Poor, Unfortunate Souls [Lucie/Ahote]

The air was cool and filled any passerby's lungs with the pungent zing of a passing storm. In between the cracks of cobblestone roads did cold rainwater drift about aimlessly, their droplets splashing against Ahote's black, glossy loafers as he ambled down the empty streets while those unfortunate enough to not have a roof over their heads had their rears soaked in the moisture. Even if it had been hours since the rain had poured from the tar-black atmosphere, the overcast of stormclouds remained and submerged the indulgent Era in their shadows. Yet, even with the veil of darkness cast by these balls of black speckled across the sky, the water had slithered through the small cracks in the stone with a natural sense of direction. Like the water, Ahote had sauntered through the space with a pale complexion, eyes soft and uninterested of the oblivious well-to-do men and women.

The town was littered with the homes of nobles, all who had secluded themselves in whatever buildings would let them in for a jolly time. The silhouettes of burly men and their soft-spoken wives pierced through their linen curtains with the soft, vigorous movement of a candlelight. Ahote's topaz hues had gazed through them bitterly, only to fix his gloomy orbs to the worn road ahead of him. He was submerged in dark fabrics, dressed in one of his favorite vest-suits with a black fur jacket over it. He was, perhaps, always overdressed for most occasions, but insisted on continuing in wearing these suits. But unlike the brooding guildmaster, a variety of homeless men had been scattered across the exterior of streets, dirty alleyways, and none of them had been dressed fairly, their eyes filled with a mixture of indignancy and sorrow. Ahote couldn't help but stop to stare every few paces.

Suddenly, a chilly droplet kissed his pale countenance. The raven-haired man raised his head heavenward, crestfallen in the realization of the coming downpour. But, before the oncoming downpour could impose their wet will upon him, he had quickly relocated to the nearest bench with some sort of awning over it to shield him from the rain. While waiting patiently for the rain to pass, he sat on the dry bench with his digits fumbling with a switchblade, the metal dancing in between his fingers. He sighed, "Poor, unfortunate souls. . ." he said wistfully. There was no genuine happiness to be found in those whose wallets were as light of feathers, it seemed.

The Daemon had no other reason to be in Era other than to seek out her enemy. There was no reason to take them on directly, but she only wished to know more about them than she already did. Knowledge was a weapon, after all, both a great offense and a great defense. When it came to the Magic Council, however, Lucie only wished to tear down their defenses. The more she knew about them, the weaker they would be.

Their grand palace was heavily guarded by Rune Knights, thus, the Daemon dared not venture to close. However, the streets of Era were another topic altogether. The rumors to cycle the streets could give her many leads, and that was precisely what she wanted for now. Or rather, she was settling. If she had her way, she would have an easier time breaking into the heart of her enemy’s territory and system. However, she did not want to risk the powers of the ones who defended the Magic Council. Though she was a spirit being, and barely more than an astral projection, the group would be fools to not already have precautionary measures against such forces. With that in mind, she would be a fool to think she could use her nature as an advantage.

Ideally, finding a worker of the Rune Knights or Magic Council among the people wandering about Era would be fruitful. The Daemon sought to find someone connected to her enemy, or at least someone she could ensnare the soul of. Not only was she on a mission, but her hunger pains were growing, and the typical food of the physical realm would not satiate her. Why not both use someone for the knowledge they might possess, and consume their soul when they were no longer useful? It was survival of the fittest, after all, and that was all that Lucie had ever known.

As the Daemon treaded the slummy, poor streets of the lower parts of Era, she quickly caught onto a rather familiar aura. Granted, she had only ever met the boy once, but it was not like she met people on a regular basis. Names and faces were easy to remember. Locking onto both the soul trail and merely the scent hanging in the air still, keenly detected by her slayer capabilities, Lucie began to follow what she sensed. She remembered the young Basilisk Fang guild member, and recalled when she had assisted him with taking down a major within the Rune Knights. As Ahote wandered the dirty streets, he would find he had a shadow-- a spirit being lingering behind, following him at a supposedly safe distance. Keen ears could hear him fiddling with the switchblade, and commenting on the poor old sods lining the streets. She did indeed have a mission, but this could end up far more interesting, and hopefully productive.




[482 // 7,000]

Ahote stared between the cracks of the cobblestone road with a dry expression. His eyes drooped, the topaz orbs following the streams of water as they slithered their way across the stone and into the nearby drains, converging into waterfalls of stormwater. It was a peaceful image that was easy to lose oneself into, even those who did not have the comfort of a roof over their heads. Rain was forever delightful. But unfortunately, no day seemed to go undisturbed for a man of such infamy.

A perturbing presence overwhelmed him, yet nothing but the sweet smell of rainwater filled his lungs. It was a unique sensation equivalent to that of a competent wizard, but no wizard in sight. The raven-haired man's orbs darted around the scene like tadpoles in a pond until his lips would twist into a frown. He rose from his seat, turning towards the road adjacent to his bench, the switchblade dancing in between his fingers stilling into an idle state. Ahote raised his right arm, his palm poised in such a way that it looked as if he were holding something round, "Show yourself. . ." he whispered, his voice tense and quiet. A golden lance of tremendous length would materialize in between his fingers before being cast at the center of the road. The cobblestone would shatter, the lance piercing the surface as the rain rolled over its metal. Of course, he could not pinpoint where this presence was but was in hopes that the spear would've struck it nonetheless.

Stat Information:

The last thing the Daemon expected was for the sudden violent turnaround. Then again, what should she had expected from a dark mage? Lucie knew he was anything but legal, nor was he any ally or affiliate of the magic council. Together they had assassinated a Rune Knight major, however.

As the spear came towards her, the Daemon allowed it to phase through her ghostlike body. Her body appeared as if it was all there, and while she could choose for just how physical it was, it was only a projection of a world and plane far away. Her real body and soul were trapped within the realm of fire, and due to being bonded with the fire giants and gods, she was unable to really leave. Thus, she had to project her consciousness and form back to the mortal realm, with a little help from Ren, in order to see anything done.

Naturally, her current astral projection sustained a bit of damage, but the spear itself would not kill her or cause her any pain. Behind her, the golden spear would clatter to the ground, or hit whatever was directly behind her. She began to walk towards Ahote, a mildly confused expression on her face. “You’re jumpy,” she noted, her hands in two pockets. “Have you something to fear, Ahote?”

They had formally introduced themselves on that last dark request. However, that had really only been a temporary alliance. At that point, they had mutual interests and a common goal. Now, however, she knew nothing about Ahote’s desire or goals. “It isn’t wise for a mortal criminal to wander this city. Do you have a death wish?” she asked, her crimson gaze boring into the young raven-haired man. In her eyes, he was a fool if he were truly alone here, without any backup. He was a Coming Storm, so just about anyone would recognize his face if they stared too many seconds too long.


[328 / 808 // 7,000]

Battle Log:

The dust settled in the road, and emerging from it came the pretty-faced Lucie whose long, raven locks and rested over her pale shoulders and striking crimson orbs gazed fixedly at his own. His golden lance pierced the cobblestone just behind her, making the thought of her avoiding such an impact outlandish to the cautious Ahote. But magic, whatever kind she possessed, was capable of achieving the bizarre and maybe even the impossible. Or perhaps he was just too confident in his careless strike? Whatever the reason may be, her appearance cracked his face with a smile.

A sigh escaped Ahote's lips as words crept from Lucie's pale ones, "With this life I'm living? It's fear that gets you killed, miss Lucie. Not wandering guarded streets." he joked, although he spoke of a true reality for those who lived their lives against the council. Yet, his amused expression quickly sank into a more sour one, his topaz orbs narrowing as he stepped forth, "But you have no room to talk, you're more of a wanted criminal than I am." Ahote continued to pace forward with his crestfallen complexion, fragments of golden armor swallowing him with each step. When only meters away from the bewildered Lucie did Ahote look nothing like the usual gloomy man many people remembered him to be, but a man dressed in armor like gold. He gushed mischievously, "I have some business to attend to here, but I s'pose bringing the head of the ever-so-evil Lucie with me will also reap some fruitful rewards!"

Abruptly, in what seemed to be a blink of an eye, the man dressed in golden vanished. But, only to the naive eye. Ahote would reappear just meters behind the pale Lucie, ripping his lance from the dirt beneath the cobblestone and thrusting it forward, in hopes that the blade would kiss her spine. The man held no concern for any onlookers or bystanders who might watch their tussle through their windows, or perhaps the married couples who struggled to tuck their well-to-do children away to their feathery beds because of the booming noise. What mattered was a bit of play with the infamous Lucie, and his mission, of course.

WC: 1,038/7,000

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