sell sword who wasn't quite as impressed as he ought to be had voiced his lack there off a little to loudly? Elias mused, letting the unimportant tale of what was probably nothing run wild with his imagination. It was enough to lure him in deeper into the crowds however. He wasn't as close as he wanted to be when he heard one of the armored soldiers begin bellowing "Who said that? I said who said it!" He repeated himself a few more times, whirling around warily to look at the faces of all those that now encircled him. When no one responded quickly enough, his hand fell to his swords hilt. The same sword that had only moments ago been glistening under the sun as it slashed and stabbed its way through a particularly fierce mock fight. It seemed the man may have let the excitement of it all get to him... or maybe whatever he had heard or seen in the crowd warranted such violence. Thankfully, the second Stryfer put a calming hand on his companion's shoulder and stepped in front of him. By then the scene had gained a sizable audience from both the citizens and Ebonstryfe, and Elias himself had taken to standing atop a barrel just to get a better view. "I'll make this easy. A gold Miza to the first man to point him out." The second man calmly said.

Elias cringed. He very much doubted there was going to be anything 'easy' about what happened next. It might have been better to stick with the sword...

OOCI hope no one minds...
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Raven Nightfoot on April 24th, 2014, 11:15 pm

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Amber eyes watched intently as the demonstration went on, each movement being observed and compared with that of the Syliran Knights. Having grown up in Syliras and with both parents being knights of the Fortress City, Raven was more than familiar with their stances and attacks and even with her slightly above average knowledge of such skills she could spot the differences. First to be noted was that the Ebonstryfe movements seemed far more merciless than those of the Knights, she reasoned it was probably because they were far less forgiving, not that anything in Syliras was forgiving, they just preferred to put those that crossed them to good use, something she had experienced herself once.

The black leather clad woman watched on from the crowd, positioned nearer to the demonstration than most although not close enough to be described as 'the front' with arms crossed and an almost expressionless look on her face as she tried to learn something from the display. The fighter in her told her to watch their movements, the acrobat told her to pay attention to their footing, but both agreed that the stance was to be noted. In all honesty, Raven was quite intrigued by what she was seeing, it was far more interesting than most of the things she'd seen and experienced since coming to Ravok and she was glad that she'd decided to come.

Although it seemed like Raven was present to enjoy the display, as was often the case, the young woman had ulterior motives, criminal ones to be more precise. Her position in the crowd might have looked to be random to any onlookers but the truth, that only she knew, was that she had strategically placed herself near a particularly wealthy looking man. The man's fine clothing and jewellery were a dead give away that he was more well off than most of the crowd, making him an ideal target of the mischievous young woman. Every few moments she would shoot him a curious side glance in an attempt to mentally flag any valuables that would make for a safe and seamless snatching and eventually she had decided to target his closest pocket, the gamble of what she might find in it was always exciting until proven otherwise, now all she needed was a large enough distraction.

Then, as if a blessing from Yshul herself, a loud voice echoed through the air drawing everyone's attention as they attempted to find the source and only moments later it seemed that the Ebonstryfe were determined to join in as the entire mood of the event changed from social to somewhat of a worrying atmosphere. The armed men began to descend upon the crowd in search of the culprit, sending the tightly packed bystanders spreading out to either side to avoid being shoved out of the way. There was a bit of a squeeze as the crowd's movements forced them to huddle together as they cautiously backed away. The dark haired thief saw the sudden confusion as a perfect opportunity as she was forced against the wealthy man by the moving masses, her hand using the innocent contact to make it's dive into his pocket and escape with what felt like a reasonably packed coin purse.

The moment her loot-filled hand was free of the man's pocket and her body was free of the now less tightly packed crowd, Raven casually stepped her way through the retreating crowd moving to the side, a satisfied smirk on her blood-red painted lips at her success. Unfortunately, she had been too consumed by her endeavour to notice that the guards had begun to forcefully search the crowd and that in her attempt to escape the recently robbed man, she had inadvertently gotten closer to the source of the worsening situation.

"Petch." was all she could say as she was dominoed backward into someone, slamming roughly into the person's chest before regaining her footing, a look of annoyance already painted on her features.
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Cyric on April 25th, 2014, 6:23 am

"Oh how this silly display of might was finally going to become interesting..." Cyric thought to himself. He had been watching the display with a lack of general interest, more intrigued at the possibility of the armed guards turning on some poor fool who strayed to closely to the spectacle and all at once it seemed the thing he wished for was coming true...

The man next to him seemed concerned with another man among some other portion of the crowd. Cyric searched in the direction of the mans gaze finding the culprit was looking RIGHT back at the man gazing his way with an accusing gaze. The man quickly silenced himself as two of the soldiers shoved there way through the crowd, agitated at the interruption.

He hadn't quite been listening to the man at the time but he believed he said the other humans name... Inoadar? Something to that respect...

It was then that one of the guards said something interesting to the general crowd, "I'll make this easy. A gold Miza to the first man to point him out." If not for Cyrics clothing concealing his persona, you could see the wide cruel grin appearing on his fetid face... Wrapped in bandages to conceal the deathly look of his rotting skin. He had only just started his special store in Ravok and a gold Miza was more than enough reason for him to get some fool executed.

Cyric shouted out in a raspy voice, "He is over here sir knights!" To which the man spun on Cyric and pulled a knife, threatening him with it meaning to silence him.

The guards had already begun making way towards them so the man was surely doomed. He cared little what the man did at this point, but he wished to avoid needlessly getting his body damaged so he began to concentrate deeply on the weak mans eyes... Focusing making sure he had the mans attention as he boiled the Djed inside himself eventually releasing the weakly hypnotic magic on the man while saying, "There is a large spider on your neck!" This minor trick worked wonders as the man began to squirm for several moments fussing about his neck looking for the spider...

The magic was weak but caused the people around him to isolate themselves from the flailing fool. Long enough for his spasms to be interrupted by the firm grip of a black gauntlet pressing down on his shoulder...

Cyric grinned.
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Inoadar on April 25th, 2014, 7:45 am

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Inoadar's eyes locked with those of the Squad Commander. He saw the man start forward, issuing some instruction to some of his subordinates. He immediately engaged his evasion techniques. It burned his gut to part with his Nettle Cloak. It had cost him 40 gold, but it was better than the A-I-D he'd receive from the Ebonstryfe. This was short for "Arrest-Interrogation-Death". Though he was devoted to Rhysol now, he knew that whatever reason he'd been allowed to remain hidden behind his new identity would be cast aside if he was exposed.

He'd always assumed that the Black Sun wanted him in place just for the entrapment of such traitors as the one that now called his name. They would seek out "Inoadar" since it was a name known to belong to an enemy of Rhysol. And then he would turn them in. He had already done so. But that was for secret meetings, not public displays in the face of an Ebonstryfe squad. If he was exposed as being "Inoadar", and then released, his value as a trap for traitors would be negated. And he did not delude himself as to the fate of those who'd once had a death sentence commuted in exchange for such value, and then lost that value.

He made a point of letting the Commander see the prominent Nettle Cloak as he slipped his arms free of it, but left it draped on his shoulders. He turned his face away and started off to his right, immediately ducking and pivoting back to his left, taking several low profile steps as he slipped the cloak off.

He heard a voice shout for someone to identify the man that had called to him. 'One of the Stryfe, no doubt...' he thought with a curse. Then, even worse, the same voice shouted a promise of gold to any that pointed him out. An air of sudden greed seemed to alter the tone of the growing unrest as accusations and protest began to sound from all around. The thuds and scrapes of scuffles added an ugly element to this new mood.

Inoadar knew he needed to get out now. He stood suddenly, draped the Nettle Cloak over another man and shouted "HERE HE IS!" Several others were shouting essentially the same thing, but he saw that the commander had now donned his helmet and drawn his sword with an order to his men to advance into the crowd and 'SEIZE THAT MAN!'

There was clearly some confusion among his men as to which man he meant, because they got involved in scuffles in a number of places in the throng. Inoadar did not keep much focus on those details, however, because the man he'd just draped the cloak over, turned with an angry growl and shoved him away. He crashed into a girl stepping back from a pair of advancing soldiers. The coin purse she was gripping sprang free and spun in the air, spilling its glittering contents onto the street.

The sound of copper rings differently than silver. This was different than either. This was the ring of gold. There was a collective gasp as the entire crowd held its breath for a heartbeat to gauge where and how much had just scattered at their feet. Then pure, greedy pandemonium ensued.

xOOCDon't think that just because I've made a second post that this is closed to additional PCs. By all means, hop in, mix it up!
Last edited by Inoadar on April 28th, 2014, 1:06 am, edited 1 time in total.
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Vayl on April 26th, 2014, 8:07 am

Imagex
A deep violet splash of colour sat some distance away from the scuffling.

Vayl sat on a balcony above a canal, well, hung is a more correct term as he was perched on the side of the wall for a better view, his boots inside his purple jacket, furred hood pulled deep over his face to protect him from the vastly too bright sun.

Squinting a little, Vayl's amethyst eyes glinted as he tried to make out what was happening. He had originally sat here because a fascinating show of martial might was under way, which he wanted to admire, and perhaps learn from. Indeed the local soldiers.. "Ebonstryfe" he believed might be their name, were extremely talented fighters, much more so than himself..

Vayl's eyes narrowed half in jealousy, and half in excitement.

At least for now.... The corner of his mouth twitched and a fang showed, hard to see for it was nearly the same shade of bone white as his skin.

His eyes focussed to the present again, and he returned to the fight ahead of him.

He could not deny their skill, and knew that he would be beaten by these law keepers any day under the moon, but somehow, they were lacking something that he wanted... Finesse, grace, respect. To him a fight was a conversation between the two duellists, and exchange of ideas, memes. Force over gentleness? Speed over determination? It was an exchange of ideals, spoken through how the combatants fought. And whoever had the better mind won. After all things are said and done there's only so far the physical body could go. Vayl's frail thin form constantly reminded him of that outside of the, on hindsight, quiet darkcomfort of Kalinor.

Vayl's ears pricked suddenly. Someone in the crowd ahead, not one of the "Ebonstryfe" had called out. He didn't know enough common tongue yet to understand whether it was a name, a command, or an insult.

"Ehn-ohn-dahr"

Vayl pursed his lips. Certainly a very vulgar word whatever it meant. But the crowd's reaction to said word was much more interesting to him. The combat stopped, and the guards suddenly, yet vigorously started searching the crowd assembled around them. Perhaps it was an insult then, and the soldiers were trying to find the human who insulted them. That'd be logical, but they had seemed to have set off in the opposite direction to where the sound had come from.

A whisper of a smile crossed Vayl's lips as he watched the trouble worsen and worsen. People started accusing each other of whatever the crime committed was, until the entire crowd froze, slowly parting around a couple who had obviously done something of import. Around them on the floor was the increasingly familiar glint of gold currency.

With a quiet whisper of wind followed by a much louder crack, Vayl dropped off the building and landed on the ground, cursing in Symenos under his breath as his foot struck a rock. Pulling his boots on he headed towards the increasing madness, he wanted to watch this closer, this culture fascinated him.

So much greed.
x
ah, death at last
my escort to life's frailty
"Summer grasses,
All that remains
Of soldiers' dreams"
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Daegron on April 27th, 2014, 8:01 pm

_

Greed always was the driving force of mankind. And the little pool of chaos created by that cry of agony a few moments earlier, was slowly growing to a sea of madness. People would randomly accuse other people, the soldiers had already stopped their display of power and were trying to gain control of the situation. Their faces showed no emotion nor confusion. They looked determined and disciplined against the rising turmoil that threatened to swallow them. The angry mob is a dangerous enemy, unpredictable. A thought occurred to him that perhaps this random mess was not random at all. It was the city of Rhysol, perhaps there was a sinister purpose behind it.

"You are that bastard that almost got us killed" Said the man who Daegron seemed to have crushed on. A few awkward moments passed as the chaos around them evolved. "You are breathing your last here, shyke ! He was tall, fair-skinned with a glass bead and an ugly red scar where his left eye should have been. Of course, there was no memory of this man or what might have happened in the past that got him almost killed. It must have been something really nasty though, because he instantly threw a left punch aiming straight for Daegron's face. A well aimed hit that caught him by surprise, but thankfully lacking enough force behind it. The Morpher stepped back moaning and soon found his footing again. He needed a quick way out of this fight, before the whole mob trampled them both. With a sly sidestep he barely avoided the man's grapple and got lost that sea of bodies. Whoever that petcher was, he was going to find him again soon.

He recklessly jumped over what seemed to be a pile of people searching on the ground for whatever valuable was lost, gaining a little precious time for a quick trick.
He concentrated on his breathing and started whispering his focusing chant. As words flowed out of his mouth, filling the empty spaces between the incoherent shouting of agitated men, he reached inwards to find his essence and directed his Djed through the millions of nerves that run underneath his skin. He clenched his right fist and as he spread his fingers open, he made the shift. His hand muscles bulged and strengthened while his bones underneath became denser and harder. His nails grew longer and thicker while their edges sharpened. They were not made to simply scratch but to rend flesh...

He couldn't help but remember his Symenestra mentor. His black talons were a graceful and deadly instrument while this transformation was a crude, almost bestial imitation. It was quick and easy to handle though and could be kept for quite a while with minimal effort. He grinned wickedly and turned around to face his pursuer. Through myriads of pushes they were soon close enough. Still murmuring his mantra, he grabbed a skinny man who happened to stand next to him and used him as a shield for his opponent's well aimed straight punch. The trick worked like a charm and in the opportunity gained he used his new hand to slash the one-eyed man's face. A torrent of curses and screams followed, made him chuckle as he walked through the sea of strangers. "A little something from me to you... I guess I should have gotten you killed..." he thought and watched over his shoulder to his victim who blindly flailed his hands. Soon a brawl would erupt that way. Daegron's little pebble of violence in the sea of pandemonium that boiled.

It wasn't long till he bumped on what appeared to be a leather-clad beauty. Her amber gaze and flawless figure drew his attention, while his twisted mind raced on avenues of lust...

_


oocThat would be .. Raven :) everyone else is too far away or unattractive :P

The Art will twist you and turn you.
It will break you and tear you asunder; from your scattered remains it will shape you.
It will engulf you and spit you out.
It will fester in your mind, disfigure your body and blacken your soul.
And so on and so forth, through an endless chain of transformations till the time comes and you are everything...
Then you'll truly be nothing...

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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Cyric on April 27th, 2014, 8:09 pm

Cyric reveled at the glorious chaos that strewn before him. the guards battled to keep things under control charging on the mob in a pathetic attempt at order... Some believers of the god Rhysol, they to should soak in the glory of this chaos for a moment or two...

Cyric backed his way out of the crowd and reached for his coin purse, hidden beneath his robes. He reached inside it and withdrew a handful of roughly 20 mizas and tossed them into the air at the crowd. Furthering the chaotic clamor and violent rioting for the precious gold. Lucky for Cyric none of the guard seemed to realize he was the one foolish enough to further the chaotic mess. But the thug whom he had ratted out in the first place was all to keen to notice Cyric. He clearly had made his way away from the guards, walking with purpose toward Cyric dagger in hand, he clearly wanted to end his life.

Cyric chuckled lightly as he began to release a small amount of res into his right hand... It was difficult to control the amount in this fashion for him so it took him some time to gather enough of the violent force. Enough time that the man was almost upon him and had finally made his way out of the crowd... But only almost... Cyric lit the Res and created a ball of fire within his grasp that he hurled ferociously at the would be assailant.

Startled the man didn't even know how to react to the blast of flame that lept forth at him. Luckily for Cyric it pegged him directly in his back while he was trying to spin and run away. The force wasn't very strong but he was indeed lit aflame as he ran through the crowd on fire whilst shoving people over in his wild attempt to flee the flames...

Cyric stood there a breathed in heavily... The smell of chaos was strong here...
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An Exercise in Escalation (open)

Postby Elias Caldera on April 27th, 2014, 9:09 pm

This was insane, and yet, try as he might, Elias couldn't find a part of him that was genuinely surprised. He had been here for no more than a few bells and already he was staring into the madness of a brewing riot. How had this even started? A few chimes ago someone had shouted something, and next the entire exercise had completely devolved into bedlam, with all eyes and attention on what was quickly bubbling into more than just a little trouble. While the young local wasn't utterly shocked, he was quickly growing more and more appalled with each passing moment. From his exceedingly shaky vantage point atop the barrel, Elias was witness to a number of brazen acts he could only consider as astounding. Thieves. Cut purses. Pickpockets. They had already been among the spectators before the pushing had begun, but now that that the turmoil was beginning to spread, they had become sickeningly emboldened. Elias literally watched as two men circled around the shoving match between an Ebonstryfe soldier and a pair of men, boldly shoving people themselves as they went. As they did so, greedy hands were clearly dipping into pockets that did not belong to them. For many of their victims caught up in the shouting and the fighting, they hadn't even realized how one push had left their purses lighter than the all the others.

Unabashed and unhampered, the two pickpockets had both circled the same throng of violence so successfully that the two actually met in the middle, hands clawing for each other's mizas before they even realized it. Each man noticed immediately what the other was doing however, and in an instant yet another brawl had ensued. The young mage shook his head in disgust. Part of him wanted to laugh, but a stronger, more pressing side urged him to step in like he would have been expected to years ago. Contain, control, enforce. That's what he would have done, that's what the soldiers were trained to do. Those who had been fortunate enough to not be sent into the crowds after the mysterious agitator had smartly been assembled into a riot line. A row of shields and brutal intent meant to ward away the incoming horde. It was probably the right thing to do on their part considering how outnumbered they were, and already there was a steady stream of people leaving who wanted absolutely no part in the violence they had suddenly been caught up in. For those men who weren't so lucky however, they may as well have been lost out at sea. Drowning amongst an ocean of infuriated, scared and confused citizens, they struggled simply to enforce their will amongst those that bitterly encircled them, let alone capture whoever it was they had even come out to find in the first place.

It would only be a matter of time now before shoving turned to punching, and punching turned to stabbing. And as if on cue, the brutality that had been swiftly festering underneath the layer of outrage that coated this whole mess suddenly, and viciously exploded. Elias hadn't seen the first punch thrown, but he already knew he had to act. He leapt down from the barrel and began shoving his way through the crowd with an air of authority he had no right to. That was when he saw the glint of steel gripped in the white knuckles of a hooded man who was similarly, but more subtly weaving his way through the labyrinth of flesh. On instinct, Elias grabbed out at the man, catching a hold of the arm that held the small blade. The man turned on him, surprise and fury written in his face, but Elias's first reaction was not to attack, but instead defuse. "You don't want to do that." He said, his voice relatively low compared to the chaos around him. As he did so, his aura silently and soothingly blended with that of the stranger he now held unto. "You've got better things to do than get caught up in this." The novice's suggestion was more than just a suggestion, but even as he stared into man's eyes, his knew something was wrong. His influence had latched on, he could tell that much, but when the man wrenched his arm free with a snarl, the Caldera knew his attempt had failed. The man disappeared into the crowd, knife still firmly in tow. Elias made to go after him, but was abruptly hit in the head by something metal. He looked down to see what it had been and noticed the positively radiant glow of a golden coin on the floor.

"Shyke."

By the time he heard the screaming and smelt the burning flesh, it was already too late to even stop it. Engulfed, Elias found himself battling just to stay upright and above the stampede. His thoughts of upholding control and all things noble had quickly been thrown out the window as it was now his own well being in jeopardy. Now all he had on his mind was getting free and finding the mage who had clearly lost his mind. When Elias got his hands on him, the bastard was going to lose a lot more than that.
Last edited by Elias Caldera on May 19th, 2014, 2:30 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Elias Caldera
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