Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198 
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jun 27, 2019 13:48:39 GMT -8
Amaya sighed as she took in the dark clouds rolling in far above her head. Her wings were wrapped around herself as they were typically when she was in large crowds, but the illusion of them being her cloak was damaged by the random twitches.
It was just one of those days where her mood was rather unstable and flighty. Even the long flight she'd taken from the crack of dawn hadn't helped. She ought to have flown home to ask her father to humor her with another sparring match, but she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to get dragged along the ground again. And the last time she'd left, they been in such a good place. Accidentally letting loose again may put that at risk.
So instead she'd managed to wander to the arena. There was a distinct lack of people present as there was no event going on to her knowledge. And those that were there were high up in the stands- children just goofing off. But they were a safe distance away that the half-demoness could run her drills without worry of being disturbed. With any luck it would dampen her violent urges enough that she could continue wandering in Isra for a bit before thinking about flying home.
Amaya wandered in through the large gateway, exhaling heavily and there was an answering rumble of thunder as she reached back to unsheathe her sword. She slowly opened her eyes as she made for the center of the arena, the air around her crackling with static as she focused.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 27, 2019 15:24:53 GMT -8
In the corner of the arena, Falcon underwent his usual warm-up before training, a series of stretches and other exercises intended to promote blood flow. Wearing a light, loose-fitting white shirt, black pants, and with bare feet, he cut an odd figure, but the man seemed used to the occasional curious glance or even bold stare in his direction. Untroubled, he sighed in quiet contentment, thoughts turning inwards.
It had been nearly two weeks since Falcon had last found a chance to relax and enjoy his surroundings. The man had been traveling non-stop - from one town to the next, a nameless village to another, a capital here, a mountain's peak there; by the end of several months, Falcon was certain he'd wandered across half the continent he'd recently begun to call a temporary home. Although he frequently ceased his aimless vagrancy to garner some much-needed rest (in the interest of continuing on even further in the future), this time fate had seemingly conspired against him.
As the man warmed up in the corner of the arena, his sheer, blissful contentment at going through a round of stretching combated the uncomfortable flashes of memory he experienced as he recalled the last month. Mentally, he ticked off the events that had driven him nearly ragged.
First, he'd had a run-in with a small-time group of bandits. They'd ambushed him in the middle of the night, and although his normal recourse would have been to leave them in the ground, strange lands called for strange recourse - and so he'd merely bound them and left them in the forest. Then, his food supplies had spoiled unexpectedly, leaving him several days short on rations and forcing him to take a few odd jobs to pay for several days' worth of victuals before he could undertake a proper quest and earn himself some real coin. Finally, and most troubling of all, he'd received word from home.
Falcon sighed, looking up briefly, noting a blurry figure approaching from across the arena. Although he was too far to discern much, he noted the figure's slim nature, the slight sway of the hips, the squared shoulders...likely female. Armed, too. The warrior shrugged, storing the information in the back of his mind as "knowing who has a weapon near you" before returning to his inner musings.
The word from home had been...concerning, to say the least. Generally, he knew his people would hold their own against the apocalypse itself should it knock upon their gates, but--a tiefling?!
Falcon's head whipped up, eyes widening. By now, the figure had walked closer, and Falcon's profound sense of magic had enveloped them like a light blanket, feeding him information that caused the hair on his forearms to stand up in wariness. He decided to leave his weapon where it lay in his bag for now, instead choosing to rise from his crouch and pace forwards to meet the oncoming figure. He brushed at his thick black hair, frowning, head tilting in equal parts curiosity and concern. Before the two had closed within twenty meters of each other, Falcon stopped, keeping the same neutral pose. His voice, however, rose in clear challenge.
"Who are you?" He called out.
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jun 28, 2019 4:46:47 GMT -8
Amaya's focus broke, and distantly there was a random crack of thunder in the swirling storm clouds above. Her brow furrowed slightly as her golden eyes scanned until encountering the shorter young man who'd penetrated her focus. The sky rumbled in response to her annoyance but she quickly tried to put a muzzle on her emotions. She could see now, his things laying about on the arena's floor, so he'd clearly been there first.
The storm above quieted slightly as Amaya took a deep breath and removed her hand from her broadsword, raising her hands slightly to try and mollify him. She could already tell the human was a bit suspicious of her. She hadn't been bothered enough to put on a glamour this morning, and it seemed like it would bite her in the rear now.
"Just someone passing through in search of a place to blow off some steam." She called back to him, continuing to walk forward to him till they were at a distance in which she wouldn't have to yell to talk to him. "I was led to believe this lot was empty. Is there some event going on now?" She tried to give him a reassuring smile, though it wasn't easily managed. He seemed just the type to start something with her because of her blood and with her inner storm brewing as it was, she was in just the mood to humor him. But she'd keep a lid on it until provoked.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 28, 2019 5:09:05 GMT -8
Falcon watched her initial reaction with unwavering attention, knowing that the next few moments would decide everything. He snorted as thunder crackled overhead - such a lack of control failed to surprise him, given this woman's tiefling nature. Closer inspection yielded a few curious points; for one, they were nearly the same age. Her eyes were golden, and the shade of comforting bronze-yellow caught him off-guard for a moment. They looked so much like his brother's...
With a start, Falcon snapped back to reality. Overhead, thunder continued to rumble, the low and discontent grumbling of a girl who displayed sheer, ridiculous power, but questionable control. She stood in front of him, calmly speaking, but fidgeting every now and then, giving lie to her outwardly calm demeanor. She was restless, anxious, waiting for him to attack. A part of him wondered why he didn't oblige - surely such a gifted, powerful demon-kin ought to be removed, before she became a threat to others...yet...still she stood. Expectant, waiting, cautious.
This wasn't what he'd experienced in the past.
Falcon drew his feet up into a more relaxed posture, bringing them closer together, eyeing Amaya carefully. All the while, his arcane senses continued to tell him more about her; she displayed no sign of mania, no hint of the rage, insanity, bloodlust that he was accustomed to in her other kin. Perhaps such an affliction was only an Alancrian woe, or perhaps - even more unbelievably - they'd managed a way to actually -cure- the disease...?
"You are in control of yourself. Mostly. That is...good," Falcon admitted finally, twisting his mouth in a small frown. 'Good'? That was the best he'd come up with? He shook his head, sighing.
"Forgive me. Perhaps my mind is still set on training," he murmured. "There's no event here now. I came alone, seeking to train in peace. Though if you've done the same...perhaps we might find some common ground in sparring." Falcon's head tilted to one side in a gesture of curiosity, and unspoken question.
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jun 28, 2019 6:08:08 GMT -8
Amaya could not stop the twitch that developed in her left eye at his words. Why was it in question if she was in control of herself. It took her a few moments to firmly put a muzzle on her instincts. She had to remind herself that she wasn't home. Racism was much stronger outside their borders. Her smile became a bit more forced as she listened to the rest of what he had to say and his... lack luster apology. She exhaled heavily through her nose as she shifted to sit in her hip.
"While that is a good idea in theory, I'm afraid you may not be able to match me. I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt you because I am just barely in control of myself as you have been so kind to point out." She said her smile becoming just a bit contemptuous as the rumble of thunder got closer. Was she offended by what he said? Absolutely. Was she going to turn him into a bloody pulp because of it? No. That would only prove his point.
"I do need the space, however. So if you wouldn't mind giving me a few minutes here alone so let loose... I would appreciate it."
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 28, 2019 6:28:28 GMT -8
At her words, Falcon felt a flare of sheer, hot anger. It had been a long, *long* time since anyone had called him weak.
Before he could remind himself that this wasn't his homeland, and he wasn't a known figure, he flexed his fingers as his signature magic roared along his frame in a sudden burst of fiery blue light. Surrounded as he was by arcana of massive power, he eyed the woman in front of him even as the energy began to sink into his bones in a familiar, soothing ritual. Spell after spell layered itself automatically on him, boosting his every aspect of his senses, physicality, and more, wrapping him protectively in their embrace as the threads wove themselves into his very being. Before long, the effect had lost its visual aspect, the fires dying down to mere pinpricks of light that shivered along his frame in ecstatic flickers.
Falcon now presented a much more dangerous figure, having enchanted himself with enough magic that one could easily detect him nearly a mile away. To any with the ability to sense such arcana, they would nearly be blinded after a moment's glance towards the warrior. If Amaya held any skill with arcana whatsoever, she would quickly realize that despite whatever other skill Falcon might have with magic, *this* was his crowning achievement; such personal, deep enchantment, too deep to even suffer dispelling, would have been the result of decades of intense practice.
Falcon's eyes flashed full of annoyance as he looked towards Amaya.
"I'm afraid there might not be enough space," he growled quietly. "Perhaps you would like to test your assertion about my strength?"
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jun 28, 2019 7:24:23 GMT -8
Amaya's lips pursed as she watched the man. She was no stranger to enchantments. Her father had made sure she'd trained against most every type of foe he thought she may encounter, and helped to nurture her skills of perception. So just by a glance she knew he was a formidable opponent. As one who had stared into a storm and seen and conducted lightning brighter, hotter, and more powerful than the sun Amaya didn't even flinch as her eyes narrowed slightly.
Her wings unfolded slowly from around her body, the broad bat-like wings formidable in their own right especially as they flapped once and buffeted the man with a strong gust. A warning.
"I did not come here to make trouble. And I would not care to start any." She stepped forward slowly, the light breast plate she wore glinting even in the subtle light. The storm had rolled in fully now. Anyone looking at the arena would see the massive storm cloud swirling above the walls, but thankfully restricted to that area. "Do not pick a foolish fight with me. You will regret it. So I will ask you again nicely. Please remove yourself for the time being and you can return later." She said as she let some of her own aura leak out to reinforce her words. Even those completely inept at sensing energies would have been able to feel suffocated by the energy she put out. The air reeked of ozone and the static was surely making the hairs on the back of the man's neck stand on end. Her eyes swirled with a barely contained electrical storm.
He was toying with a beast he likely shouldn't have.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 28, 2019 7:41:12 GMT -8
Falcon watched, teeth clenched, as the energy level in the air around him rose dramatically. He noted the storm coming closer, the lightning beginning to flash ominously between the clouds, punctuated by great blasts of thunder. The wings that unfolded from the girl's body told the warrior everything he needed to know.
Demon-kin indeed, he thought quietly, readying himself. Time to dance.
As his eyes closed, Falcon perceived the world as it was - colorful, highlighted in whorls and swirls of magical energy that danced and rippled like heat waves in the summer. Overhead, each crash of thunder was like an explosion of fireworks, the lightning like bright streaks of rainbow-tinted glass, held in place by the girl's aura which pulsed around her in a slow vortex. She was strong, Falcon realized. Stronger than he'd initially assumed. He felt a slow grin stretch across his face, a manic, excited rictus that belied his previous outward calm. Whatever Amaya thought of Falcon up until that point, it would have to be reconciled with a simple fact that became ever more apparent as time progressed: that Falcon simply craved training. Sparring, exercise, it was all a dance to the man; one he'd known his whole life, an instinctual drive to survive and flourish.
Falcon was going to have fun.
"Alright," he called out, "it's been a long, long time since anyone's been so openly challenging. Most duels tend to end quickly. Let's see how long this one goes."
Without another word, Falcon stretched his hand towards his sheathed sword. After a second, it quivered, shaking in place, the metal rattling in complaint. A moment later the sword shot out like a hurled spear, singing to Falcon's grasp with deadly intent. Ornate, stylized, and polished, the blade was clearly mystical in nature, and had seen as much heavy use as it had repair. The design, wrought beautifully upon a simple steel longsword, hinted at a status far higher than a simple wandering mercenary. As his fingers curled around the blade, the same azure fire which wrapped his body sunk into the metal as though the energies were meant for the sword.
Falcon breathed deep, feet shifting into place as the dance began in his mind, a whirling staccato rhythm of many, many battlefields past, blood sunk into the dirt, bodies piled high, sweat coursing down his frame, agony in every step, clash of blade on blade over and over again, roaring defiance, one challenge after another...
Falcon leapt at Amaya in a single instant, blade held ready, face composed in its intent.
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jun 28, 2019 14:16:02 GMT -8
Amaya had thought that by letting her aura leak out, she'd dissuade the man from fighting. That was typically all it took to make men larger than him, tuck tail and run. She'd even, embarrassingly enough, had a man piss himself before scrambling away. So when she looked down into the man's eyes and saw the manic desire for violence, her eyes widened slightly and the storm within her surged into a full tempest. She'd made a mistake. Her demonic blood surged and boiled even as her logic tried to reign it in.
He may be strong but he was human. And humans could be fragile. Her lips parted slowly after he said his piece- trying with some difficulty to refrain from growling at the man- and attempting one last time to reason with him. But she never got the chance to say so as the man was quite suddenly armed and surging towards her that manic glint still in his eye. Amaya's body reacted on pure instinct, leaping backwards- her wings giving a mighty flap to propel herself backwards buffeting the man with a gust strong enough to send him back sprawling onto the ground.
Amaya shot upwards and back across the arena, her body tense for his next move, the winds of the storm above them sweeping down to spiral around her. There was a wall of wind between them that would be no easy task to penetrate through. "You really don't want to do this! I can't be held responsible for what happens to you if this persists. I wouldn't even know where to send the body back!" She called down to him, gliding on the updraft even as she adjusted her bracers in preparation to block.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 28, 2019 17:23:04 GMT -8
Falcon laughed aloud as the dance continued unabated, continuing to increase in pace. His body a blur, Falcon leapt back to a standing position, idly brushing the dust from his shirt.
"Nice wings. I wondered when that would--" Falcon whipped to the side to avoid more blasts of wind coming from the girl's wings. "...Alright..." he murmured.
Decades of experience lent Falcon the patience to force himself to plan his next movements carefully. Although it would be tempting to rush in and tank the buffeting force of her power directly, the demon-girl was fairly strong in her own right. Not only that, but he imagined - just a hunch, mind - that she'd faced down plenty of opponents who'd thought her frail and weak for her size and femininity...and that she'd blasted them all down merely by taking advantage of their egos. Falcon hadn't survived as much as he had - and dueled down as many opponents - by underestimating them so easily.
How had he learned that lesson? Why, by underestimating enough opponents, of course.
The man waited, patiently, learning the rhythm of his opponent's dance, even as the winds shrieked past his twisting, lithe frame, and the girl grew more and more visibly agitated at his unwillingness to retreat. Finally, he sensed the pattern - within the whirling chaos was still her sentient, predictable mind. And any mind had a pattern, one that could be exploited, known...and subverted. Just a few more moments...
Without hesitation, Falcon bolted from his position, just as a peal of lightning slammed down into the ground where he'd stood just a heartbeat before. The wall of wind, held firmly in place by the girl's will, shivered as it came into contact with his blade...and parted after a roar and pulse of energy from him sliced a fracture into it, destabilizing the spell in an area around his body. He slipped through, blade widening the gap, even as his own personal wards vehemently defended him against the buffeting magic all around. He looked up at the girl with fierce, excited eyes.
"I've fought gods, kings, and monsters. Far more than this. I've stared death in the face fought it back. I've fallen and risen time and time again in service of my people, my nation, and my fair land." Falcon's eyes narrowed in challenge. "You would be foolish to think I would hesitate at a sparring match such as this."
Falcon dashed towards Amaya, tightening his grip on his blade as he closed to within just a few dozen meters of the woman, pointed his blade up at her, leveling its gleaming tip up at her face.
"My turn."
A thunderous shrieking emanated as a blast of pure force erupted from the blade, guided by a complex, woven meld of arcana that kept its shape even as it departed Falcon's space. A lance of deadly energy, massive and hungry, seared towards Amaya, almost contemptuously piercing through the magical winds which attempted to divert its course.
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jul 1, 2019 17:33:05 GMT -8
Amaya was glad she'd thought to adjust her bracers as she knocked the man back. Her body was mostly in shock after seeing the man cut through the gale as if it was something physical he could see, time and destroy. It shook her so severely she barely processed the bolt of pure destructive energy shot out at her.
Her eyes widened to the point of saucers as she scrambled to bring her arms up in an X to block the strike as her wings folded. The impact struck her almost as hard as Chernobog had when he train with her as a young girl. The air left her lungs in a puff as she was forced backwards- slamming into the far arena wall with such force it cracked the stone sides of the arena. The impact would have been enough likely to kill a human- shatter their back- so it was fortunate she wasn't. But she was dazed and the lancing pain up her spine did nothing to stop the raging storm from getting loose.
She lost the loose grip of control she had and the storm responded immediately. The winds whipped up faster, kicking up sand wildly, impairing vision and making the air hard to breath. The sky grew black and dark, lighting racing through the clouds and thunder cracked loud enough to make the ears ring as Amaya staggered to her feet. Her head was drooped down on her neck limply She was silent and steady- the wild storm barely stirring the hair on her head as she reached back and slowly pulled the broadsword from her back, the nails on her hands lengthening into talons, her wings spreading out even further, pointed horns bursting from the joints of her bat wings.
She raised her blade up slowly and the minute it was perfectly perpendicular, bolts of lighting rained down in a blinding display, striking the blade and channeling it down into the wielder. Her head snapped up with a crack, her eyes a blinding gold and the veins around them glowing golden. Thick bolts of lighting jumped and crackled from her blade, fanning out giving even more reach to the deadly blur of enchanted steel.
Her lips tilted up in vicious snarl and she darted forward whipping her blade across at the man, swiping across his body, an arc of white hot lightning following in it's wake.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 1, 2019 18:45:18 GMT -8
Falcon knew he'd underestimated her the moment the lightning struck her full-force, and he felt her magical signature multiply ten-fold.
What had he said about underestimation? Priceless. He truly was an idiot. Fortunately, he didn't have the time to berate himself, as he was constantly back-pedaling, parrying one vicious blow after another as what were practically brutal hammer-strikes rained down on his defensive posture. The storm had effectively half-blinded him, despite his attempts to project an aura around himself to block the worst of the elements - distracted as he was by the prospect of immediate death, he couldn't halt the rain flying into his face.
In retrospect, he felt that rather reasonable...but at the time, the water dripping into his eyes was just one of many precarious problems.
His opponent's ruthless censure came in the form of lightning-fast (the man congratulated himself mentally on the obvious pun as he barely ducked another vicious cut), undeniable offensive strikes. Although her training was clearly quite recent, and hadn't included the dirtier tactics or years of experience Falcon had obtained by partaking in so many bloodbaths, there were only so many instances where he could use a feint, into a parry, into a surprise technique that bought him a few seconds of time. He'd only ever seen her fall for the same trick once, and although he had the edge in experience, her raw ferocity and absurd strength far outweighed his own at the present moment. His enchantments, typically layered before a battle, were hastily thrown on and half-formed, and he had yet to call on...other aspects of his power. As such, although he wasn't quite being rag-dolled around the arena, he certainly was on the defensive.
On the defensive, Falcon thought with a smirk, typically meant "losing".
And as he suddenly found himself too slow to block a blow aimed at his midsection, Falcon realized exactly what losing meant in this scenario. The girl's furious, power-filled eyes locked onto his as her blade easily parted his flesh and sank into his abdomen, thankfully missing anything vital. That said, Falcon was still quite impaled.
And then the lightning hit him.
For several seconds, all was light and pain and deafness as he rocketed back to the other side of the arena, skimming the ground before finally coming to rest half-upright, bent over his knees. Blood dripped to the arena dirt, and Falcon dimly realized that he needed to end this fight now, before passing out from too much blood. A different sort of warrior would have simply conceded, having been obviously wounded and beaten so soundly. Falcon...
Well. Falcon was an idiot. But a very, very powerful one.
He raised one hand to the sky, fingers grasping, the other began tracing lines in the air with his blade. Runic symbols flared to life over the ground around him, the air in front of him...and over his skin.
I am the spear-point, the harbinger. I am the bond that does not break.
The symbols flared brighter, and Amaya would feel an indescribably massive power beginning to build, even as Falcon continued to stand there, channeling whatever spell he was casting.
I am the emblem of vengeance, the symbol of destruction. I am the shield that does not waver.
A low keening cry started on the air, a wail in the distance that soon increased in volume as gusts of wind began to combat even the storm's riotous eddies and currents. Repetitive, almost drumbeat-like blasts of air began to shake the very arena as Falcon's eyes burned a bright, terrible blue.
I am the proud hunter, the swift killer. I am the sword that does not hesitate.
Falcon locked eyes with Amaya, and for an instant, she saw his stony expression - which had been locked in place ever since he began casting - waver. A frown split his features, and he tilted his head.
I am...a fucking idiot?
The runes began to die out, one by one, as Falcon slowly, achingly lowered his sword. His windswept hair settled back into place as the wind gusts slowed, then stopped, and his rippling clothes returned to hugging his frame more tightly. The man looked down at the ground, then back up at Amaya.
"...You win," he murmured, nodding in approval, before collapsing to the ground, blood staining the arena floor.
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jul 2, 2019 20:36:23 GMT -8
Amaya had blacked out. When the demonic side of her blood wrested control from her conscious mind- particularly out of defense instinct because of some strong enemy- the sheer instinctual destructive urge was so overwhelming it, effectively 'shorted out' her consciousness. All that was left was the beast that would not stop till the threat was neutralized or it was. Very dimly and distantly, she felt the thrill of adrenaline and the sick joy as she had the impudent human against the wall, bombarded from all sides.
Her bloodlust reached it's peak as finally her sword hit home lodging into the humans' abdomen, and she poured the barely contained lightning into the man's form. It was whatever humanity that managed to claw it's way to the surface that stopped the angle of penetration from striking his heart. And that was likely what saved him. The thick scent of blood on the air, pleased her demon but made her humanity recoil and reel back in horror and disgust- waking from the daze.
As Falcon summoned his last resort, Amaya had actually retreated inward battling with herself for control once more. Her humanity- crying, begging, and pleading that they had already done more than enough. Her demoness- reeling with laughter and bloodthirst, wanting to finish the job they'd already started for the man's impudence. Both sides equally strong- equally balanced, but unable to wrest complete control from the other.
It was not until she was struck by a wind not her own that both sides snapped back to attention, noting the magic radiating from the man. It was a deep ominous building pressure on Amaya's senses. Her grip on her sword tightened again, refocusing as one could not argue with themselves when they were already passed but the tip of her sword lowered only moments later at his murmur. She barely caught it over her storm that had begun to still, but still it was there. And moments later the blood thirst was gone and replaced with guilt as the man collapsed, blood pouring from the wound she'd inflicted.
The pupils and irises slowly reappeared in her eyes as she regained herself, dropping her bloodied sword in her hurry. She'd done it again. "Damn it." She hissed as she leapt into motion.
She took a step and pulled the winds towards herself to quickly cross the expanse of the arena, her hand going to rifle in the concealed pocket to her armor. Amaya dropped down onto her knees beside him as she pulled out a tiny vial which she swiftly uncorked. Unknown in the Mainland, and decently rare even in her homeland- she'd finally wizened up and begun bringing Elixir with her. The cost to make, use, and administer was high, so it was typically a last resort... but considering the number she'd done on the man, she couldn't very well just walk away. Fly, maybe, but her wings were still sore.
Careful not to use even half a drop too much, she let a good sized drop fall from the vial into the wound she'd inflicted on him. If Falcon was even still capable of feeling in his state, he'd feel warmth spread throughout the wound as the medicine did as it was supposed to, slowly easing the bleeding and working on mending the rend in his abdomen. "A lucky ass, you are." She grumbled as she popped the cork back on. She could only hope she hadn't wasted a use. "I tried to warn you." She said huffing in annoyance as she straightened up again, rolling her shoulders, glaring down at the man.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 3, 2019 7:18:08 GMT -8
You have called, and I have answered.
I did not call out of desire, but necessity.
Nonetheless; you have called, and I have answered. Do you not wish to hear my reply?
I don't want to obliterate everything in a fifteen-mile radius, no.
You disappoint me.
YOU disappoint me. Have you no control?
Have you no instinct of self-preservation? You would perish in a duel merely because you underestimated your opponent. Again.
I--
Show her that it is she who has underestimated YOU.
...
You know that you desire this. You wish to annihilate those who oppose you. It is your desire, your duty...and your curse.
I do not even know who she is.
You know that she is demon. That is enough.
I will not allow your conviction to override mine. She may have a spark of goodness in her. That is enough for me. A reason to fight.
You will not suffer evil to walk the land.
You are correct. And I will also not yield to you. I have overridden you once. You know your place.
You shall not dictate my action.
And you shall not dictate my own. You know this. We work in tandem, or not at all. But remember the bargain you made. Trust my judgment.
...Very well.
----------
Falcon awoke slowly, groaning, the pain of the wound through his abdomen rippling through his nerves, lighting them afire even as the elixir began to slowly repair the damage. Amaya's words flashed through his slowly-recovering consciousness.
"Lucky indeed...mh...y-you did try to warn me," Falcon gasped slowly, sitting up and assessing the situation. His clothes would need repair; his wound was still covered in dried blood and ached abominably, though his innards were at least safe; and his pride, damaged most of all. He looked up at Amaya, serious dark brown eyes finding her own, sincerity flickering through his gaze.
"My thanks. You did not need to save my foolish hide. I would have survived...after a fashion," he murmured. "I've suffered worse. Still...my thanks." He propped himself up on one knee, palm on the ground, then slowly rose to his full height, standing just a few inches shorter than the demoness, still looking up into her eyes.
"Curious color, those," he blinked at her, staring into her irises. "You...are a tiefling...it would seem. But one who offered a fair, powerful fight, has not succumbed to true madness, and had no qualms with healing me afterwards. I respect that - the devotion to the duel. And I respect your strength." Falcon's voice was smooth, cultured, unbroken - the very fact that he stood there, clutching his shirt over his stomach wound, indicated a simply absurd degree of self-control.
"I am called Falcon Cultain. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He bowed slightly. "And congratulations on your victory. May I offer you a drink?"
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jul 5, 2019 14:32:05 GMT -8
There was still a touch of regret niggling in the back of Amaya's mind as she listened to the man speak as if she was some miracle. That she was of her right mind, could control herself , and had even the smallest shred of decency and morality. She exhaled heavily as she shifted to sit in her hip, tucking the medicine back away into the concealed pocket and folding her arms under her chest . Her winds stretched slowly, the horns that erupted, slowly retreating back into her bat winds as if they were never there. Her appearance overall was gradually shifting back to more humanlike as the threat was neutralized.
"Firstly, I do not prefer to be called a 'tiefling' as you say. I am half-demoness and half human- born of the love between a demon father and a human mother." She reached out and the wind picked up and moment later her sword sliced through the air beside Falcon's head- narrowly missing him and the grip solidly impacted her palm. Electricity still coursed through the pupils of her eyes as she looked down at him. "Perhaps if you didn't automatically assume everyone who carries infernal blood is mad and evil- you'd realize there aren't so few of us of our right mind as you think." She said before she exhaled, combing her hair back out of her eyes. She was still a bit prickly about the racism, but she tried to remember her mother's words. People judged what they didn't understand out of a self preservation instinct. It took a special type of person to be able to evaluate people aside from the image the immediately cast. And she had to try to be one of them as well.
After she let him digest what she said and shook his blood off her sword- she'd need to clean it properly later- she sheathed her sword again as her wings folded over her body. She looked at him again before she extended a hand. "... It's been an ... interesting experience making your acquaintance, Falcon Cultain. And I wouldn't call that a victory by any means." She exhaled, a bit of annoyance at her own lack of self control showing. "My name is Amaya Thundra, by the by. And I wouldn't mind a drink after a sparring session like that."
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 5, 2019 15:11:55 GMT -8
Falcon's gaze turned opaque as he listened to her describe her heritage. As he sheathed his own blade, he nodded in assent. "Very well. Tiefling, I shall call you not. Amaya it is." He huffed once, closing his eyes as he wavered in place for a moment, swaying. Behind his eyelids, his eyes flickered rapidly before he opened them again, looking directly at Amaya.
"Perhaps we should clean ourselves first. It would do me no good to leave like this, shirt ragged and covered in blood. I am no one of great import, yet I nonetheless must present a...certain image," the man spoke with a small smile. "Give me but a moment." Falcon returned to his large pack, sitting forgotten in the corner of the arena, and began to rapidly withdraw and store items until he'd fetched a variety of cleaning items and fresh clothes. With a curt nod, the man departed to change.
Falcon returned after just under ten minutes, refreshed; the man's bloodstained clothes were gone, replaced by fanciful garments; a shirt in dark blue, with stylized silver etchings upon it; black pants and shoes, the soles polished to a mirror sheen; a white cloak with blue engravings, the style similar to the man's shirt; and an emblem of a falcon, claws and wings outstretched, worked beautifully in silver, hung at his neck. In all, with his sword belted to his hip and an aura of electrifying power surrounding the man, Falcon cut a dangerous, eye-catching figure. Those who saw he and the demoness together tended to simply avert their eyes rather than risk a confrontation, and if this behavior troubled Falcon, the man showed little discomfort.
"So," he murmured as the pair began to walk, "how long have you trained? Who taught you to fight? I am stranger in a strange land, and know not your customs. Here, your people are...more accepted than in my homeland."
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jul 7, 2019 14:03:41 GMT -8
At Falcon's recommendation that they both get changed, Amaya had looked down at herself and couldn't agree more. She was dusty and covered in blood- thankfully not hers, and she didn't even have to look to know her hair was a mess. So when Falcon departed to go change, Amaya summoned a small storm to start pouring rain over her so she was drenched- and thankfully clean. For good measure, she did go to get changed, the clothes still smelled of blood even though the physically looked clean. She could feel eyes on her from somewhere high above her head so as precaution, she brought in a thick fog as she brought out the pack on her back that had been concealed in her wings.
By the time Falcon walked back into the arena, Amaya was shrugging on a pastel blue short tunic, embroidered with white clouds at the hems, concealing the flash of skin he may have seen. The tunic was the brightest garment she wore, the black leggings and tall black boots with silver buckles in direct opposition. She'd also redone the small braid that framed half her face. She turned when she heard Falcon approaching from her back, as she pulled on the thick leather jerkin. It wasn't necessary really for her to wear armor- a simple stab wound wouldn't do much more than inconvenience her for a few minutes, but just so he didn't get any ideas. She wasn't so foolish to trust a man who she'd just beaten.
She picked up her pack and dispelled the fog as he approached her, thinking about her response to his questions. "... It's hard for me to say how long exactly I've trained. Technically I have been training since I was 14 summers old on this plane.... But time... it passes differently in the Nether. My father and his associates taught me to fight after... we lost my mother." The half-demoness paused for a moment to collect herself before she started to walk out of the arena with him. Her wings again folded around herself and it was almost as if she was wrapping herself up in a hug. She continued after the moment's delay with a soft sigh. "And you and I are in the situation then. Isra is not my home either. But they are remarkably similar in their acceptance of the infernal. You are actually the first person I've encountered here that has attacked me for my blood." She mused as they walked out from the tunnel. She thought that she'd seen a few taverns in the area. It was just a matter of figuring out where they'd been.
"And what about you? I may have been in a bit of a daze but I recognize power when I sense it. You remind me of the celestial half-beings back home."
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 7, 2019 18:31:39 GMT -8
Falcon recoiled slightly as they walked, frowning severely at Amaya. "I most certainly did not attack you "for your blood", madame. I fought you in a friendly duel and was soundly defeated. Nothing more or less." He snorted once, rolling his shoulders. "Besides, I'll feel it tomorrow."
"I've been training since I was...young enough to. Around five summers, at my count. As a child, my home was attacked and destroyed by undead hordes. My brother fled one way, and I, another. I ended up being rescued by a sage living in the deserts to the west of my small village, and for almost a decade, he was my mentor, and my father. It was...happy." Falcon said simply, his eyes seeming to flicker as he remembered another time and place. "After...after that, I...I traveled to the northeast, to Avalon. I felt it calling even back then, in my blood. The desire to stand for something greater than myself...and stand I did." He turned to look to Amaya as the two walked through the city, their shoes clacking gently on the paved roads. "Half-celestial...it is not quite correct, yet you are...closer than many in your estimation, in a sense."
Falcon stopped, breathing calmly, eyes closing for a moment. When he reopened them, the flash of power that surged through them was enough that even Amaya could feel the intensity.
"I harbor a very argumentative deity. One whose views do not always mirror my own. It is a long, long story." He sighed, running a hand through his soft, fine hair. "I am my own man, beholden to no one, so worry not. I see the look in your eyes," he murmured with a smile, reaching out and flicking her shoulder, "that speaks of nervousness. Again, worry not - I control myself, above all others. I have shouted down a deity before...and likely will do so again." He looked up, dark eyes scrutinizing the buildings around the pair as they walked. "...Such a large city. It reminds me much of my home. I miss it so," he trailed off quietly, eyes displaying a hint of sadness before he reasserted control once more, expression returning to its usual calm demeanor.
|
|
Amaya Thundra
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 198
Age: 24
Physical Description: She has pale blue hair that is rather jagged and cut short (she cuts her own hair with a knife). Her eyes are a golden color that looks much like lightning ripping across the sky. When her powers are active, it looks like lightning is running through her veins. Her ears are pointed and long. She stands at about 6 foot and her nails are normal unless she is feeling beastly when they can grow into talons. Otherwise, she appears as a normal human. Also... horns.
Clothes and Equipment: It looks as though she is constantly wearing a tattered black cloak, but it is actually her wings folded over her body that are pretty durable against attacks. She wears light armor underneath her wings typically and dresses lightly. Though she is not a fan of dresses and skirts or any clothing that restricts her movement, if it necessary or particularly unique, she can be convinced to wear it. She wields a broad sword in case of emergency but prefers to fight hand to hand.
Allegiances: Edan; To a lesser degree her father, Ixdraynael
Registered: May 31, 2018 19:40:04 GMT -8
|
Post by Amaya Thundra on Jul 7, 2019 20:23:49 GMT -8
It took no small amount of effort to stop Amaya from jumping back in shock when the aura was suddenly back and she took note of his eyes. Though she did not spring back, she did tense- prepared to take defensive action if needed and only relaxed by a fraction when he flicked her shoulder. To be honest, she didn't quite relax even when they started walking out together. Though she'd given him a nod at his comment that it wasn't about her blood, her face betrayed that she wasn't quite convinced. And she wasn't.
"...I... I see." She said after a moment as she processed all that he'd said. And it was a lot to process. "That is... I've encountered quite a few individuals in my travels... None so unique as this. I didn't even think... it was possible for a human to actually contain a deity and remain in their right mind." She idly thought to the only other circumstance that was even slightly similar that she'd encountered. She could only hope there was no consciousness remaining in that shell. She shook herself from those musings exhaling slowly before she turned to address him again. "If you miss it so, why don't you return? I will probably be going home soon, for instance." She glanced around at the street seeing several hanging signs advertising what looked to be taverns, drinking halls and eateries. Not being from the area she didn't quite know which would be any good so she merely decided on one at random that looked not to be as shifty as the others. She started off towards the 'Silver Dragon Sanctuary'.
|
|
Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
|
Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 8, 2019 5:54:53 GMT -8
Falcon frowned at Amaya for a moment, eyeing her thoughtful, concerned gaze as she took in his words - and frowned even further at her lack of belief.
I suppose it would be too much to expect her to trust me straightaway, wouldn't it, he mused idly. "My home...I came here for several reasons, and although I wish dearly to return home, I cannot. Not yet, anyway," Falcon muttered the last part with a sigh.
Falcon continued to pace next to her, mulling over his response as they neared a rather seedy-looking tavern - somehow less decrepit than those around it - labeled the "Silver Dragon Sanctuary". The rusted sign depicted a silver dragon poking its head from a hole in the side of a mountain, with a jet of flame pouring from between its fangs. It looked to have been rather eye-catching in its earlier days, but years of neglect had reduced it to a pale imitation of its former self.
Politely holding the door open for Amaya, Falcon sighed, hoping the sign wasn't a metaphor.
"So," he spoke as they entered, the scent of cheap beer and unwashed bodies rolling over them as surely as waves at sea, "what makes you believe I wouldn't be in my right mind? If my people have taught me prejudice, then so clearly have yours." Falcon murmured with a half-smile, one corner of his mouth tilted upwards and the slightest hint of merriment in his gaze. He ordered drinks for the pair of them, selecting them a table near the rear of the tavern, from which they could watch all the commotion - the bustling figures, the roaring laughter, the slamming of angered fists onto tables, and more. Despite the rather raunchy, boisterous, gregarious aspect of the tavern, Falcon felt himself relax. It wasn't quite a Legion barracks, but the man had spent a large portion of his wandering days in such places, and the similarities were clear.
"Nice place," he chuckled idly.
|
|
